Холли Вебб - A Cat Called Penguin

There was another wail from upstairs, and Mum flinched. “Alfie, cats like to wander. Especially at night. Penguin will be back soon, I’m sure. Go and brush your teeth, sweetheart.”

She already had her foot on the first step of the stairs, and Alfie knew she was too worried about Jess to listen properly. He slipped back into the kitchen, peering out of the window into the darkening garden and hoping to hear the clatter of the cat flap as Penguin squeezed himself back inside.

Alfie was pretty sure that Grace had Penguin with her next door now. She worked fast.

He trailed up the stairs, past the still-wailing Jess, and crawled under his duvet.

He wondered if Penguin was asleep on Grace’s bed.

The next morning, Alfie woke up, and realized happily that it was Saturday. Although there was something not good happening. He couldn’t yet remember what. It was the feeling he usually got about spelling tests, but since it was the weekend, that obviously wasn’t it.

He reached out to stroke Penguin, stretched down the side of the bed like he always was – Dad always said that Penguin was trying to beat the record for the world’s longest cat.

Penguin wasn’t there.

Alfie swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling sour. Of course. For just a minute he’d forgotten that Penguin had never come home.

What if it wasn’t Grace? What if Penguin had been run over? It had happened to a cat who lived down the road. Penguin didn’t usually go out at the front of the house – but then he didn’t usually stay away overnight, either. Alfie shook his head briskly. It was easier to be angry and believe it was Grace.

It was eight o’clock. Too early to go next door and demand his cat back. Alfie decided to do it anyway.

Mum and Dad were still asleep, or at any rate he couldn’t hear any noise from their room. Alfie padded swiftly downstairs, unlocked the front door and marched the few steps along the pavement to Mrs Barratt’s house. There were net curtains across the living-room window, but Alfie was pretty sure he saw someone dart across the room as he came up to the front door. It opened before he could ring the bell, and Grace was standing there in pink shorts and a T-shirt – or that’s what it looked like. She’d opened the door the tiniest crack, only wide enough for him to see one eye.

“Go away!”

“Where’s Penguin?” Alfie pushed the door angrily. If she wasn’t hiding anything, why wouldn’t she open the door properly?

“You’re going to disturb my gran!” Grace tried to push the door closed again, but Alfie barged it with his shoulder.

“You’ve got him – you stole him!” he said. “Give him back!”

“Ssshh! Shut up!” The door opened properly at last, and a skinny hand grabbed his sleeve and hauled him inside. Alfie was so shocked he half fell over, and Penguin jumped on him, purring happily.

Grace yanked him upright and hurried him into the little front room he’d seen her in through the nets. Penguin trotted after them, waving his tail.

“You’re not to shout, don’t you get it? My gran’s not very well; we’re not supposed to wake her up. And my mum’s still asleep too.”

“Oh.” Alfie nodded. “Sorry.” Then he shook his head, feeling as though good manners had just spoiled his attack. “Don’t tell me not to shout anyway!” he retorted, but in a sort of hoarse whisper. “I’m allowed to shout, you stole my cat.”

“I did not.” Grace sat down on an armchair by the window, and stroked Penguin, who was washing carelessly, close to her feet. “He came in the garden. I suppose he’s used to being in there, because you trespassed so much.”

Alfie flushed, his cheeks suddenly burning. She was so right he couldn’t even argue.

“You made him come in the house,” he muttered. He wasn’t entirely sure about this, but he didn’t think Penguin would have gone in on his own.

She shook her head virtuously, and he was almost certain she was lying. Her eyes changed, and she didn’t look at him, quite. “He followed me.” Then she looked up, shrugging. “You have to let him do what he wants. You can’t train a cat.” She looked down at Penguin, who bumped his head against her sandal affectionately. “I can’t help it that he likes me, can I? He wanted to explore, that’s all. It’s like the call of the wild.”

“No, it isn’t!” Alfie leaned over quickly and grabbed the shiny foil packet that he’d just spotted half-hidden by the cushions behind. “More like the call of the cat treats! You saw we had this kind at our house, and you went and bought some so you could bribe him into coming over here!”

Grace snatched them back, stuffing them down behind the cushions again, and Penguin stopped licking his paws and watched the progress of the foil packet with interest. He knew exactly what was in there.

“Those are mine,” Grace muttered.

“Oh, you eat them, do you? Tuna’s your favourite, then?”

“If Penguin wants to come over here, you can’t stop him,” Grace said fiercely. “He isn’t even yours. He was a stray. Your mum said so. He just turned up at your house. Well, now he’s turned up at mine, hasn’t he? Maybe he likes our house better.”

Alfie shook his head and looked down at Penguin, who’d given up on the hope of treats and was washing again. He couldn’t, could he? He wouldn’t abandon Alfie, who’d looked after him for two whole years? “Penguin,” he whispered. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Penguin glanced up at him but didn’t move.

“Penguin,” Alfie tried again, his voice rising to a frightened half-squeak. “Home. Let’s go.”

“He doesn’t have to go with you unless he wants to,” Grace started smugly, and Alfie stepped back towards the door, knowing he was about to cry and not wanting her to see. But Penguin got up and followed him, overtaking and trotting ahead out into the hallway. Alfie ran after him, his heart thudding and skipping in relief, and wrestled with the door catch.

He looked back as he flung it open and saw Grace standing in the door of the front room, clutching the cat treats and looking as miserable as he’d felt a minute before.

Alfie felt quite guilty – for about ten seconds. Then he decided it was all her own fault.

But Alfie’s relief didn’t last. He told himself it was only because of the cat treats, but Penguin kept popping round to Grace’s house. He was starting to look even plumper than he had before, and he actually turned down breakfast once, which left even Mum looking shocked.

“Goodness, he must be getting food from somewhere else!” she commented, looking at the full bowl, and Penguin wedging himself into the cat flap. He really had to heave to get through now.

“Mum! I told you! Grace keeps feeding him treats. She’s trying to steal him.”

“Don’t be silly, Alfie.”

“It isn’t silly! She really is, Mum. She kept him at her house overnight last weekend. She wants him to be hers. She even said so! She said he wasn’t really ours because he was a stray.”

“Alfie…”

Alfie knew that tone. It was his mum’s sensible voice, and it meant she didn’t believe a word he said.

“Why don’t you ever believe me?” he yelled, all his worry about Penguin and his anger with Grace coming out in one furious shout. “You don’t love Penguin; you never have. You didn’t even want me to have him. You wouldn’t care if he went and lived at Grace’s house, even if it did make me miserable. You don’t even love me !”

“Alfie!” Dad walked in from the living room, where he’d been reading to Jess. He looked really annoyed. “Don’t talk to your mum like that!”