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George slid back through the kitchen, glad that his mum was still occupied sorting out Toby, his little brother. Everyone said that Toby was going through a stage, or that it was the terrible twos, but it basically meant that he was either really, really happy or furious and never anything in between. Right now it meant that Mum wasn’t going to notice him sneaking his leftover packed lunch outside to the kitten.

George checked– yes, there was quite a bit of his lunch left. He didn’t think the kitten would be keen on grapes, but she would definitely be up for cocktail sausages, he decided. Pirate was always trying to nick them when Mum was making his packed lunch.

He hurried back down the garden, hoping that the kitten would still be there.Perhaps I should really be hoping that she’s gone home, George thought to himself, feeling a bit guilty. The little kitten was probably still not used to being out much.

Then he saw her peeping at him from behind the tent again and forgot to worry about her owner.

As soon as Cleo saw the boy, she darted out from her hiding place at once and came up quite close. Maybe he had more food. She still felt so hungry, even after both those sandwiches. She was used to two good meals and the odd snack of cat treats from Amber. She stopped a short distance away and sniffed at the lunchbox as George put it down on the grass.

George held out a sausage on the palm of his hand and looked hopefully at the kitten. Then he laughed as the little cat dived at him and started nibbling the sausage straight out of his hand. Her mouth was so soft, and her damp nose nuzzled at George’s fingers.

“You’re really nice,” he whispered, using his not-sausagey hand to stroke the kitten’s soft back.

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The kitten finished off the sausage and looked hopefully into the lunchbox for more. She snagged the last sausage out of the little pot, and it disappeared in seconds.

“Don’t make yourself sick,” George told her. “Sorry, that’s the last one. There’s still a bit of cheese, though.” He took it out and pulled off the cling film. “There you go.” He watched, smiling, as the kitten ate the cheese, too, and then sat down quite heavily and began to washher ears and face. Her stomach looked a lot rounder than it had ten minutes ago.

“I wish I knew where you’d come from, Patch,” George murmured. “I probably shouldn’t have given you all that food, if you’re just going to go home for your tea. But you looked starving, the way you wolfed down that sandwich.”

The kitten licked her bright pink tongue over her nose and then looked at the boy with gleaming golden eyes. She got up and padded a little closer.

George gazed down in surprise– he’d thought maybe the kitten would hurry away once the food had all gone. But instead she clambered on to George’s lap and slumped down, clearly exhausted by so much eating. She yawned, and then she seemed to melt into the space on George’s lap, completely saggy, like a beanbag toy. She was asleep.

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Cleo padded up to the shed and wriggled through a small gap in the boards. She gazed around, hoping to find something else to eat. The boy, George, had left her some food there in the morning– toast crusts and the end of a boiled egg. It wasn’t like anything Cleo had eaten before, but she’d quite enjoyed it. She was feeling hungry again now, though.

George had shown her this place the evening before. He’d opened the door and gone in to shake the dust and spiders’ webs off some cushions from the garden chairs. He had arranged them into a comfy pile for a bed and filled an old plant saucer from the outside tap with water. He’d even brought Cleo a fish finger. It was a bit fluffy from being inhis pocket, but she hadn’t cared. Then he’d shown Cleo that there was a hole in the shed wall, just big enough for a kitten to squeeze in and out of.

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Cleo had spent the night curled up on the cushions, but she kept startling awake. It wasn’t like being in a house. There were strange noises, and they seemed so close with just the thin wooden walls of the shed to protect her. Squeaks and chirrups and rustlings in the trees and the flowerbeds, and once, horribly close, a great deep sniff. Cleo had frozen, watching the little hole in the shed wall. After the sniff there had been a pause, a terrifying silence while she’d wondered if the creature was going to claw its way in. But it had gone away, obviously deciding that Cleo wasn’t worth the effort. It had left behind a sharp, unmistakeable whiff of something wild, and hungry.

She had spent the day exploring the garden– every so often coming up against that smell again. She could still catch a trace of it now…