Kitten Smitten (2 page)

I tried again, ‘So, Kaboodle said you were related. Said you were called Purr-something? But he was right – I think I’m going to have to change that, I’m afraid. I
can’t even remember it properly. Do you mind if I choose you a new name?’ I remembered how grumpy Kaboodle had been about humans just ‘assuming that they could do what they wanted
with us felines without asking’.

But the kitten gave only that unnerving wide-eyed innocent stare as an answer.

I was feeling a bit stupid now. ‘I – er – I guess I was thinking that if you and Kaboodle are related, you can probably talk too. I know cats don’t talk unless
they’ve got something really important to say, and I know we humans are not that great at being observant, cos Kaboodle was always telling me that …’ I tailed off. I was babbling
now and starting to feel embarrassed as well as stupid. I glanced at the kitten in desperation.

Stare, stare, stare.

‘Oh well, I s’pose it’s a bit freaky, being taken away from your mum and dumped on a stranger’s doorstep. Maybe you’d like something to eat?’ A surge of panic
hit me as I realized I had no idea what tiny kittens ate. Kaboodle had not exactly given me a list of instructions like the ones Pinkella had when I’d been left in charge of him.

The marmalade bundle gave that worried frown again, then opening her tiny mouth she showed a full set of needle-like teeth and made as if to mew. But no sound came out. It was unbearably sad to
look at, as if she were frantically trying to tell me something but just couldn’t. It was all there in her eyes: anxiety, and a lost look that tugged at me dreadfully.

I stroked her gently and made soothing noises. ‘There, there, little one. Don’t worry. You’ll be safe with me. I’ll get you something nice to eat.’

The front door banged; the kitten and I jumped. She sank her claws into me and clung on while I winced and tried hard not to yelp so I didn’t frighten her even more.

Dad burst out laughing when he saw us. ‘Ha! Making her mark already, is she?’

I scowled. ‘Very funny, Dad. I think she thinks I’m a pincushion.’

‘She’s cute though, isn’t she?’ His face crumpled and his eyes went shiny.

My jaw dropped and it had nothing to do with the fact that the kitten was giving me acupuncture. Something weird had happened to Dad. His face had that gooey expression on it that normal people
reserve for babies and small furry creatures. No surprise there then, seeing as I was holding a small, furry baby animal. Except that this was DAD, for goodness sake – the same Dad who had
always made it quite clear that the day a cat moved in to live with us would be the day he moved out.

‘Er – are you feeling OK?’ I asked him, finally succeeding in prising the kitten’s claws from my skin and settling down in a chair so that I could hold her more
comfortably. She immediately leaped from my lap and bounced over to Dad.

He scooped her up in his big square hands and cooed, ‘I’m feeling just fine. And how are
you
feeling, little kitty?’

My eyeballs rolled so far back I could almost see the inside of my brain. Great. Dad had gone loony and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, I had finally been given a cat of my own only to
discover that she preferred my dad to me.

Dad glanced up. ‘So, like I said – what are you going to call her? I guess it has to be something to do with her colour. She’s really gingery, isn’t she? Not many other
colours in her fur … You know, I think it’s quite unusual to get a ginger female. They’re normally tomcats. Hey! What about “Ginger Snap”?’

I bristled. Dad was
not
going to name her! ‘No way! That’s too, er, snappy.’ I frowned. ‘She’s too soft for a name like that.’

‘You’re right. And anyway, she’s more marmalade than ginger, like
Orlando the Marmalade Cat
,’ Dad said wistfully. ‘I used to love that story.’

‘I am
not
calling her Orlando.’ My voice rose with irritation. ‘Imagine shouting that down the road! Jazz would never let me get away with it.’

‘All right. So … something orangey,’ Dad mused. ‘What about Tango?’

‘Listen,’ I said sternly. ‘She’s
my
kitten – I get to choose the name. Kaboodle said— I mean,’ I interrupted myself hastily. ‘I – I
was thinking of Jaffa Cakes and Jaffa oranges – so maybe just … Jaffa?’

‘Jaffa,’ Dad repeated, trying it for size. ‘Yes! I like it.’ He laughed and stroked the little kitten’s head as she re-emerged from her self-made hidey hole in his
elbow. ‘I think she likes that too – she’s smiling!’

I jumped up and ran over. Her mouth was turned up a bit at the edges. Was she really smiling?

‘So, little one, you like the name? Little Jaffa,’ I whispered, putting my face close to hers. But however eager I was to hear something, it did not look as though this little kitten
was going to talk to me. She wasn’t even purring. She was completely silent.

Dad and I spent the next couple of hours playing with Jaffa, cuddling her and watching her sleep. And she sure liked to sleep. One minute she’d be charging around the
living room floor, chasing a bit of string, the next she’d be collapsed in a heap, fast asleep on the spot.

‘This beats working any day!’ Dad chuckled, as he let Jaffa run up and down his arms. She seemed to have decided that Dad was a giant playground and that his shoulders were the
safest place to sit.

I know it sounds weird, but even without being able to talk to her, I could tell she had a completely different personality from Kaboodle. He had been pretty self-contained: the sort of cat who
was very sure of himself and absolutely certain that everyone other than him was not worth bothering with. He didn’t really need me at all. In fact, it was more like the other way round.

Jaffa, on the other hand, seemed to love cuddles and attention and couldn’t get enough of us – especially Dad. He seemed so besotted, I thought I had better take charge of
practicalities, so I brought up the question of Jaffa’s food. ‘I’ll have to go and buy some,’ I told him. ‘But I’ve no idea what to get.’

Dad fished in his pocket, took out a tenner and looked at it. ‘Wonder how much cat food you get for ten pounds?’ He sighed and a flutter of nerves caught in my throat. What if
reality was about to sink in? What if Dad was going to say a cat was too expensive to keep or something and tell me to take Jaffa to the Cats’ Home?

I needn’t have worried. ‘Tell you what, I’m not going to get anything done now workwise, so why don’t we pop into town to the pet shop and pick up some kitten
stuff?’

Yay! My heart surged and my eyes sparkled. A huge grin split my face in two. It looked as though I was a fully fledged pet owner at last.

I
t wasn’t until w e were driving out of our road that I realized I didn’t know if it was OK to leave a small kitten on its own.

‘Dad, I think you should take me back and I’ll stay with Jaffa while you go and get the food and stuff,’ I said.

‘Come on, what could possibly happen to her?’ Dad said. ‘We haven’t even got a cat flap yet, so she can’t exactly go anywhere. And she’s far too small to
cause any mischief

‘S’pose so,’ I said reluctantly, but somewhere deep in my head a little voice was niggling. After all, Dad and I knew absolutely zilch about kittens. Jaffa was much smaller
than Kaboodle had been when I first met him. Pinkella had told Dad that it looked as though Jaffa’s mum had only just weaned her, she was so tiny. And I knew that was true because of what
Kaboodle had told me before he left. ‘She’s too young to go outside on her own,’ he had warned me. ‘You will have to keep her in for a few more days – a couple of
weeks if you can. She needs to get used to her new home.’

‘Don’t look so worried,’ Dad said, glancing across at me while we stopped at some traffic lights. ‘I’ll find out about a local vet and we’ll get her booked in
as soon as possible. They’ll be bound to have some helpful hints about how to look after such a tiny cat.’

I smiled weakly. Dad was right. And there was always the internet – I’d googled stuff about cats before when I was looking after Kaboodle. Still, I wished I had stayed behind with
the kitten. I could have got Jazz to come round to help.

Jazz! My hand flew to my mouth. She would be mad when she discovered I’d been the owner of a brand new kitten for
four whole hours
without calling her. Jazz and I told each other
everything. Well, she was my best mate.

I could text her, I decided … but then I remembered I’d left my phone on charge in my bedroom.

Dad was concentrating on the road and hadn’t noticed my panicky behaviour. He was still talking about finding a vet. ‘Fenella didn’t mention whether the little thing has had
any jabs or been wormed or anything,’ he was saying.

‘Jabs?’ I said anxiously. I was not sure I liked the sound of that. Jabs meant needles. Jaffa was too small to have needles stuck in her! And ‘worming’, whatever that
was, sounded one hundred per cent totally gross.

Dad shot me a kind smile. ‘Don’t worry. All animals have jabs.’

That did
not
make me feel any better.

‘Listen, have you got a pen and paper? Why don’t you make a list of things we need to get,’ Dad said, thankfully changing the subject.

I rummaged in my bag and in amongst the screwed-up sweet papers, iPod headphones and other random stuff that I never got round to sorting out, I found a stub of pencil and a scrap of paper.

‘Erm, “Things to Ask Pet Shop Person”,’ I muttered. Then I scribbled down some questions:

I was soon so absorbed in thinking up things to buy or ask about that I forgot to worry about the vet.

We parked right outside the pet shop, Paws for Thought – cheesy name, I know, but what a place! I’d often wished I had an excuse to go in there, as I could see
through the window that it was full of wonderful things to buy for the pet I’d never had. (Till now, that is!) Whenever the shop was open the owner put a cute wooden kennel outside, sometimes
with a toy puppy in it. The kennel was painted green with pink pawprints all over it and it had this funny little sign beside it which said:

It was a bit like the parking signs the town council puts up everywhere to stop people from leaving their cars parked by the side of the road for too long.