by Jenny Dale
Michael’s granny always came to lunch on Christmas Day, with Archie. She puffed out her cheeks. “No thanks, love, I’m full,” she said.
“If I ate anything else I’d go pop!” said Mr Tappin.
“How about you, Michael?” his mum asked.
Michael shook his head, a great lump in his throat. He’d managed to eat some of his Christmas lunch, but he hadn’t enjoyed it half as much as he usually did. He was too worried about Star.
After the kitten had been put back out into the snow, she’d hung around the door for a while, miaowing – then she’d disappeared. Michael’s mum and dad had said she’d gone home. But Michael wasn’t so sure.
“So – who’s for Christmas pudding?” Mrs Tappin asked next. Mr Tappin groaned. “Or shall we wait a while?” she added hastily.
“Good idea,” Michael’s gran said as she sank down on the sofa next to Archie.
Suddenly Michael heard a familiar mewing sound. He turned to look over at the glass door. “Look! Star’s come back!” he shouted.
Everyone looked towards the garden. Star stood there in the snow, her fur sticking up in damp spikes. She mewed again, then started scratching at the glass.
“So that’s the little thing you’ve been telling me about!” said Michael’s gran.
Michael nodded, then looked at his mum, hopefully.
Mrs Tappin stood up. “If we ignore her, I expect she’ll go home. Now, does anyone want a mince pie?”
“But, Mum!” Michael pleaded. “She’ll be freezing cold out there. It’s starting to snow again. The snow will get so deep that it will go right over her head.”
“Cats are very sensible . . .” his mum began, and then she looked at Star and hesitated. “Oh, dear,” she said. “She does look a bit wet, doesn’t she?”
“And it is Christmas . . .” said Michael’s gran, winking at him.
“Perhaps just for a little while, then,” Mrs Tappin agreed. “Until we can find her owners . . .”
Before they could say anything else, Michael was opening the door and lifting the shivering kitten into his arms. “You came back!” he said, holding her close to him and not caring a bit about his Christmas jumper getting wet.
Mrs Tappin went to get an old towel from the kitchen to dry Star.
Archie seemed to sense that there was something going on and woke up from his snooze. Raising his head, he spotted the tiny intruder, jumped down from the sofa and stood at Michael’s feet staring up. He gave a loud, loud miaow. Who was this cheeky young thing?
“You can be introduced in a minute,” Michael’s gran said. “The youngster needs to be dried first.”
Mrs Tappin gave Michael the towel and he sat by the fire with Star on his lap. Very gently he patted her wet fur, rubbing under her tummy where she was wettest of all.
As her fur got dry and fluffy, Star curled round and round on Michael’s lap, loving all the attention. Purring non-stop, she put out her tongue and began to lick Michael’s hand.
“It feels all tickly,” he laughed. He was so happy! He’d wanted a cat for ages . . .
While he’d been drying the kitten, the family had been watching, and now they all thought Star was really sweet.
But someone didn’t think she was very sweet. Archie stood on red alert, ears pricked and eyes wide, watching the stranger’s every movement.
Michael’s dad told him to put Star down next to the older cat.
“I hope they’ll be friends,” Michael said anxiously, lowering Star to the floor.
The big tabby cat and the tiny black kitten stared at each other. Their noses twitched as they sniffed unfamiliar scents and their tails swung slowly from side to side. They were weighing each other up.
Star took a timid step closer to Archie, but Archie immediately gave a low growl of disapproval. He raised his back into a high arch and fluffed up his raggedy fur.
Star shrank away, scared. Michael moved in to pick her up and protect her. He wasn’t going to have his little kitten frightened!
“They’ll be friends all in good time,” said Michael’s gran.
“I expect the little thing’s hungry,” Mrs Tappin said. “Maybe she wants her Christmas lunch.”
Michael nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes, please,” he said. “If you give me some turkey, I’ll chop it up for her. And can she have some gravy on it?”
His mum laughed. “I suppose you want the gravy warmed up?”
“Yes, please,” Michael said.
Mrs Tappin returned with Star’s food and gave it to Michael. He put it down in the middle of the floor and sat down right beside her to watch her eat it.
Star munched away, her tiny white teeth flashing and her pink tongue hungrily licking up the gravy.
“Look at her eat!” Mr Tappin said. “Anyone would think she’d never seen a Christmas lunch before.”
“She hasn’t!” Michael said, and then realised that his dad was joking.
Archie had some turkey too, of course, and when both cats had finished their meal they sat by the fire. They didn’t look at each other but sat carefully licking round their mouths and smoothing their whiskers with their paws.
“I think they’re going to be friends,” Michael said. He beamed at his gran. “Archie can be Star’s grandad!”
The three grown-ups looked at each other.
“Don’t forget, love,” his mum said, “Star might not be here for long. She belongs to someone else. You’re just borrowing her.”
Michael didn’t answer. He watched his lovely kitten, not wanting to miss a lick of her paw or a swish of her tail.
When she’d finished washing, Star stretched and yawned widely. Michael thought she was about to fall asleep but she suddenly leapt right over the dozing Archie and made a beeline for Michael’s dad. She ran straight up his trousers, across his jumper and round the back of his neck.
Mr Tappin gave a shout of surprise. “She’s climbing onto my head!”
Everyone started laughing.
“It looks like you’re wearing a furry scarf!” Michael’s gran said.
“Aren’t kittens fun!” Michael said, happily.
“Yes, they are,” said his mum. But then her face turned serious. “But Michael, you must remember that Star isn’t really yours.”
Michael pretended not to hear her again. Star was his. She was . . .
Chapter Five
“Now, what shall we say on this poster?” asked Mr Tappin.
It was three days after Christmas and he and Michael were sitting at his computer. They’d contacted the RSPCA and the local vet to report that they’d found a kitten, and now they were making a poster.
“I don’t know,” Michael said. He didn’t want to be helpful.
“I suppose we should start off by describing her,” said his dad. “Black kitten with white star-shaped mark on her chest . . .”
“What if no one claims her?” Michael asked.
“Don’t build your hopes up,” Mr Tappin replied. “Someone must be really worried about her.”
There was a scratching at the door. Michael went over to open it and Star padded into the room. She rubbed her head against his ankle, purring loudly.
Michael picked Star up and took her to sit with him. The kitten seemed very interested in the computer and leapt from Michael’s lap onto the table.
Zedtonimplurr appeared on the screen as she stepped daintily across the computer keyboard.
“Out of the way, naughty puss,” said Mr Tappin, laughing.
Star blinked up at him, giving her cutest look. “Mia–oww!”
Michael’s dad grinned. “She is a sweet little thing,” he said. “I’ll miss her when she goes.”
“So will I,” said Michael, picking her up and hugging her. Oh, please, he thought to himself, please don’t let anyone claim her . . .
That afternoon, Michael and his dad went round the village, putting up the posters:
KITTEN FOUND ON CHRISTMAS DAY
BLACK, WITH WHITE STA
R-SHAPED MARK ON HER CHEST
Please contact: 8 Harshaw Villas
Telephone: 0126 545 593
“I think we only need to put up one or two posters,” Michael said.
“No, we’ll need a few more than that,” said Mr Tappin. “Maybe ten or twelve.”
“I’ll do them,” Michael said quickly. “You can go home.”
Mr Tappin shook his head. “I’m not daft!” he said. “You wouldn’t put up any at all if I left you to it, because you don’t want anyone to find out we’ve got Star!”
“I would,” Michael said. “But I might put them up back to front,” he admitted. “Or I might not push the drawing pin in very hard and they might fall off!”
His dad laughed. “That’s why I think I’d better be here.”
When they’d put up ten posters, including one in the post office, they walked home.
Star was sitting on the kitchen windowsill, looking out. When she saw Michael she began to miaow happily.
Michael walked into the kitchen and grinned. “I love having her here, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do, love,” Mr Tappin said. “But I’m sure the person she belongs to will be searching for her. And they’ll soon see one of the posters we’ve put up.”
Michael picked up Star and held her tightly. He just didn’t want to think about that.
The phone call came two days later, just as Michael was about to take Star upstairs to bed.
Mr Tappin answered the phone and Michael saw his face grow serious. “I see. Yes, we’ve got her,” he said. “That’s right, black, with a white mark on her chest . . .”
Michael began to feel sick.
“Yes, tomorrow morning will be fine,” his dad went on. Mr Tappin put down the phone. “That was a Mrs Patel from Dinby Way.”
Michael didn’t say anything.
His dad shot him a sympathetic glance. “She bought a kitten for her daughter’s birthday a couple of weeks before Christmas and it disappeared.”
Michael felt like he was going to cry. “No!” he said.
“Mrs Patel said her daughter misses her kitten very much,” his dad said quietly.
Michael scooped Star up and ran upstairs to his bedroom. “Star wants to be with me!” he cried as he slammed the door. “They’re not having her!”
Chapter Six
“Post, Michael!” his mum called the next morning. “There’s something for you from Scotland.”
“OK,” Michael said gloomily. He and Star were playing with a ping-pong ball, and he kept thinking that this might be the last time they ever played together.
Star put out a velvety paw and swiped the ball – right between Michael’s knees. “Goal!” he laughed. “Clever girl!” He rolled the ball for Star one last time. While she scooted after it, Michael went into the kitchen.
His mum held out an envelope to him, smiling. “It’s from Scottish Granny,” she said.
Scottish Granny, who lived near Aberdeen, always sent New Year cards and presents instead of Christmas ones. Michael usually got a book token from her.
He took the envelope and looked at his watch. Nearly eleven o’clock! He’d been up since before it was light that morning, playing with Star. This time tomorrow, someone else would be playing with her.
“Aren’t you going to open the card?” Mrs Tappin asked.
Michael nodded, slit open the envelope and pulled out a New Year card. But it didn’t have a book token with it. Instead, there was a cheque – for fifty pounds!
“Oh!” Michael cried. “The rest of my bike money – all at once!”
His mum smiled. “Granny knew you’d been saving hard and wanted to help,” she explained.
Michael put the card and the cheque down on the kitchen table. He tried to feel excited. But really all he could think about was Star.
He went back into the sitting room. Star was now curled into a black fluffy ball, fast asleep behind the sofa.
Michael crouched down to watch her. Star’s whiskers twitched gently as she breathed in and out. She looked so sweet that Michael felt as if he was going to cry.
Just then, he heard a noise on the gravel outside. There was a knock at the door. Star opened her eyes and peered up at him.
Mrs Tappin came into the room. “That’ll be the people for Star,” she said gently. She put an arm round Michael’s shoulders. “Be brave, love. You’ve looked after her very well. And perhaps in a year or so, you can have another kitten – a kitten of your own.”
Michael shrugged her arm away. “I don’t want another kitten!” he said. He was trying really hard not to cry now.
Michael’s dad showed Mrs Patel and her daughter Nashi into the room. Michael thought they looked very nice. But he couldn’t like them – they were going to take Star away from him.
“She’s behind the sofa,” he muttered, then turned away and blew his nose. “She’s asleep. She likes sleeping there.”
Nashi, a small girl with long plaits, crawled behind the sofa.
Michael held his breath.
After a few long seconds, Nashi crawled out again, looking upset. “It’s not her!” she said.
Michael felt the tightness and the tears inside him disappear as if by magic. He let out his breath in a long sigh.
“Are you sure?” Mrs Patel asked.
Nashi nodded sadly. “It’s definitely not our Leyla,” she said. “Leyla has one white toe, and a bit of white on the end of her tail as well.”
Mrs Patel turned to Michael’s mum and dad. “Thank you,” she said. “We’ll try the vet’s next. There’s a lost kitten there.”
“I really hope you find her,” Michael said to Nashi.
Nashi smiled. “Thank you,” she said. Then she and her mother went off towards the village vet’s.
Michael let out a shout of joy. This made Star jump. She sprang to her feet and, before Michael could catch her, ran straight up Mr Tappin’s trouser leg and huddled on his right shoulder.
“Ow!” Michael’s dad yelled, hopping around. “Her claws are getting sharper! And she’s making holes in all my shirts!”
Star scrambled down his front and pounced on his slippers. What fun!
Michael and his mum couldn’t stop laughing. As Star skittered across the wooden floor and hid behind a potted plant, Michael felt so happy, he thought he would burst!
“Well!” Mrs Tappin said.
Then there was a long silence.
“So . . .” said Mr Tappin. “What now?” He scratched his head. “No one else seems to be missing a kitten around here. It’s a mystery where she came from.”
Star seemed to know something was up. She peeped out from behind the plant, looking from one to the other of them.
Michael took a deep breath. “I’d like to spend my bike money,” he announced.
“You want to buy your bike now?” his mum said.
“No . . .” Michael said slowly. “I want to spend the money on Star. She needs injections and a cat basket and a collar and—”
“Yes, that’s true,” his dad interrupted. “But . . . what about your bike?”
“I still want it,” Michael said, “but that can wait. Mostly I want to look after Star. And I thought that if I bought all her things myself you might . . . let me keep her . . . if no one else claims her.”
Michael’s mum and dad looked at each other. “What do you think, Clive?” Mrs Tappin asked.
“Well,” Mr Tappin said seriously, “having watched Michael with Star, I do think he’d look after her properly.”
“So do I,” Mrs Tappin agreed, smiling. “And no one’s claimed her . . . so . . .”
Michael flew over to Star, picked her up and held her tightly. “Did you hear that, Star?” he said. “You can stay here, with us!”
Star began to purr and rubbed her face against Michael’s chin.
“Oh, by the way, Michael . . .” Mr Tappin said.
“Yes, Dad?” Michael asked.
“All that money you’ve got – how woul
d you like to buy me some new trousers and shirts?” his dad joked.
“And if you’ve got any money left over, I’d like a new set of sitting-room curtains, please,” Michael’s mum joined in. “Star seems to think curtains are there for her to use as a climbing frame!”
As her new family laughed, Star smiled too – though to anyone else it looked like a yawn. Yes, she thought, she’d chosen her new home very well. And here she was going to stay . . .
Nell
the Naughty Kitten
Special thanks to Angie Sage
Chapter One
“Tom quick, look! Nell’s doing it again!” yelled Tom Morgan’s twin sisters, Jo and Hattie.
Tom ran to the door and stared across the farmyard to the pigpen. A fat, squealing pig was tearing round the pen in a panic. Sitting calmly on the fence was a little stripy ball of fluff.
The ball of fluff was Nell, the new kitten on the farm.
“Oh no!” Tom pulled on his wellingtons and rushed out into the farmyard. Hattie and Jo ran after him.
Nell’s favourite game was playing with the short, curly tail of Poppy, their heavily pregnant pig. But Poppy didn’t seem to like this game very much.
Tom ran up to the pigpen just as Poppy skidded to a halt and stamped her trotters crossly. Nell jumped neatly down from the fence and landed at Tom’s feet.
The kitten looked up at Tom and began to purr. He was her favourite person on the farm.
Tom picked Nell up, trying not to smile. “You’re a naughty girl!” he said. “Poppy could have squashed you!”
“It’s not funny,” said Hattie.
“No, it’s not,” agreed Jo. “You know Poppy’s expecting piglets and she mustn’t get upset. This is the third time this week that Nell’s been inside her pen. Mum will be really cross when she finds out.”
