The Kitten Hunt

by Anna Wilson

  ‘You wouldn’t know it, the way you carry on,’ I said under my breath.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. I was just wondering how I could describe a hamster to you,’ I said hurriedly. ‘It’s, er, sort of like a mouse, but it doesn’t have a tail – well, only a very tiny stubby one. People keep them as pets and put them in cages.’

  ‘And then eat them?’ asked Kaboodle hopefully.

  ‘NO!’ I exclaimed. ‘Yuck! Who’d want to eat a hamster? Urgh! No, they just keep them to cuddle and play with.’

  ‘What a waste,’ said Kaboodle, obviously unimpressed. ‘So, you went to Hamster Man’s house, and then what?’

  ‘Funnily enough, we went to see his hamsters,’ I said sarcastically. ‘He has two: Mr Nibbles and Houdini. He wants us to look after them for a couple of days – like I’m looking after you.’

  Kaboodle paused, then did the sneezy laugh again. ‘Mr Nibbles and Houdini – what pathetic names!’ he said.

  ‘Hmmm. That’s what Jazz said. I’m beginning to think they’re quite cute, actually.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ said Kaboodle, sounding cooler. ‘So what were these un-tailed rodents like?’

  ‘Oh, you know – furry,’ I said vaguely, suddenly realizing that Kaboodle might be feeling jealous. ‘And quiet. They didn’t talk to me or anything.’

  ‘Well, of course they didn’t TALK to you,’ sneered the kitten, narrowing his yellow eyes at me. ‘What on earth do you suppose they would have to say for themselves?’ He twitched his nose and bared his teeth and squeaked: ‘“I like carrot”, “I have big teeth”, “Does my bum look big without a tail?”’ His features returned to normal. ‘Talk to you! What utter nonsense,’ he scowled.

  I frowned. ‘But surely cats aren’t the only animals who can talk?’

  Kaboodle preened his whiskers. ‘Obviously,’ he agreed. ‘But cats are the only animals on this planet who have anything worth saying. Take dogs for instance – the poor foolish brutes only have three thoughts going around their brain at any one time. “Walkies! Food! Sleep!”’

  I laughed. ‘How do you know? A dog wouldn’t want to talk to you anyway – he’d only be interested in chasing you.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Kaboodle, blinking slowly. ‘He would want “walkies”, which would involve chasing me, followed by “food” – not that I’d ever give him the satisfaction – followed by “sleep” to recover from the whole riveting adventure.’

  I shook my head. ‘You are a funny little thing,’ I said. ‘Sometimes you sound like Jazz!’

  Kaboodle shuddered. ‘Please! Do not compare me with that creature,’ he said and then swiftly changed the subject. ‘Tell me more about these silent, stubby-tailed rodents.’

  I wondered vaguely why Kaboodle was so curious about my other pet-sitting job, but it was quite nice to have someone show an interest in what I was up to, rather than mouthing off at me and running away in a huff.

  So I told Kaboodle about our meeting with Mr Smythe and what I was going to be doing with the hamsters. ‘But don’t worry,’ I assured him. ‘It won’t take up too much of my time. I’ll be there for you first and foremost.’

  ‘I should think so too,’ purred Kaboodle. ‘Talking of which, where’s my breakfast?’

  I grinned. ‘OK, OK. I can take a hint.’

  I went to the cupboard where the gourmet kitten food was stored and came back with a couple of sachets. ‘Salmon in jelly or turkey and chicken?’ I asked, reading out the labels.

  ‘Ahem,’ said Kaboodle.

  I bristled. ‘Listen, I know you don’t like them very much. But if Ms P comes home and finds they’re all still in the cupboard—’

  ‘Throw them away,’ he cut in. ‘Just tip them straight into the wheelie bin outside. Go on.’

  I put my hands on my hips, the sachets flapping at my sides like a pair of fins. This was ridiculous, being ordered about by a tiny kitten. ‘No,’ I said firmly.

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Well, for a start it’s a waste, and secondly I don’t have enough money of my own to buy you all those sardines and things you asked for.’

  ‘Hmm,’ purred Kaboodle. ‘I don’t really care about the first reason, and as for the second – you’re getting paid to look after me, aren’t you? And presumably for those hamsters as well. You must be raking it in.’

  ‘What a cheek!’ I exclaimed. ‘I’ve already got to pay Jazz half of what we earn! I’m not spending the rest on you when Ms P’s bought you tons of food already.’

  Kaboodle sniffed loudly. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well, if that’s how you feel, I suppose I shall have to put up with this muck.’ He sat back on his haunches and flicked his tail irritably. ‘Get on with it then,’ he commanded.

  I left Kaboodle tucking into his gourmet kitten food with more enthusiasm than I would have thought possible after the fuss he’d made. I was furious with him for being so rude. What with Jazz flouncing off in a mood again as well, I’d had enough.

  11

  Meals on Wheels

  That afternoon I was completely down in the dumps. Dad wasn’t much use He kept saying, ‘Just let me finish this and then we’ll go out and do something.’ But he obviously never did finish ‘this’, which seemed to involve him staring at his laptop screen and muttering to himself.

  So I mooched in my room for most of the day, counting the minutes until I could make up an excuse for going to feed the hamsters. I wished Kaboodle would come and visit. Even if he was rude again, it was better than being cooped up like that on my own. I hoped he might find his way in through the window again and curl up on my bed. But he was mysteriously and disappointingly absent.

  At last it was five o’clock and time to feed the hamsters.

  ‘I’m going to Jazz’s,’ I announced.

  ‘What? Again?’ Dad exclaimed, barely tearing his eyes away from the oh-so-riveting screen. ‘You two are inseparable!’

  I wish.

  I let myself into Mr Smythe’s place and tiptoed in. It felt strange going into his home on my own like that. The house was so quiet, it was as if I could actually hear the silence. I know that sounds weird, but it was like the stillness in the grown-ups’ section of the library, or in the doctor’s waiting room, where everyone is sitting so still and no one feels they can talk out loud in case they disturb someone else.

  I crept down the hall towards the room where the hamsters were and jumped when my foot hit a creaky floorboard. My chest was banging and a lump had caught in my throat. I wished Jazz were there to keep me company.

  As I opened the door, I heard a scuffling sound. I walked softly over to the cage and caught the tail-end (or rather, bottom-end) of Mr Nibbles burying himself in a pile of sawdust.

  ‘Hey, little fellas,’ I cooed, as I peered through the sides of the hamsters’ home. ‘It’s only me, Bertie. I’m going to look after you while your – er – dad? – is away.’

  A little pink nose peeped out from the mound of sawdust and twitched at me, then Mr Nibbles came into full view and sat up on his hind legs. He was so cute! He looked as though he were taking as good a look at me as I was at him.

  I carefully picked him up and sat him in the palm of my hand and brought him close to my face. He snuffled and wriggled a bit and then sat staring back at me.

  ‘What are you thinking, little guy?’ I whispered. ‘I bet you could tell me a thing or two about Mr Smythe for starters. He’s one weird cookie.’

  Mr Nibbles put his head on one side and chomped his chubby little cheek pouches.

  ‘I bet you think he’s totally freakoid too, dontcha?’ I crooned.

  I imagined the hamster saying, ‘You bet! He’s a one-hundred-per-cent fruitcake with cherries on the top.’

  I stroked him gently and let him scurry up and down my sleeve for a while, and then sighing, said, ‘I guess I ought to put you back while I get you some food. Are you hungry?’

  Mr Nibbles sat back on his haunches again and tipped his little head on o
ne side, examining me quizzically. I laughed and went to put him back in the cage.

  That’s when I panicked. I had forgotten to close the cage properly while I was playing with Mr Nibbles. And now, even after I’d rummaged through all the sawdust, there was no sign of Houdini.

  Suddenly his name made a whole lot of sense.

  The escapologist had escapologized – well and truly escaped. Va nished. Gone. Va moosh.

  I slammed the cage shut on Mr Nibbles and then dropped to my hands and knees.

  He can’t have gone far, I thought, frantically scanning the floor. M aybe if I stay really, really quiet I’ll hear him scrabbling around somewhere.

  I closed my eyes and held my breath, all the better to concentrate . . .

  Scuttle, scuttle.

  There! I saw something move under the floor-length curtains that framed the French windows.

  I crept as slowly and quietly as I could towards the noise and gingerly lifted the edge of the curtain. Nothing. I must have imagined it.

  Then I heard another scuffle from behind me this time. I spun round on my knees and came face to face with—

  ‘Kaboodle!’

  The kitten looked at me sheepishly and mumbled something unintelligible. T hat’s when I noticed something in his mouth.

  ‘Eeeek! Houdini!’ I yelled. I made a grab for Kaboodle and caught him round the middle.

  He whipped round and tried to nip me on the wrist, and in so doing, dropped the hamster he’d been carrying in his jaws. The poor little thing lay where he had landed, his huge shiny black eyes blinking rapidly. Thank goodness he was still alive.

  I held on tightly to the kitten and hissed at him, ‘I’m going to put you down – in a minute. Do exactly as I say or, boy, will you live to regret it.’

  Kaboodle flattened his ears and gave the beginnings of a snarl, but quickly thought better of it and spat back, ‘Don’t get stressy.’

  If Jazz wasn’t alive and well and living just around the corner, I would have said that Kaboodle was the reincarnation of my stroppy best mate.

  ‘Now, stay there.’ I set the kitten down behind me very, very slowly, and then turned my full attention to the stunned hamster I picked him up as gently as I could and opened the cage again, then I lowered him in next to Mr Nibbles, who had been watching the whole procedure from the hamster wheel.

  I closed the cage softly and let out the breath I’d been holding.

  ‘You,’ I said to Kaboodle menacingly, ‘are in so much trouble, I cannot even begin to tell you how much.’

  The little kitten made a big show of not listening to me, licking a front paw and slowly wiping it over one ear. Then he looked at me, all golden wide-eyed innocence, and said, ‘What?’

  ‘What do you mean,“what?”?’ I growled, trying not to shout in case it upset poor Houdini any further. ‘I catch you in the act of stealing a hamster with intent to murder and munch it, and all you can say is “what?”’

  Kaboodle gave the cat equivalent of a shrug, twitching his head to one side and licking his shoulder. ‘All’s fair in lunch and war,’ he muttered.

  ‘You are incredible,’ I said. ‘These little guys are not LUNCH, they are someone’s pets.’

  ‘Pets?’ scoffed Kaboodle. ‘More like meals on wheels. Ha ha! Get it? Hamster wheel—’

  ‘Very cleve r, I don’t think.’ Then something struck me. ‘How did you get in here anyway?’

  Kaboodle purre d. ‘Easy. I slipped in behind you. You humans are so noisy. And so unobservant . . . as I’ve already told you.’

  I sat down heavily in an armchair. ‘Incredible,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘First you run off and make me – well, Jazz anyway – believe you’ve been run over or something, then you hassle me in front of Jazz so I end up shouting and she thinks I’m shouting at her, and now this. I’m beginning to wish I never agreed to look after you.’

  Kaboodle looked down at the floor.

  ‘And now I feel all shaky after seeing you with Houdini hanging from your jaws like that. What if he doesn’t make it? You’ve probably traumatized him forever. What will I say to Mr Smythe? He’ll be livid! And he’ll probably tell everyone in the street about it and then no one will let me look after their pets, and that will be the end of my Pe t-Sitting Service. Actually,’ I added, ‘I think this is the end of my pet-sitting career. It’s too mega stressful.’

  The kitten padded over to me and looked up at me with a pleading expression on his face. ‘I really am sorry,’ he mewe d. He jumped up lightly and nestled into my lap, purring like a jet engine. ‘I guess . . . that is . . . I just got a bit jealous,’ he confessed, nuzzling against my arm, which was firmly strapped against my chest in a defensive pose.

  I sighed and shifted so that Kaboodle could settle closer to my body. ‘You were jealous,’ I repeated, trying to continue the tone of annoyance in my voice, but hearing it wavering as the purring on my lap got louder.

  ‘Yes,’ said the kitten. ‘You see, when I saw you put that leaflet through the door, I thought, “There’s a girl after my own heart – a loner, someone who will understand me.” I used to live with creatures who understood me – six of them, in fact. My brothers and sisters. But Mum couldn’t look after us all forever. That’s the way it is with cats. Once you’re weaned off your mother’s milk, you have to make your own way in the world. That’s how I ended up at Ms P’s. And don’t get me wrong, Ms P takes roya lly good care of me. But she goes away a lot so I knew she’d be looking for someone to leave me with. I couldn’t bear the thought of being cared for by someone who I couldn’t get along with. Then I saw you. And I knew right away that you would be a soulmate. That’s why I behaved myself so well when Ms P introduced us. I knew she’d only let you look after me if she thought I’d be happy with you.’

  ‘So?’ I said grumpily, not willing to let him know that I was melting with every word he said. ‘That doesn’t explain you getting jealous of a hamster.’

  ‘It’s not just the hamster!’ Kaboodle protested. ‘It’s you and Jazz – together all the time, telling each other eve rything . . .’ He tailed off, looking utterly miserable.

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘You really are jealous! ’ I said. ‘But listen, you’re going to have to put up with Jazz. She’s my best mate, a lways has been, always will be.’

  ‘Not at the moment,’ Kaboodle pointed out quietly.

  ‘I know,’ I admitted. ‘But we’ll sort it out. We have to. She’s my best mate, like I said.’ She was also my only mate. But I wasn’t going to say that to Kaboodle. ‘Can I have a hug?’ I asked.

  Kaboodle climbed into my arms and snuggled down. I would feed the hamsters in a minute, I thought, as I watched Houdini finally pick himself up and wobble over to the water bottle hanging through the bars of the cage.

  At least one good thing might have come out of the rather fur-raising adventure the poor little creature had had that day – he might avoid attempting to live up to his name quite so spectacularly next time!

  12

  Mice Are Not Nice

  Dad was pacing up and down the kitchen when I got home He was talking into the phone and looking worried.

  ‘I’m going out of my mind! What if she’s run away? I’ve been working so hard recent— Oh, thank goodness, she’s just come in. Look, I’ll call you back.’

  He threw the phone down on to the table and ran over to me I was horrified to see it looked as though he’d been crying. I felt a wave of sickness surge into my throat.

  Oh no I’d told him I was going to Jazz’s and he’d found out I hadn’t gone there after all.

  I closed my eyes and prepared to be screamed at, but instead I felt Dad’s arms around me and I was scooped up in a massive bear hug.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he mumbled into my shoulder.

  ‘I, er, we went out for a walk,’ I said.

  Dad set me back down.

  ‘In the rain? Bertie, look at me,’ he said, lifting up my chin and staring directly into my eyes. ‘T
ell me the truth.’

  This was pants. I hated lying to Dad. But then I thought, maybe I didn’t have to lie any more? After all,it wasn’t as if I’d been getting up to anything bad. I’d only been feeding a cat and two hamsters. OK, so one of them nearly became a hamster sandwich, but he didn’t have to know that. Still, I didn’t relish the thought of explaining just why I had decided to look after other people’s pets. Because I’m lonely and you won’t let me have a pet of my own, Dad . . . I didn’t think that would exactly cheer him up. I decided to keep it simple.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered. ‘Jazz and I had a fight, and I went off in a huff.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you two these days? That’s the second fight you’ve had in as many days,’ Dad said sadly. ‘Anyway, why didn’t you come home and tell me all about it? You’re too young to be wandering the streets alone.’

  I smiled and shook my head. ‘Wandering the streets!’ Made me sound like some kind of smelly tramp or something.

  That was when Dad snapped. ‘Don’t you smile at me, young lady! I’ve been beside my self! I’ve rung round everyone I could think of and I was about to call the police – you’ve been gone hours! You could at least have called me.’

  And then I flipped too. I don’t know whether it was the tangled feeling of guilt in my head, or the fact that Dad had just shouted at me, but all of a sudden I heard myself shout back, ‘Called you? And you would have picked up the phone, would you? Cos the way I see it, you don’t make any contact with the outside world unless it’s to do with your horrible job! And you know what? I’m GLAD you’ve been worried about me. I’m glad you’ve actually noticed I exist for once! Why do you think I didn’t come home right away? Do you think I’d want to discuss my personal problems with someone who has a closer relationship with his LAPTOP than he does with his own daughter?’ I was shaking with fury.

  Dad’s jaw had dropped so far open I could see his fillings and the dangly thing at the back of his throat. I turned and ran up to my room and slammed the door shut as hard as I could. My head was tight and my eyes stung. I was so angry I thought I might choke.