Kitten Catastrophe Page 4

  Dad’s eyes bulged from his sockets and he let his hands fall to his sides. ‘Whatever next?!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Miiiiaaaaow!’ Jaffa howled, backing into the wall, her forehead crumpled in fear, her hackles up along the back of her tiny neck. ‘Bertie’s dad not be cross with Jaffsie! Jaffsie not do it! Jaffsie frighted.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said softly, making a move towards her.

  ‘No, it’s not OK!’ said Dad firmly, stepping in front of me. ‘She looks as guilty as sin, and so she should. You are not to go picking her up and cuddling her after what she’s done or she’ll think she can get away with it again!’ Then he turned to Jaffa and shouted,’ You are a naughty girl!’

  ‘Miiiiiaaaaaow! Me is NOT naughty! Tell him, Bertie,’ Jaffa commanded. If she was a human I would have said she sounded tearful.

  ‘Nigel,’ said Bex in a measured tone of voice, ‘she’s only a kitten. It’s probably just a phase—’

  ‘I know she’s only a kitten!’ Dad cried in exasperation. ‘That’s what makes this so insane! If she can make this much mess when she’s only a few months old, what on earth is it going to be like when she’s older?’

  Uh-oh. I heard alarm bells ringing urgently in the back of my mind.

  ‘Oh, it’s not that bad!’ said Bex brightly. ‘I’ll have this lot cleared up in no time. Bertie – why don’t you stick the kettle on? Your dad looks a bit frazzled.’

  Even though I was thankful that Bex was speaking up for my little cat, I nevertheless couldn’t silence a nagging doubt: what if Jaffa was behaving in this bizarre way because she didn’t like ‘the Bexy lady’ that much after all? What if this was her way of showing me just how much she hated my leaving her alone all day?

  Dad sat down heavily, put his head in his hands and groaned quietly. ‘I always thought having a pet would be hard work, but I never thought little Jaffsie was capable of creating such a disaster area. I mean, look at her!’

  Jaffsie had made herself as small as possible and was shivering as she surveyed us with unblinking sapphire-blue eyes. ‘Me really is sorry, Bertie. Really me is,’ she whispered. ‘But you gotta believe it’s not Jaffsie’s fault.’

  I just stood by the kettle, shaking my head, not knowing what to say to anyone.

  Bex came back in with a mop and a dustpan and brush. ‘Kettle on?’ she chirruped.

  I gave a brief nod.

  ‘Great. Take these, Bertie,’ she said, handing me the dustpan and brush. ‘You sweep and I’ll mop.’

  ‘Bex, you shouldn’t be doing that!’ Dad protested.

  ‘Nonsense, you’ve only just got in. Relax,’ said Bex. ‘Jaffa will grow out of this, I’m sure.’

  ‘Me is not growin’ out of nothin’!’ Jaffa protested. ‘Cos me has not grown into nothin’ in the first place!’

  ‘I know,’ I said in as soothing a voice as I could manage.

  ‘Well, I don’t!’ said Dad irritably. ‘This behaviour is freaky, if you ask me.’

  I sniggered in spite of myself. Dad always sounds weird when he uses words like ‘freaky’, as though he’s trying to sound younger than he is.

  He shot me an angry look, so I bent down and began sweeping furiously.

  ‘No, really,’ said Bex, beaming at Dad. ‘Jaffa’s growing up and she’s approaching adolescence in cat years, so it’s not that strange to see her flexing her muscles a bit, putting her stamp on things.’

  ‘What is the lady sayin’ with all those big words?’ Jaffa asked.

  ‘You’re growing up and it won’t be long before you’re a teenager!’ I said as quietly as I could.

  ‘What’s that? A teenager?’ Dad snapped distractedly. ‘That’s all I need. It’s bad enough having a hormonal daughter without having to look after a moody cat as well.’

  ‘Thanks a lot!’ I cried.

  ‘No, no, it’s not as bad as all that,’ Bex said hurriedly. ‘It’s like I said: Jaffa’s probably just going through a bit of a phase. But she’ll settle down quickly enough, you’ll see.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Dad was not going to be convinced that easily. ‘But you don’t seriously think that she could have opened the cupboard on her own, do you? Are you sure neither of you left it ajar, even a tiny bit, by mistake? And what about her getting into the fridge? How did that happen?’

  Bex stopped mopping and she and I exchanged puzzled glances. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said. She sounded as though she was getting a bit peeved with Dad now. For some reason that made me feel bad. I didn’t want them to argue. ‘I was sitting at the table when Bertie came in, looking through some pet-supplies catalogues, and Bertie didn’t even have time to make herself a drink because we heard this mewing coming from the fridge and – well, we ended up looking stuff up on the Internet about cats getting stuck in weird places. Which is when you came in . . .’ She tailed off.

  ‘So cats can open cupboards and fridges?’ Dad said sceptically.

  I found myself thinking that if this was true, my little kitten would have to be freakishly strong.

  ‘Looks like we’re going to have plenty of fun and games on our hands while Jaffa goes through this “phase” of hers, doesn’t it?’ Dad added.

  ‘You could fix safety locks on the cupboards,’ Bex suggested. ‘You know, like people do for small children. I think you can get them for the fridge as well.’

  Dad went to the kettle, which had just boiled, and poured water into the mugs I’d set out. ‘Not a bad idea,’ he said. ‘Still, it’s a lot of effort to go to and I’m not the world’s greatest DIY expert.’

  You can say that again, I thought. I remembered the day he’d promised to fix some shelves for me and had decided it would save time if he didn’t remove the contents first. Everything had come tumbling down on top of him and he’d broken his glasses, my animal ornaments and his nose. I was pretty miffed about the ornaments. I’d spent years collecting them.

  I swept up the last of the mess into the pan and chucked it in the bin just as Bex said to Dad, ‘Let’s go and have another look on the Internet. I can show you the stuff I found about cats who get stuck in daft places and maybe we can search for some ways to prevent it happening again.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ said Dad. ‘Why don’t I phone for a curry and we all crash out in front of a DVD once Bertie’s finished her homework? I’m bushed.’

  Jaffa was pretty happy to join us that evening. I felt a bit odd though, squashed up next to Dad and Bex on the sofa. I kept wondering if they would have preferred it if I hadn’t been there. But I couldn’t exactly ask them that. I sighed inwardly. At least I didn’t have to worry about Jaffa while she was safely with us; she was not likely to get herself shut in the fridge again after getting so cold.

  The only ‘chilling’ she would be doing for the rest of the evening would be with us in front of the telly.

  6

  Another Mystery Mess

  The next morning I was woken by Dad crashing into my room, his hair sticking up like an electrocuted porcupine and his expression fierce.

  ‘Get up at once, young lady!’ he commanded, charging over to the curtains and wrenching them open.

  ‘W-what time is it?’ I asked blurrily. I propped myself up on one elbow and blinked at the watery September sunlight which was shining directly on to my face. I felt like a mole coming blindly out of its tunnel, and frankly I wished I could burrow right back down again into the snuggly dark warmth of my duvet.

  ‘Six o’clock!’ Dad barked, storming over to the door. He stood there, hands on hips, glaring at me.

  ‘Six . . . ? But that’s the middle of the night!’ I whined, pulling my duvet up and preparing to wriggle back underneath it.

  Dad was too quick for me; he yanked hold of the edge and swiftly tugged it off me, saying, ‘My sentiments exactly, but sadly you have a kitten who does not seem to know the difference between night and day.’

  I closed my eyes and shook my head, hoping in vain that this was a nightmare that would soon go away. I loo
ked up. No good. Dad was still there.

  I swung my legs over the side of the bed and staggered across the room to find my slippers. ‘What’s she done now?’ I asked warily, running my fingers through my out-of-control curls.

  ‘Words fail me,’ Dad said sharply. ‘You had better come and see for yourself.’

  Something in Dad’s tone had the effect of flicking a switch on inside my brain. I careered down to the kitchen as fast as my sleep-heavy legs would carry me and saw . . . well, at first I wasn’t sure what I saw. The kitchen was in the kind of state you might expect to find if a bomb had exploded in the middle of it. Chairs were knocked on their sides, a couple of mugs lay broken on the floor, a trail of cat biscuits formed a path from the utility room, and J-cloths and tea towels lay scattered all over the place, cupboard doors were open . . . and Jaffa was sitting on top of one of the highest of those cupboards, shaking and mewing pitifully.

  ‘Jaffa,’ I said sadly, ‘how could you?’

  ‘But Jaffsie didn’t do it!’ she whinged. ‘Jaffsie’s a good girl—’

  ‘Jaffa, if you didn’t do this—’

  ‘Of course she did this!’ Dad had caught up with me and was standing behind me, surveying the scene of devastation with a look of utter distaste. ‘I’m sorry, Bertie, but you’re going to have to shut her in the utility room while you’re at school today. I will clear all the surfaces in there before I go out so she can’t knock anything over. I’ve got another meeting so I’ll have to ask Bex if she can come round again.’

  I started to protest. ‘Jaffa only started behaving like this when she was left on her own!’

  ‘Bertie,’ said Dad firmly, ‘I can’t let Jaffa have the run of the house if she’s going to behave like this while we’re out. I don’t care if it’s a “phase”. Either you accept my terms and conditions, or . . .’ He tailed off and fixed me with a rather menacing stare.

  He was threatening my little cat with eviction!

  ‘But, Dad,’ I started. I tried hard to sound reasonable despite the wobble in my voice.

  ‘But nothing, young lady,’ Dad snapped. ‘I am very fond of Jaffa, you know that, but I can’t have this.’ His voice had such a note of finality to it that I knew there was no point in arguing.

  ‘I’m going to get dressed,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll clear this up. It will be as if nothing ever happened,’ I promised frantically.

  I waited until Dad had gone upstairs. My first priority was to talk to my kitten, who was gazing at me with the most innocent-looking flashing blue eyes, a worried frown creasing her fluffy orange face. I couldn’t help thinking that she did not look to me like a cat who felt at all guilty. Terrified, more like.

  I carefully picked up one of the chairs and carried it over to the cupboard, then climbed on to it and reached to get Jaffa down.

  ‘Jaffsie not naughty!’ she mewled. ‘Nasty big—oh!’ She stopped herself.

  ‘What, Jaffa?’ She had been about to tell me something important, I was sure of it. I carefully placed one hand under her soft tummy and whispered encouragingly, ‘Nasty big what?’

  Jaffa seemed to shake her head. She let me pick her up, but her ears were flat and her needle-sharp claws clung to my flesh, making me wince slightly. ‘Me can’t say,’ she said finally. Her small voice was quaking.

  ‘Jaffsie,’ I said slowly, holding her away from me so that I could look her directly in the eye, ‘are you keeping a secret from me?’

  Jaffa dug her claws more deeply into my hand and blinked. ‘N-nooo,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Jaffsie?’ I said disbelievingly.

  ‘NO!’ she squeaked, suddenly wriggling hard. Then she did something she had never done before. She nipped me hard on the finger, her teeth bared in fury.

  ‘Yeeee-ouch!’ I yelled, staggering back and letting Jaffa leap free from my clutches. She hared out of the kitchen and bolted through to the sitting room.

  I sat down heavily on the kitchen chair I had just been standing on and rubbed my hand, tears springing to my eyes. What was happening to my little cat?

  I was still raking over the morning’s events when I ran to catch the bus to school. Why had Jaffa bitten me? Why wouldn’t she talk to me? Why was she being so – well – mean? It wasn’t my fault I had to go to school.

  I fought my way down the aisle, stepping over legs sticking out as if placed there on purpose to trip me up, and trying to avoid thwacking people with my bag. My head was way up in the clouds, so I didn’t notice who I’d plonked myself down next to until he prodded me on the shoulder and said:

  ‘Hey, not speaking to me?’

  I turned, frowning, and saw who it was. ‘Oh, hey, it’s you!’ I said. I immediately flushed pink at how stupid that must have sounded.

  Fergus grinned and flicked his floppy dark red fringe out of his eyes. ‘Too busy taking people out with your kamikaze rucksack to notice your mates?’ he teased.

  I smiled in relief. He didn’t think I was stupid.

  ‘So, how’d it go yesterday?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, well, she’s acting odd. I knew she wouldn’t adapt well to this whole school thing,’ I mumbled distractedly. I fiddled with my hair in an attempt to make it stay tied back in the gross yellow scrunchie, which had been the only one to hand as I was running out of the door. Corkscrew curls were doing their usual escapologist trick and sticking to my hot and sweaty face. ‘Not a good look,’ as Jazz would say.

  ‘She always acts odd, doesn’t she?’ Fergus said jokily. ‘I thought she was her usual hyper self when I saw her. Haven’t seen her this morning yet – have you? Maybe she got a lift in.’

  I was jolted out of my dreamy state, puzzled by what Fergus had just said. ‘Who’re you talking about?’

  Fergus laughed. ‘Who d’you think?’

  I stared at him blankly.

  He raised his eyebrows ‘Wow, are you dopey today! Something’s up, isn’t it?’

  I started again to tell him about Jaffa, but I thought better of it when I noticed a group of the Year 9 girls from the day before – Kezia and her friends – making their way towards us. They were looking at Fergus and me, then giggling to one another as they lurched and tripped their way down the aisle. I had a nasty feeling about those girls and I didn’t want them hearing me talking to Fergus about my kitten.

  ‘No, no,’ I said quickly. ‘Nothing’s bothering me, honest. So, what about you? How’re you feeling? About school, I mean.’ Lame topic of conversation, but I had to say something.

  Fergus shrugged and pulled a face. ‘School’s just school,’ he said. ‘I’ve moved around so much, I reckon it doesn’t really matter where I go, as long as I’ve got my music, that is. The teachers are all pains, there’s always a bunch of boys who only want to play football and punch each other, and there’s always a bunch of girls who only want to paint their nails and whisper and giggle.’

  He looked pointedly at the three miniskirted girls gossiping and shrieking their way past us.

  I let out a snort of laughter. Too right.

  ‘But there’s one thing I’ve never had before at any of the other schools I’ve been to,’ Fergus said, suddenly more serious. He stared at me for a bit longer than was comfortable.

  ‘Oh yeah – what’s that?’ I muttered, looking away. The straps on my rucksack had just become incredibly interesting.

  ‘I’ve never had a friend who’s a girl before,’ he said quietly. I looked up sharply in spite of myself. ‘It’s cool,’ he added.

  Get a grip, Bertie! I told myself. He’s only being nice to you cos he doesn’t have any other friends yet. I looked around quickly to see where Kezia and her mates were, but they were out of earshot, thank goodness.

  There was an awkward silence as I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  ‘So,’ Fergus said lightly. ‘How’s Jaffa?’

  ‘Well, that’s what I was trying to say earlier,’ I said, grateful for the change of subject. ‘She’s acting in a freaky way. I was going
to ask your advice, seeing as you probably know more about cats than I do.’

  ‘Oh, right! I thought you were talking about Jazz. No wonder you looked at me weirdly!’ he laughed.

  ‘Yeah, no wonder!’ I laughed too. I found myself looking around, wondering vaguely where Jazz was. Maybe I should see if she’d texted me.

  Fergus nudged me. ‘Go on then, tell me what’s up.’

  So I launched into a description of the chaos my kitten had caused, and was just getting to the part where Jaffa had got herself shut in the fridge when I was aware of someone leaning right over me.

  I looked up slowly to see Kezia, or rather her unfeasibly long legs, pressing against the side of my seat.

  ‘You see Rashid yesterday?’ she was saying to Fergus.

  I gawped at her. Could she not see me? Was I, like, totally invisible, or did she think I was too small to be bothered with? She was crushing me, forcing me back into my seat so that she could lean over and talk to Fergus.

  Fergus’s face flushed. He looked up from under his fringe and said, ‘Oh, hey, Kez. I – er, yeah, I spoke to him. He says it’s cool, I’m in. You were right – they did need a drummer. We’re going to meet again tonight. Thanks for putting a word in.’

  So I was invisible, and not just to the girl. Fergus and I had been having a conversation, but now he was acting like I wasn’t there. It was horrible. I couldn’t even escape, because ‘Kez’ was blocking my way with her monstrously long legs. I wriggled around a bit and had just about managed to get slightly more comfortable when something horrible happened.

  My rucksack began to move – of its own accord.

  7

  Stowaway

  At first I tried telling myself it was only the bus that was causing the movement, because it did make everything jolt when it stopped and started in the heavy rush-hour traffic. But there was no mistaking it, the bumping and jogging was actually going on right inside my bag. It felt as though there was something in there, trying to get out. Maybe it was my mobile – I might have set it to vibrate by mistake.

  The bag lurched again. That was no mobile! It would have to have been set to ‘mega-turbo-vibrate’ to move around that much.