by Holly Webb
Lucy couldn’t help thinking that it did matter, and that they were just twisting things around to be the way they wanted – but she wouldn’t be able to bear it if Gran made them take the kitten back to the alleyway. The greenhouse would be like a palace to a kitten who was used to living in a box. And Gran didn’t usually go down to the end of the garden. It would be all right.
And if she really had a kitten, she wouldn’t be lying to Sara any more.
“Yes.” She nodded. “Go and ask Gran if you can have a sandwich. With lots of chicken.”
“Oh dear, what’s the matter with that poor little girl?” Gran speeded up as they made their way home from school. She hurried down the pavement towards a toddler, standing outside the baker’s shop next to a little scooter and howling. “I hope she’s not lost.”
“She isn’t, Gran, look, I can see her mum coming.” Lucy pointed to a lady running towards the little girl.
“Good.” Gran bent over the little girl. “What happened, sweetheart? Did you fall off your scooter?”
The little girl stared back at her and shook her head. She stopped crying.
Gran smiled at the little girl’s mother, who had reached them at last and was now crouched next to her daughter, hugging her and all out of breath. “I’m sorry, we didn’t see what happened, but she says she didn’t fall.”
“Mummy! The cat!” And the little girl began to howl again.
“Oh, Macey! Did you try and stroke a cat? Did he scratch you?”
The little girl nodded and wailed louder, holding up her arm towards her mum.
Lucy sucked in her breath through her teeth – Macey had a long scratch down the inside of her arm. It wasn’t bleeding very much, but it obviously hurt.
“Some cats are just grumpy, Macey. You know I said not to chase after them.” Her mum sighed. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll go home and put one of your teddy-bear plasters on it.”
Lucy bit her lip. It probably wasn’t the right time to say that the cat must have been scared if the little girl had tried to grab it.
“It was probably that stray tabby that lives down the end of the alleyway,” Gran said. “Stray cats can be very wild and fierce.”
Lucy and William exchanged glances, thinking of the little black-and-white kitten, curled up in the greenhouse back at home. They’d made her a cosy nest out of one of the cardboard boxes they’d had for packing up their things, tipped on its side and lined with an old sweatshirt of Lucy’s. Then they’d laid the kitten a trail of chicken sandwich pieces to show her where the greenhouse was.
Lucy and William had done their best to make it into the nicest den a kitten could have. They’d even made her a litter tray, out of an old seed tray they’d found on one of the greenhouse shelves – it had been full of dusty earth. Lucy had a feeling the kitten might not know what it was for, as she was a stray and used to weeing anywhere, but if she was going to be an indoor cat one day, it was important to try. William had brought her a plant saucer full of water from the outside tap, as well.
That morning, before they went to school, Lucy had nipped out with some Weetabix and milk. It wasn’t the best thing for a kitten, she knew, but they didn’t have any proper cat food. Anyway, the kitten hadn’t seemed to mind. She had buried her face in it eagerly and when Lucy finally had to go, the kitten had been blissfully licking milky gunge off her whiskers.
She hadn’t looked very wild and fierce at all. She was still shy, of course. But when Lucy had arrived with the bowl, she hadn’t run away, or hidden herself behind the wobbly towers of flowerpots. Instead, she’d just pricked her ears, wary, but hopeful.
Lucy and William lagged behind Gran for the rest of the way home. “Did you hear what Gran said about stray cats being fierce?” William asked anxiously.
Lucy nodded. “I know. I was really wishing we could tell her about Catkin.”
“Catkin?” William blinked in surprise. “You named her?” He frowned a little. Lucy could tell he was hurt that she’d given the kitten a name without talking to him.
“Gran used to have a black-and-white cat called Catkin,” Lucy explained. “She was telling me about her. It’s a really sweet name and I thought that maybe if we called the kitten Catkin, too, it would remind her of it. But now Gran’s thinking about nasty fierce cats instead. It’s the worst timing ever.”
“Ohhh.” William nodded. “I see. But our Catkin’s sweet, Lucy. She’s not fierce at all. Gran will see that, won’t she?”
“Mmmm. But let’s not tell her just yet that we’ve got Catkin in the greenhouse. She’ll have to go on being our secret kitten. And don’t tell Dad, either!”
“Come on, you two!” Gran called back. “It’s starting to rain.”
Lucy and William sped up, the first fat drops splashing on to the pavement as they dashed after Gran.
“What if she gets wet?” William hissed. “The greenhouse has got all those big holes in the roof! She’ll get wet!”
“You’re right,” Lucy muttered back. She smiled at William. “You know that big old wardrobe in my bedroom… Perhaps we could hide her in there?”
“Why not my bedroom?” William said.
“Because you haven’t got a wardrobe, just drawers. And because your bedroom’s next to Dad’s! Mine’s up those creaky stairs and I can always hear people coming. So I’ve got time to hide a kitten in my wardrobe before they get to the top, you see?”
“I suppose so.” William sighed heavily.
Lucy smiled to herself, imagining falling asleep tonight with the faint sound of purring echoing out from her wardrobe. Or maybe even a small furry ball of kitten on the end of her bed. “I hope she understands we’re trying to help,” Lucy said suddenly. “She might not want to come inside. She’s probably never been in a house before.” Lucy had thought they’d be able to tempt Catkin inside gradually. She’d never thought of doing it so soon.
William grinned at her. “I think if you gave her a chicken sandwich she’d probably go anywhere!”
“Distract Gran! Show her your cut knee,” Lucy muttered, thinking of Macey and her scratch. She had the wet kitten and her old sweatshirt bundled up in her arms and there was a lot of squeaking and wriggling going on. She’d taken the cold sausages from her lunch box (she’d saved them on purpose) and they’d nipped outside while Gran was taking off her coat and changing into her slippers. Catkin had been so excited about the sausages, she’d hardly minded when Lucy had picked her up. But now Lucy needed a clear run upstairs. “Go in the utility room… Pretend you’re looking for the first-aid box. Quick!” The armful of sweatshirt was wriggling like mad. “It’s all right, Catkin. Just a tiny bit longer.”
William nipped in through the back door and then into the utility room. If he could get Gran to follow him in there, she wouldn’t see Lucy dash past.
“Gran! My knee’s bleeding! Can you get me a plaster? I fell over at school.”
Lucy could hear Gran bustling through the kitchen and then the squeak of the utility-room door. It was on Dad’s DIY list to oil that door, so she was glad he hadn’t done it yet. Huddling Catkin close, she darted through the kitchen, into the hallway and up the stairs.
Up in her room, she kicked the door gently shut and put her bundle down on the floor. Catkin shook her way out of the sweatshirt looking indignant and hissed faintly at Lucy.
“Sorry,” Lucy whispered back. “I couldn’t let Gran see you. And it’s really pouring with rain out there now. I bet your box is soggy already. I’ll make you a new bed, look.”
She grabbed another cardboard box off the teetering pile in the corner of her room and put it sideways in the bottom of her wardrobe, shoving all her shoes to one side. Catkin was still standing on the sweatshirt, so Lucy made a nest shape out of her woolly winter scarf and put that in the box instead. Then she put the last half of sausage down in front of the box, too. It was still sitting in one of Gran’s neat little plastic lunch pots, which made a perfect cat-food bowl.
“I’ll get
you some water in a minute,” Lucy promised. “And the litter tray. Your things are just outside the back door. William brought them in from the greenhouse.”
She looked at her kitten home thoughtfully and then at Catkin, who had slunk under her bed. The kitten looked worried.
“I know it’s strange,” Lucy told her quietly. “But we’re nice. Really. And there’s more sausage, look.” She tapped her fingernails against the wardrobe door to make Catkin look and then tipped up the lunch pot to show her. “Did you want another chicken sandwich instead? Are they your favourite? They’re my favourite, too.”
Catkin edged out from under the bed, sniffing. She was confused. But she had never had so much food before – her brother and sister had always fought for more of their mother’s milk and the same with the scraps. It wasn’t just the sandwiches and the cereal or the sausages, either – the two children had been so gentle. Lucy and William had whispered to her and tried to purr at her and that morning Lucy had run one finger softly all down her back, which had made her quiver. It had been strange and different, but she had liked it. And now there was another soft box bed and more food. She liked being inside, all warm and dry. So she padded cautiously across the room and stopped to sniff at Lucy’s fingers. Then she butted her head up against Lucy’s hand and went to nibble daintily at the sausage in the pot.
Lucy sat watching her, smiling to herself. Her own kitten. In her own bedroom. Almost, anyway.
Then she froze. The steps up to her room were creaking. She was just sitting forward, ready to scoop Catkin further into the wardrobe and close the door, when she heard William hissing, “It’s only me! I’ve got the tray!”
Lucy wriggled back slowly and went to open the door. “You star! How did you do that?”
“Gran’s on the phone to Auntie Susie. She’ll be ages. Angel Katie got a distinction in her ballet exam.” Angel Katie was what they called their perfect little cousin. “Gran was in the living room and she didn’t see me at all. I’ve got the water, too.”
“That’s brilliant. Look, if I move my shoes and put them under my desk instead, we can put the litter tray in the corner of the wardrobe. And this newspaper I used to wrap my photo frames can go underneath, just in case. Don’t worry, Catkin. We’re just making it nice for you.”
“I hope she understands what to do,” William said doubtfully. “What if she wees in the wrong place? Like, I don’t know, in your slippers?”
Lucy grinned at him. “Yuck. But actually, I don’t think I’d mind. She’s only little. I remember when you were a baby and you weed in Dad’s face when he was changing your nappy.”
William went scarlet. “You don’t! You can’t remember that, you were only little yourself.”
“Well, I remember Dad telling me about it once, anyway. I bet Catkin won’t make as much mess as a baby.”
Catkin finished the sausage and sniffed thoughtfully at the litter tray. Then she snuggled up on Lucy’s scarf and pulled the sweater over herself, almost like a blanket. She tucked her nose comfortably under her tail and, as the two children watched, she fell fast asleep.
“I hope Gran didn’t go into your room for anything today,” William whispered to Lucy, as they hurried across the playground the next afternoon. It was Friday and everyone was running and swinging their bags, eager to get home and start the weekend.
“Me, too. But I don’t think she would have done. I took all of my washing downstairs and put it in the machine for her. And Dad vacuumed my room a couple of days ago. Catkin was really good last night. She didn’t mew or anything, and she even used the litter tray. This morning she was sitting on my windowsill when I woke up, just looking out of the window.” Lucy crossed her fingers. “Look, there’s Gran by the gate. She doesn’t look cross, does she? Not like someone who’s found a kitten in a wardrobe.” They waved to Gran and she waved back, smiling.
Just then someone called out her name, “Lucy!” It was Sara.
Lucy swung round and beamed at her friend. “Hello!”
“Lucy, can I ask you a big favour?” Sara said pleadingly, as they walked towards the gate. “I live quite close to you, you know. Just a couple of streets further on. Do you think I could pop into your house for five minutes on the way home? Just to see your gorgeous kitten? Pleeease? My mum said it was fine if you said I could.”
Lucy stopped walking and swallowed hard. She so wanted to say yes. Perhaps she could even tell Sara the secret. But there wasn’t time. Gran would hear them, she was really close. In fact, she was coming towards them, smiling. She was probably about to invite Sara to come for tea.
“I-I can’t today…” Lucy whispered, her eyes darting sideways at Gran. “I’ve got – dancing.” Gran had been talking about signing her up for dance classes – there were some at the church hall, not far away. It was the first thing that came into her head.
It was just a pity that William blurted out, “I’ve got to go to football!” at the same time.
“We’ve got both,” Lucy said hurriedly. “It’s just not a good day, Friday.”
Gran was standing beside them now, looking curious, and Lucy could see Sara’s mum coming over, too.
“If you don’t want me to come—” Sara started to say, sounding a bit hurt.
“It isn’t that! I do want you to, I really do!”
“You just had to say no – I thought we were friends!”
“We are!” Lucy said anxiously. “It’s just – not today. Another day!”
Sara nodded, but she still looked really disappointed. She grabbed her mum’s hand and pulled her away down the street, leaving Lucy and William and Gran staring at each other in confusion.
“Lucy, whatever’s the matter? Wasn’t that Sara, that nice girl who lives on Foxglove Way? Have you fallen out with her?”
“Yes.” Lucy sniffed. “She wanted to come to our house.”
“Well, why didn’t you let her? She could have had dinner with us.”
“It wasn’t that. I can’t explain. Please can we go home?” Lucy reached out and took Gran’s hand. “Please.”
“All right.” But Gran still sounded worried and she kept hold of Lucy’s hand as they walked on. Lucy could tell she hadn’t finished asking about what had happened. “Lucy, was Sara asking about a kitten?” she said at last, as they walked past the alleyway. “I thought I heard her say something about visiting a kitten…”
Lucy swallowed. “But we haven’t got a kitten,” she pointed out, trying to sound cheerful.
“Lucy…” Gran pulled her hand gently to make her stop. “Just go on ahead for a minute, William. Look, you can take my keys. Go and open the front door. We’ll follow you.” She watched as William walked on ahead and then she followed, walking along slowly with Lucy’s hand held tight in hers. “Lucy, did you tell Sara you had a kitten?”
Lucy didn’t say anything. How could she explain?
Gran went on thoughtfully. “Sometimes it’s hard, when you really want to make friends – you make up stories. Little stories to make yourself sound more interesting. Everyone does it sometimes, Lucy, it’s all right.”
Lucy gaped up at her. “How did you know?”
“Like I said, everyone does it. But almost everyone gets found out, too, Lucy love. You’re going to have to explain to Sara and say you’re sorry, you know.”
Lucy kicked at the pavement with her foot. “I know,” she muttered. But inside she was saying, I didn’t make it up. It wasn’t a lie. Well, it was when I first said it. But now I’m lying to you instead… I wish we’d told you about Catkin in the first place. What am I going to do?
“Are you that desperate for a kitten?” Gran asked suddenly.
Lucy blinked, shocked out of her worries. “Um. I would love one. But Dad said you didn’t like pets. Because they were dirty.”
Gran sniffed. “Well, I do like everything to be clean,” she agreed. “But a little cat… Maybe we could think about it.”
Lucy swallowed hard and tried to smile. Some
how she had to explain to Gran that they had a little cat already…
When they got back to the house, Gran made hot chocolate and she even put marshmallows on the top, as a treat. She let Lucy and William take it upstairs, though she did say they had to be careful not to spill any.
“Dinner will be in about an hour,” she reminded them. “Your dad’s working late tonight, so we’re not waiting for him today.”
Lucy and William carried the hot chocolate upstairs to Lucy’s room, with the sandwiches they’d both saved from lunch. At the top of the steps, outside the door, they stopped and looked at each other worriedly. Somehow Lucy felt convinced that the kitten wouldn’t be there. Perhaps they had imagined it all. She reached out and turned the handle, peering cautiously around the door.
Over in the wardrobe, the kitten lifted her head and yawned. Then she looked up at them and nosed at the empty plastic pot, clearly hoping for some tea.
“Hello,” Lucy whispered, starting to shred up her sandwich. “Did you miss us?”
Catkin yawned again and, very faintly, Lucy heard her purr.
“You’re pleased to see us! You’re actually purring. Oh, Catkin. If only we could show you to Gran right now, I’m sure she’d want to keep you.” She patted Catkin’s head, loving the feeling of the silky fur under her fingers. “This weekend, somehow, we’ll find a way to tell her. We have to.”
When Lucy and William’s dad got home late that night, he sat across the kitchen table from their gran, eating his dinner.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, as he wiped a bit of bread round his plate to mop up the gravy. “You’ve hardly said anything since I got home, Mum.”
