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“I could make some on the computer,” Helena suggested. “We could print them out and put them up close to where we found him, too. His owners must be really worried about him.” She shivered, thinking about how lovely it would be to have a cat of her very own, and how frightened she’d feel if he simply disappeared.

“Posters would be good.” Molly nodded. “OK. Plaster cast number two…”

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“Please don’t try and pull this one off,” Helena murmured to the cat. He was back in his cage with the new cast on, and she’d brought him some food and water. “And don’t put your foot in the water bowl, either. When I broke my arm, I wasn’t allowed to get it wet at all.”

She crouched down on the floor in front of the cage. There were six of them, in two rows on top of each other, and the caramel cat was in one of the bottom ones.“You look really miserable,” Helena told him. “Aren’t you going to have any breakfast?” She was whispering, and trying not to stare the cat in the eyes. She knew he wouldn’t like it.

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Even though Helena didn’t have a cat, Gran had given her a book all about them last Christmas. It was because Helena had told Gran her secret Christmas wish, when Gran had asked what present she might like. What Helena really wanted for Christmas was a cat, but it was a secret because Helena knew that Mum would never let her have one. She’d asked before, lots of times, and Mum had always said no. Helena could sort of see why – her mum was a teacher at the school Helena went to, so they were both out all day. A kitten would be lonely and bored and miserable, and Mum thought it wasn’t fair. Helena couldn’t help thinking that she could make the rest of the time so special that the kitten wouldn’t mind. But she knew Mum wouldn’t agree.

Gran had given Helena a tiny china cat and the book, which had loads of beautiful photos and told you all the things you needed to know to be a cat owner. She’d written in the front that Helena might not need it right now, but she would have a cat of her own one day. And meanwhile, please could she come and practise on Gran’s cats, Snow and Smudge, as they were getting fat and needed Helena to play with them!

On Saturday Helena had gone home and read everything she could find about cat injuries. After she’d read everything there was in the book from Gran, she’d gone online to look up more information. Now she was worried that the cat was traumatized by the accident. She’d had to get her mum to explain what traumatized meant. It was that the memory of the accident and the time at the vet’s might make the cat really upset, and perhaps not very friendly.

That made a lot of sense to Helena. She’d broken her arm falling off the climbing frame at school and even though that had been a year ago, she’d never gone back on the climbing frame.

Hopefully, if she made the little caramel cat’s stay at the vet’s as nice as possible, he’d think about that, rather than the car, and the cage, and his leg hurting. It had to be worth a try, Helena thought.

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The cat sniffed at the food and even though cats didn’t really shrug or sigh, Helena was almost sure he did.I just can’t be bothered, he was thinking– she could tell. He didn’t even eat a mouthful.

Slowly, Helena reached into the cage and tickled him under the chin with one finger. He was such a handsome cat, even with the ugly plaster on his leg– a soft peachy colour all over, with darker caramel stripes, and no white on him at all, apart from his drooping whiskers. His nose was apricot-pink and his eyes were huge and golden. He was going to be big, Helena thought, when he was fully grown. His paws were enormous, as though he needed to grow into them.

The cat curled himself into her hand a little, enjoying the soft touch of the girl’s fingers. He didn’t understand why he was here, shut up in this cage. The white thing was back on his leg again and now it smelled even worse, if that was possible. And it had tasted disgusting when he’d tried chewing at it. This whole place smelled wrong. Too clean. He hated it. He wanted to go back to his house and his garden, and his little patch of street. But he didn’t know where home was – he hadn’t known for a while. He’d gone exploring and then, somehow, he hadn’t known how to get back home. He didn’t understand it – he had thought he would always know. But it had been a long time now, and he’d been hungry and tired and frightened when he tried to cross that road. Now he was further away from his home than ever.

He almost felt like whipping his head round and nipping at the girl’s fingers with his teeth. But not quite. That patch under his chin was his favourite place to be stroked, and she wasn’t stopping. She’d reached all the itchy bits now, and he wheezed out the faintest breath of a purr.

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