Холли Вебб - A Cat Called Penguin

Penguin prowled happily under the table for the rest of the meal, as Grace and Alfie competed to feed him the best bits of pizza. He followed them when they left the table, his whiskers glistening with cheese grease and his ears at a smug, jaunty angle.

Alfie and Grace went back to their places on the sofa, and he hopped up between them. Both of them wriggled closer to stroke him, and Penguin settled down purring, his eyes half closed.

Alfie watched Grace tickling Penguin behind the ears, and grudgingly admitted to himself that she knew cats. It was Penguin’s favourite place to be rubbed, and his purr was deepening into the low, sleepy noise he made when he was really happy.

He liked her!

It wasn’t fair.

Penguin definitely wouldn’t let just anyone mess with his ears like that. He’d clawed Alfie’s cousin Rosie’s hand when she’d tried it. Mum had been really cross, and made Alfie put Penguin out in the garden and lock the cat flap, even though it was pouring with rain. Alfie had sneaked out after a while and found Penguin sulking under a bush. They’d hidden out in the shed together, hunting spiders till Rosie and Auntie Jen had gone.

If Penguin was going to sleep with Grace stroking his ears, maybe she wasn’t that bad after all. Or maybe he was just so stuffed full of pizza that he’d sleep even if she was knitting with his tail.

“Penguin!” Alfie thumped up the stairs to check his room the next evening – Mum had a habit of shutting the door for tidiness’ sake and accidentally shutting Penguin in. But Penguin wasn’t mewing furiously behind his door, and he wasn’t even asleep on Alfie’s bed. Alfie thundered back down again, and out into the garden. It was very unusual for Penguin to be late for tea.

He wandered round the garden, checking Penguin’s favourite sunbathing places – the stone bench, and the wall next to the bird table, which combined sun and snacks (or so Penguin seemed to hope). Alfie had never actually seen him catch a bird from the bird table. But he liked to lie there watching while the birds twittered and muttered and complained about him.

No Penguin. Alfie stood in the middle of the tiny square of lawn, looking worriedly up and down the garden. Where on earth was he? Alfie usually fed him at about five, and it was past that now.

The garden seemed full of early evening shadows and strange bright patches, and suddenly Alfie whirled round, sure that someone was watching him. And laughing!

“Here, Harry. Have another one.” It was the slightest whisper, from over by the fence. No – the other side of the fence. There was purring too, Penguin’s strange low purr.

“Good boy. Is that nice?” Someone laughed, quietly, and Alfie seethed. It was Grace, of course. She had Penguin in her garden. And what was she doing calling him Harry?

Alfie grabbed a bucket that someone had left by the bench and crept over to the fence, turning the bucket upside down and standing on it, so that he could just see over.

It looked like Grace’s mum had already started trying to tidy up the garden. There was definitely more path than there had been. From his spy point over the fence, Alfie could see a flash of blue-checked dress through the brambles. Grace’s school uniform. And a white-tipped black tail was twitching excitedly next to her.

Alfie jumped down and raced to the end of the garden and the loose board – for once without even checking whether Mum was watching him.

He flung himself behind the shed and tried to dive through the loose board, desperate to get Penguin back.

Grace jumped up as she heard the creak of the board swinging back. “You’re not allowed in my garden!” she shouted.

“You’re not allowed to play with my cat!” Alfie yelled back. He’d somehow managed to get himself wedged in the hole; his elbow was caught, and he felt stupid and furious. “Penguin, tea time, come on!”

Penguin edged curiously around the clump of brambles, eyeing Alfie as though he’d never seen such a strange beast before.

“Are you stuck in the fence?” Grace giggled. “You must have had too much school lunch. I didn’t think anyone actually ate that disgusting turkey hotpot.”

Alfie wriggled desperately. He was so embarrassed. He was supposed to be telling her off, not making her laugh! His elbow was really hurting, and he couldn’t even work out how he’d managed to get stuck.

“You look so funny!” Grace was standing there with her hand over her mouth, laughing at him. Alfie was sure that if he hadn’t been stuck he would have kicked her. He gave one more huge heave, backwards this time, and fell back through the fence, ripping his shirt sleeve and clutching his scraped arm.

There was a scrabble and a thump, and Penguin appeared on top of the fence, peering down curiously. He mewed and jumped down, nosing lovingly at Alfie. Alfie picked him up, a warm, saggy bundle of fur – Penguin was slipping through Alfie’s arms like a beanbag toy. But Alfie wasn’t going to let him go.

Grace slid the board back and watched him through the hole.

“Leave Penguin alone!” Alfie growled, hitching him up.

Penguin mewed reproachfully but didn’t wriggle.

“That’s a really stupid name for a cat,” Grace told him, her voice calm and sweet. Her school uniform looked pristine. Alfie wondered if he could manage to sneak back inside and hide his shirt somewhere.

Mum was going to make a huge fuss about the state of his clothes.

“It isn’t, and it’s none of your business what he’s called. You shouldn’t be calling him anything,” he snapped at her, backing out of the gap behind the shed.

He raced up the garden, Penguin dangling in his arms, and slammed the kitchen door behind him. Then he locked the cat flap. Penguin was his cat. That girl wasn’t going anywhere near him. Wasn’t it enough that she’d already had his tree?

“Alfie, bedtime!”

Alfie backed out of the understairs cupboard, scowling. “I can’t go to bed, Mum, I haven’t found Penguin. I haven’t seen him since after tea.”

Alfie had a horrible suspicion he knew where Penguin was. It had been two days since he’d caught Grace feeding him cat treats, and since then he’d been watching Penguin every moment he could. But cats aren’t easy to guard, and Penguin had slipped out when Mum insisted on Alfie having a bath.

“He’s probably out in the garden. Go and call him.”

Alfie sighed. Mum wasn’t paying attention – she was trying to get Jess to go down, and Jess wasn’t, which meant Mum had at most half an ear on anything Alfie was trying to say.

“Mum! I have called him! I’ve called and called. I’ve looked everywhere. What do you think I was doing in the cupboard?”

Mum shrugged, smiling. “Last time you went in that cupboard you told me you were a prehistoric caveman and it was your cave. Penguin was a sabre-toothed tiger. How was I supposed to know, Alfie?”

Alfie huffed. That had been weeks ago. “I’ve called him, and I’ve shaken the box of cat treats for ages in the garden. He always comes when I do that. I’m really worried about him, Mum.”