Kitten Smitten

by Anna Wilson

  ‘Lovely girl, that Jasmeena,’ Fiona interrupted. ‘And of course in any other circumstances I’d be delighted to help her in any way I could. But the thing is, my hands are tied on this one.’

  I stared at her blankly.

  ‘It’s like I’ve already said. The rules,’ Fergus said bluntly, looking awkward.

  ‘Jasmeena knows she has to be sixteen to enter,’ Fiona added.

  ‘Mum,’ Fergus said. He looked pleadingly at her, but I could tell they had already been over this one a few thousand times back at their place.

  ‘Darling,’ Fiona said firmly, ‘I told you. And I’m telling Bunty here: I simply can’t change the rules. I’m only the producer. These rules are written and decided on way in advance of filming and there are all sorts of regulations to do with allowing minors to compete in things like this. Now, I was going to take you into town this morning, wasn’t I, Fergie? And I’m sure Bunny here is incredibly busy too, so now we’ve explained everything, let’s say goodbye, shall we?’

  I was glaring at Fergus, willing him to stand up to his mum, but he was completely deflated and just nodded weakly at Fiona.

  Jaffa chose this moment to kick up a right racket. ‘What the lady talking ’bout? Tell me, Bertie! Tell meeeeee!’

  ‘Shh! I’ll tell you later,’ I whispered into her small pink ear, hoping no one would hear me above the noise she was making.

  ‘Noooo! Me wants to know nooooow!’ she miaowed, wriggling to get free of my grasp.

  ‘It’s just a competition thing – for people,’ I hissed. I was aware that Fiona and Fergus were gawping at me as though I was a one-woman freak show, but I had to try and calm Jaffa down. She was struggling harder now and I was fighting to keep hold of her as she scratched and clawed her way out of my grasp.

  ‘Me want be in competition!’ she miaowed. ‘Me want win prizes!’

  ‘No, Jaffa, it’s not a pet show,’ I said, struggling to keep my voice low. ‘Be quiet now.’

  ‘A pet show?’ Fergus said, puzzled. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Jaffa nipped me and, with a gasp, I dropped her. She shot me a look of glee and said, ‘Can’t catch Jaffsie!’ and went trotting over to Fiona and jumped on her lap.

  I stared open-mouthed.

  ‘This lady knows me can win prizes,’ Jaffa purred, rubbing her head on Fiona’s hand.

  Fiona’s face softened. ‘Aaaah! Hello, little baby,’ she said in a sing-song voice. ‘You really are the most beautiful little kitten, aren’t you, sweetie? You would win a talent show any day, wouldn’t you? Yes, you would. You would win all the prizes.’ She cooed and petted and went on and on like this for several seconds. I glared at Fergus, venom oozing from my eyes.

  But instead of Fergus looking away in shame, or pulling his mum up and telling her she had to go, or any other suitably contrite reaction I was hoping for, his velvety blue eyes grew larger and larger, his jaw dropped lower and lower and then, drowning out his mother’s pathetic baby-talk, he leaped to his feet and yelled:

  ‘PET SHOW!’

  ‘Yeeeeooow!’ yelped Jaffa, sinking her claws into Fiona’s pristine purple skirt.

  ‘DARLING!’ Fiona yelled, leaping to her feet and knocking flying.

  Jaffa landed in a heap and looked up at me pitifully. ‘Lady dropped Jaffsie!’ she mewled.

  But I’d hardly noticed. Because I’d just had my second light-bulb moment of the day, and I had a strong suspicion it was the same one as Fergus’s.

  Fiona was brushing furiously at her skirt and muttering, ‘Whatever is the matter with you two?’

  ‘Pet show, Mum!’ Fergus repeated, his face shining with excitement. ‘Just think – you could tie it in with Who’s Got Tal—’

  ‘Darlings!’ Fiona cut in, her eyes lighting up. ‘I’ve just had the most marvellous idea: we could put on a pet show to run alongside Who’s Got Talent?!’

  I raised my eyebrows at Fergus.

  DRIIING!

  Great! What now?

  I went to the door.

  ‘Hi! Thought I’d come round and see if you were still alive . . .’

  Jazz? Oh no, why did she have to choose this precise moment in time to break our war of silence?

  She bounced into the sitting room. But her bounciness came to an abrupt halt when she saw Fergus and Fiona. She curled her lip at Fergus. ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.

  ‘Hi, Jazz,’ I said quietly.

  Why can’t she just ask me how I am for a change? I thought. I had a sudden picture of the two of us hugging and saying sorry to each other and walking back to her place arm in arm, just like we would have done before the Miserable Meerleys appeared on the scene. No Meerleys, no talent auditions, no disappearing cat act . . .

  Fergus was staring at the carpet, looking as though the end of the world could not come soon enough.

  ‘Hello, Jasmeena!’ Fiona trilled. ‘You’ve arrived just in time to hear my brilliant idea!’ she announced.

  She really was unbelievable. How that woman had managed to give birth to someone as nice as Fergus . . . I stopped that thought double-quick before a full-on infra-red blush melted my face into smithereens.

  ‘Right,’ Jazz said, sneering. ‘And what’s your brilliant idea got to do with me?’

  Incredibly, Fiona didn’t seem to have picked up on Jazz’s icy tone of voice. She smiled a wide, pleased-with-herself smile and almost purred, ‘We’ve been talking about Who’s Got Talent?, Jasmeena dear.’ Jazz’s face immediately lit up like the Eiffel Tower at night. ‘And how it’s such a shame you’re not old enough for the auditions,’ Fiona continued. All the lights went out again in Jazz’s face and it plummeted into a ferocious grimace of disgust. (I couldn’t help being impressed by the way Fiona motored over Jazz, not giving her a chance to say a word. I never thought I’d see Jasmeena Brown meet her match.) ‘I’m sorry to be brutal about it, Jasmeena dear, but the rules are the rules and I did not write them. But,’ she paused dramatically and the atmosphere in the room crackled with expectation, ‘I think I might just have come up with something else that could take your fancy.’

  ‘Oh . . . yeah?’ Jazz croaked.

  She was completely at sea. She didn’t know whether to smile or scowl. As for me, until I’d heard the whole deal, I was definitely not going to get excited. What if Fiona was going to suggest we dress up as chickens? Or did she have a box of fluffy bunny costumes upstairs that we would have to wear around town? I always felt so sorry for those people, especially in this summer’s heat.

  Mind you, I had a sneaking suspicion that Jazz would do anything to get her fifteen minutes of fame.

  ‘And it’s all down to this lovely little cat here,’ Fiona went on, stroking Jaffa’s ears.

  ‘Me is pretty clever that way,’ Jaffa purred, washing her paws diligently. She looked up at me and flashed her blue eyes as if she was winking. ‘And me knows how to make everybody happy . . .’ she added.

  ‘So?’ Jazz asked. ‘What is the big idea?’

  Fiona gave a twinkling laugh. ‘A talent show for pets! We could run it in the early slot before Who’s Got Talent? and we could ask members of the public to enter their pets and then the viewers at home would be able to ring in and vote. We can call it Pets With Talent! and the proceeds from the voting could go to the Cats and Dogs Home. That would be sure to get us publicity.’ She was on a roll now. ‘There could be categories for cutest pet – which darling Muff— Jaffa would be sure to win . . .’ she simpered.

  ‘What did me tell you?’ Jaffa purred.

  ‘ . . . and then there would be fastest pet, cleverest pet – the possibilities are endless!’ Fiona breathed, clapping her hands together.

  ‘Great,’ said Jazz sourly. ‘So where exactly do I fit into this?’

  Fiona had blown it. Pets were not the way to Jazz’s heart.

  Fergus coughed and said, ‘Yeah, Mum – this isn’t really Jazz’s thing.’

  My eyes darted to the floor. Could that boy read my
mind?

  Fiona laughed that sparkly laugh again. ‘Ah, but this is where the best bit comes – we get celebrities to be the judges! In fact, I think Simon and Danni would LOVE this. It would bring a whole new angle to the existing TV programme, and they both have pets they’re crazy about, so they’re bound to say yes. Fergie, darling, I’m going to get on the phone to them right away,’ she said, already halfway out of the room.

  ‘Hold it,’ Jazz said sternly. I had to admire the nerve of the girl, talking to Fiona like that. ‘I still don’t get this,’ she said. ‘It’s OK for Bertie – she can enter Jaffa. But what about me? I don’t have any pets.’

  ‘You have Huckleberry,’ Fergus pointed out, meekly.

  ‘That rat’s not mine!’ Jazz cried, flinging her hands in the air in horror.

  Fiona turned back to Jazz and laid a perfectly manicured hand on her shoulder. ‘But darling, you would be the most important person in all of this,’ she said soothingly. ‘Danni and Simon would need a personal assistant to show them around and introduce them to all the contestants. And I think you would be utterly perfect for the job. And who knows, they might be persuaded to have a little chat with you about, how shall I put it . . . your future career opportunities?’

  Jazz’s face went through every possible emotion in the space of a minute: from disgust to shock to disbelief to out-and-out sheer and totally hysterical joy.

  ‘Woooooo!’ she shouted, throwing her arms around Fiona. ‘Thank you!’ she cried.

  Fiona disentangled herself and patted Jazz firmly on the arm. ‘Actually, it’s not me you should thank.’ She looked at me and Fergus pointedly.

  Jazz turned to look at us too and frowned. ‘Eh?’

  Fiona sighed. ‘Fergus told me that Barnie wanted to try and get you an audition – against all the odds, I might add. If he hadn’t come to talk to me about that, and if I’d never met that gorgeous little kitten, I never would have thought of the pet show.’

  ‘Is this true?’ Jazz whispered hoarsely.

  Fergus nodded silently.

  Jazz gawped at us.

  ‘So, can we be friends again?’ My mouth blurted it out before my brain had a chance to put the brakes on.

  ‘Oh, Bertie. I’m sorry.’ Jazz ran and threw her arms around me. I felt a tidal wave of relief engulf me. ‘I’ve been a total numpty,’ she mumbled into my shoulder. ‘I was so cross, I didn’t know what I was saying the other day. Forgive me? I have missed you, you know.’

  ‘Me too,’ I admitted.

  We drew back from each other’s embrace and grinned sheepishly.

  Fergus was smiling at us shyly. Without thinking I rushed at him and crushed him in a bear hug. ‘THANK YOU!’ I yelled.

  ‘Hey!’ Jazz sounded mildly indignant. I peeled myself away from Fergus, struggling hard to keep my personal temperature gauge at ‘normal’. I grimaced as if to say, ‘Don’t know what came over me there!’ but I needn’t have worried, as Jazz then hurled herself at Fergus and squeezed the life out of him too.

  Dad came home in the middle of it all, and soon Jazz and Fiona were both filling him in on the plans in high-pitched excitable voices.

  ‘Is Bertie pleased with Jaffsie?’ my kitten mewed, coming between me and the others.

  I bent down to stroke her, and taking advantage of all the noise and mayhem surrounding me said, ‘You bet, little Jaffa Cake. You bet’

  The Dream Team was back together and we were unstoppable.

  17

  All Systems Go

  Jazz was the most hyper I had ever seen her. And that is saying something about the girl who whoops and screams at most things in life like a monkey who’s got the best banana. Still, she might have been bouncing like a kangaroo on hot tarmac but, boy, it was good to have my best mate around again!

  ‘I can’t belieeeeeeve it!’ she said for the millionth time that day. ‘I’m going to meet Simon – and Danni! I think I’m going to dieeee! This is real, isn’t it? Pinch me, Bertie, so I know it’s real!’

  I chuckled. Jazz was already referring to the celebrity WGT? judges by their first names, even though we were a long way off being introduced.

  ‘What are they like?’ she quizzed Fergus. The three of us were round at my place just as we’d been every day for the past week, planning the pet show, brainstorming ideas, and making endless lists of the kind of animals we’d like to enter.

  Fergus shrugged and drew a doodle on a piece of paper. ‘I dunno. Simon’s like he is on the telly – grumpy and rude. Danni’s – er . . . well, she’s pretty, I guess. Not as pretty as some people, though,’ he said, shooting me a shy smile.

  I made a big deal out of scribbling hard on my notepad so that Jazz wouldn’t see me blush.

  But Jazz wouldn’t have noticed if Fergus had jumped up and snogged me there and then: she had her sights set on far starrier things. ‘I bet Simon’s a real pussycat once you get to know him,’ she simpered, staring at the ceiling, her hands clasped together like some lame Disney princess. ‘I’m going to make sure I get a chance to sing to him.’ And she broke into a screechy version of her favourite song of the moment.

  ‘Oh no! Make the Jazzer stop!’ Jaffa mewled in horror from the beanbag where she’d been snoozing. ‘Her singing badder even than Uncle Kaboodle’s.’

  I sniggered behind my hand.

  ‘What’re you laughing at?’ Jazz spat, whirling on me.

  ‘Hey, so how’re we doing with the list of people we’re going to ask?’ Fergus jumped in.

  He’d been like this ever since Jazz and I had made up, acting the go-between at the slightest sign of trouble.

  ‘Oh, right. Let’s see . . . Bertie, you were going to talk to Mr Smythe?’ Jazz immediately seemed to forget what she’d been cross about and shook her papers authoritatively.

  Fergus had an amazingly soothing effect on Jazz now that her dream was on the verge of coming true. I grinned at him gratefully, making a mental note to be more careful how I reacted to my kitten’s interjections. I did not want to run the risk of falling out with Jazz like that again. Ever.

  While Fiona went into action with Simon Cow and Danni Minnow and all the telly people, Jazz, Fergus and I got busy recruiting pets for the show. Fiona had said she had many contacts who would help her find willing contestants, ‘Although it would be rather sweet to involve a few friends and neighbours,’ she added.

  I went to see Mr Smythe first of all. He had been my only other customer when I was running my Pet-Sitting Service, so I felt I owed it to him to ask if he wanted to enter his hamsters.

  He was thrilled, twitching his little nose, fiddling with his moustache, his eyes crinkling in delight.

  ‘My, my! I say, what a terrific idea. Just wait till I tell the little chaps about this!’ he twittered. ‘Perhaps they could be persuaded to do some tricks for the cameras? Mr Nibbles has developed the most remarkable gift of being able to cram quite an astounding number of sunflower seeds into his pouches at any one time. And as for Houdini – well, his gift of escapology needs to be seen to be believed.’

  I swallowed hard and tried not to react to this last bit – I remembered Houdini’s escape act far too well. The last time I’d found him out of his cage he had been lucky not to end up as a hamster sandwich for dear old Kaboodle.

  ‘I – er – I’m not sure we could cope with escaping hamsters in front of the TV cameras,’ I said hesitantly. ‘Especially with other larger animals around.’

  Mr Smythe chuckled in that dry, high-pitched way of his and blinked hard at me. ‘You are a funny girl, Roberta,’ he said. ‘I won’t let Houdini out of the cage – don’t worry. He can do his tricks in the cage, escaping from an old loo roll or margarine box – that kind of thing.’

  I smiled stiffly. I could just imagine Fiona’s reaction to this idea . . . The man really was a loop-the-loop fruit-loop loony. ‘Sounds fun,’ I said and quickly made my excuses.

  When I told Fergus and Jazz about Mr Smythe later that week, Fergus roared with laughter
. ‘Man! He sounds bonkers! That’s just the kind of thing that makes good telly, though. Bertie, you’re a genius.’

  Jazz bristled. ‘Yeah, well, I just think he’s weird. OK, who’s next?’

  ‘Mr Bruce?’ I suggested. ‘He’s got those two King Charles spaniels.’

  ‘Oh. My. Goodness,’ Jazz breathed, her hands flung up in mock horror. ‘You cannot seriously be thinking of letting that muppet enter with those Hounds of the Basketcase, can you?’

  I shrugged. ‘Might liven things up a bit,’ I said weakly.

  Fergus chuckled. ‘Cool!’ he said. ‘Let’s go and see him right away.’

  As we walked up to Mr Bruce’s front door, I felt suddenly sick with nerves. What if he slammed the door in my face? So far the only animals I had definitely managed to round up for Fergus and his mum were Jaffa, the hamsters, Huckleberry and Sparky from the pet shop. (I had swallowed my pride and asked Dad to call ‘Bex’. Unsurprisingly, he’d been thrilled about that.)

  The second my hand touched the doorbell a riot of barking and scrabbling paws rocketed towards the front door. I took a nervous step back as I heard footsteps and a man’s deep voice saying, ‘Down, Digby! Down, Buzz!’

  Jazz rolled her eyes and stuck out one hip, shooting me a withering I-told-you-so look.

  Fergus grimaced and held up crossed fingers.

  The door opened slightly as Mr Bruce tried to restrain his two over-eager dogs.

  ‘Be with you in a minute!’ he shouted over the noise. ‘Down, boys!’ he yelled at the dogs, then opened the door a fraction more. ‘Just let me get these two on leads,’ he said, peering out at me. He let the door swing to and was back in an instant, having clipped leads to the spaniels’ collars. When he opened the door properly I noticed he looked rather hot and bothered. His forehead was shiny with sweat and he was a bit out of breath.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he grunted, yanking back sharply on the leads to prevent the dogs from pulling him over. ‘Always get overexcited when the bell goes. Must train it out of them,’ he muttered. Then he seemed to remember that I hadn’t said hello or anything yet and beamed at me, showing a set of rather vicious-looking teeth.