The Secret Kitten

“Lucy,” William whispered. “Do you think – do you think she could be our cat? Can we keep her?” He looked around the garden. “We could make her a nest in the greenhouse. Wow, she’s actually finished all of that sandwich. Do you think she wants another one? Gran asked if I wanted a sandwich but I said no. I could go and say that I’ve changed my mind…”

Lucy looked worried. “I don’t like telling Gran lies – but we can’t tell her the truth, can we? Dad said she wouldn’t want a pet in the house. And this kitten really needs food. She’s so skinny.”

“The greenhouse isn’t the same as being in the house,” William pointed out. “I bet she wouldn’t mind. So it doesn’t matter if we don’t tell her.”

Lucy couldn’t help thinking that it did matter, and that they were just twisting things around to be the way they wanted – but she wouldn’t be able to bear it if Gran made them take the kitten back to the alleyway. The greenhouse would be like a palace to a kitten who was used to living in a box. And Gran didn’t usually go down to the end of the garden. It would be all right.

And if she really had a kitten, she wouldn’t be lying to Sara any more.

“Yes.” She nodded. “Go and ask Gran if you can have a sandwich. With lots of chicken.”

“Oh dear, what’s the matter with that poor little girl?” Gran speeded up as they made their way home from school. She hurried down the pavement towards a toddler, standing outside the baker’s shop next to a little scooter and howling. “I hope she’s not lost.”

“She isn’t, Gran, look, I can see her mum coming.” Lucy pointed to a lady running towards the little girl.

“Good.” Gran bent over the little girl. “What happened, sweetheart? Did you fall off your scooter?”

The little girl stared back at her and shook her head. She stopped crying.

Gran smiled at the little girl’s mother, who had reached them at last and was now crouched next to her daughter, hugging her and all out of breath. “I’m sorry, we didn’t see what happened, but she says she didn’t fall.”

“Mummy! The cat!” And the little girl began to howl again.

“Oh, Macey! Did you try and stroke a cat? Did he scratch you?”

The little girl nodded and wailed louder, holding up her arm towards her mum.

Lucy sucked in her breath through her teeth – Macey had a long scratch down the inside of her arm. It wasn’t bleeding very much, but it obviously hurt.

“Some cats are just grumpy, Macey. You know I said not to chase after them.” Her mum sighed. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll go home and put one of your teddy-bear plasters on it.”

Lucy bit her lip. It probably wasn’t the right time to say that the cat must have been scared if the little girl had tried to grab it.

“It was probably that stray tabby that lives down the end of the alleyway,” Gran said. “Stray cats can be very wild and fierce.”

Lucy and William exchanged glances, thinking of the little black-and-white kitten, curled up in the greenhouse back at home. They’d made her a cosy nest out of one of the cardboard boxes they’d had for packing up their things, tipped on its side and lined with an old sweatshirt of Lucy’s. Then they’d laid the kitten a trail of chicken sandwich pieces to show her where the greenhouse was.

Lucy and William had done their best to make it into the nicest den a kitten could have. They’d even made her a litter tray, out of an old seed tray they’d found on one of the greenhouse shelves – it had been full of dusty earth. Lucy had a feeling the kitten might not know what it was for, as she was a stray and used to weeing anywhere, but if she was going to be an indoor cat one day, it was important to try. William had brought her a plant saucer full of water from the outside tap, as well.

That morning, before they went to school, Lucy had nipped out with some Weetabix and milk. It wasn’t the best thing for a kitten, she knew, but they didn’t have any proper cat food. Anyway, the kitten hadn’t seemed to mind. She had buried her face in it eagerly and when Lucy finally had to go, the kitten had been blissfully licking milky gunge off her whiskers.

She hadn’t looked very wild and fierce at all. She was still shy, of course. But when Lucy had arrived with the bowl, she hadn’t run away, or hidden herself behind the wobbly towers of flowerpots. Instead, she’d just pricked her ears, wary, but hopeful.

Lucy and William lagged behind Gran for the rest of the way home. “Did you hear what Gran said about stray cats being fierce?” William asked anxiously.

Lucy nodded. “I know. I was really wishing we could tell her about Catkin.”

“Catkin?” William blinked in surprise. “You named her?” He frowned a little. Lucy could tell he was hurt that she’d given the kitten a name without talking to him.

“Gran used to have a black-and-white cat called Catkin,” Lucy explained. “She was telling me about her. It’s a really sweet name and I thought that maybe if we called the kitten Catkin, too, it would remind her of it. But now Gran’s thinking about nasty fierce cats instead. It’s the worst timing ever.”