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“That’s a really stupid name for a cat,” Grace told him, her voice calm and sweet. Her school uniform looked pristine. Alfie wondered if he could manage to sneak back inside and hide his shirt somewhere.

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Mum was going to make a huge fuss about the state of his clothes.

“It isn’t, and it’s none of your business what he’s called. You shouldn’t be calling him anything,” he snapped at her, backing out of the gap behind the shed.

He raced up the garden, Penguin dangling in his arms, and slammed the kitchen door behind him. Then he locked the cat flap. Penguin was his cat. That girl wasn’t going anywhere near him. Wasn’t it enough that she’d already had his tree?

“Alfie, bedtime!”

Alfie backed out of the understairs cupboard, scowling.“I can’t go to bed, Mum, I haven’t found Penguin. I haven’t seen him since after tea.”

Alfie had a horrible suspicion he knew where Penguin was. It had been two days since he’d caught Grace feeding him cat treats, and since then he’d been watching Penguin every moment he could. But cats aren’t easy to guard, and Penguin had slipped out when Mum insisted on Alfie having a bath.

“He’s probably out in the garden. Go and call him.”

Alfie sighed. Mum wasn’t paying attention – she was trying to get Jess to go down, and Jess wasn’t, which meant Mum had at most half an ear on anything Alfie was trying to say.

“Mum! I have called him! I’ve called and called. I’ve looked everywhere. What do you think I was doing in the cupboard?”

Mum shrugged, smiling.“Last time you went in that cupboard you told me you were a prehistoric caveman and it was your cave. Penguin was a sabre-toothed tiger. How was I supposed to know, Alfie?”

Alfie huffed. That had been weeks ago.“I’ve called him, and I’ve shaken the box of cat treats for ages in the garden. He always comes when I do that. I’m really worried about him, Mum.”

There was another wail from upstairs, and Mum flinched.“Alfie, cats like to wander. Especially at night. Penguin will be back soon, I’m sure. Go and brush your teeth, sweetheart.”

She already had her foot on the first step of the stairs, and Alfie knew she was too worried about Jess to listen properly. He slipped back into the kitchen, peering out of the window into the darkening garden and hoping to hear the clatter of the cat flap as Penguin squeezed himself back inside.

Alfie was pretty sure that Grace had Penguin with her next door now. She worked fast.

He trailed up the stairs, past the still-wailing Jess, and crawled under his duvet.

He wondered if Penguin was asleep on Grace’s bed.

The next morning, Alfie woke up, and realized happily that it was Saturday. Although there was something not good happening. He couldn’t yet remember what. It was the feeling he usually got about spelling tests, but since it was the weekend, that obviously wasn’t it.

He reached out to stroke Penguin, stretched down the side of the bed like he always was– Dad always said that Penguin was trying to beat the record for the world’s longest cat.

Penguin wasn’t there.

Alfie swallowed, his mouth suddenly feeling sour. Of course. For just a minute he’d forgotten that Penguin had never come home.

What if it wasn’t Grace? What if Penguin had been run over? It had happened to a cat who lived down the road. Penguin didn’t usually go out at the front of the house – but then he didn’t usually stay away overnight, either. Alfie shook his head briskly. It was easier to be angry and believe it was Grace.

It was eight o’clock. Too early to go next door and demand his cat back. Alfie decided to do it anyway.

Mum and Dad were still asleep, or at any rate he couldn’t hear any noise from their room. Alfie padded swiftly downstairs, unlocked the front door and marched the few steps along the pavement to Mrs Barratt’s house. There were net curtains across the living-room window, but Alfie was pretty sure he saw someone dart across the room as he came up to the front door. It opened before he could ring the bell, and Grace was standing there in pink shorts and a T-shirt – or that’s what it looked like. She’d opened the door the tiniest crack, only wide enough for him to see one eye.

“Go away!”

“Where’s Penguin?” Alfie pushed the door angrily. If she wasn’t hiding anything, why wouldn’t she open the door properly?

“You’re going to disturb my gran!” Grace tried to push the door closed again, but Alfie barged it with his shoulder.

“You’ve got him – you stole him!” he said. “Give him back!”

“Ssshh! Shut up!” The door opened properly at last, and a skinny hand grabbed his sleeve and hauled him inside. Alfie was so shocked he half fell over, and Penguin jumped on him, purring happily.

Grace yanked him upright and hurried him into the little front room he’d seen her in through the nets. Penguin trotted after them, waving his tail.

“You’re not to shout, don’t you get it? My gran’s not very well; we’re not supposed to wake her up. And my mum’s still asleep too.”