Kitten Wars (14 page)

‘Everyone loves little old me!’ Jaffa mewed, rubbing her head against Fergus’s arms and purring extra loudly.

Tears were threatening to spill down my grubby front and an angry sob was making its way up my throat.

‘Hold on a minute,’ Fiona said sharply, going up to Jaffa and running her hand over the kitten’s neck. ‘What’s happened to that collar I bought her?
Fergus?’

Fergus simply shrugged and avoided my stupefied, tear-filled gaze.

It didn’t make sense. It was like one of those dreams where you find yourself sitting in class in your pyjamas and everyone else is in uniform. And speaking Chinese. I’d really
believed it was Jazz who was the catnapper.

I wanted to grab my naughty kitten and run to Jazz’s right away to tell her how sorry I was to have shouted at her and what a fraud this new family was. Once I told her the whole story,
she’d soon see what a horrible conniving lot they were, and then she and I would make up and it would be Team Bertie ’n’ Jazz again . . .

‘Well, I’m very cross,’ Fiona was squawking. ‘That collar cost a fortune!’

‘Mum,’ Fergus croaked, ‘she’s not ours. We can’t keep her.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Fiona snapped.

‘Yeah! What the Fergus mewing about?’ Jaffa hissed.

‘Listen to Bertie,’ Fergus persisted, his expression darkening. ‘She’s just told you how her kitten’s been missing – and she told me that Jaffa had come back
with a collar on. Face it, Mum, we’ve made a mistake. Muffin is not a stray. She’s already got a home – with Bertie.’

‘Fergie!’ Fiona said, putting her head on one side and introducing a wheedling tone to her voice. ‘I thought you loved this little kitty-cat?’

Fergus scowled dangerously, his deep blue eyes glinting. ‘It doesn’t matter. She’s Bertie’s. I’m going to give her back, Mum.’

Thank goodness. I took a step towards Fergus, stretching out a hand to take my kitten back.

Jaffa looked up quizzically, then opened her marble-blue eyes wide and let out an alarmed yowl of surprise.

‘Me not going!’ she squeaked.

‘Jaffa!’ I sobbed.

Fiona snorted. ‘She doesn’t seem to recognize you,’ she muttered. Then, taking care to smooth her voice out again, she said silkily, ‘Of course we can’t keep her,
Fergus,
if
she belongs to this young lady.’

I did not miss the weight Fiona gave to the word ‘if ’.

I bristled. ‘I can prove she’s mine—’

‘No, no, of course she is. I can see how upset you are. I’m just so sorry that we’ve caused you alarm,’ said Fiona, not sounding sorry at all, in my opinion. ‘We
wouldn’t have fed her if we’d known she belonged to anyone. But, as I said, she looked so
hungry
.’ The silky smoothness had developed a raw edge.

What was this woman trying to tell me – that I wasn’t responsible enough to look after Jaffa? I could feel my eyes narrowing and my head throbbing with all the things I was desperate
to say to this crisply perfect tight-lipped witch of a woman who had
stolen my cat
!

Fiona let out a long sigh and said, ‘Give the cat back, Fergie,’ as if she were now trying to make out it was all his fault.

He handed Jaffa to me clumsily, mouthing ‘sorry’ at me and trying to hold my gaze. But by now I was entirely focused on getting Jaffa home. She was not happy with me, and I received
a good couple of scratches and a hiss as I struggled to make her comfortable in the crook of one arm. There was a strong whiff of lemons on her fur, which by now I’d realized must be
Fiona’s perfume. It was the same scent Jazz had been wearing, I remembered with a twinge of sorrow. The smell made me gag. How was I going to get rid of it?

As I turned to close the front door behind me, Fiona put a hand on my shoulder. Letting her head drop to one side and fixing her eyes on Jaffa, she said in a voice dripping with care and
concern, ‘We will miss the dear little thing. She’d become quite a feature in our new home. We really are rather smitten with her. You know . . .’ She paused. ‘I’m not
sure I’ll be able to resist feeding her again if she comes round looking so
ravenously
hungry.’

I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood in my mouth, and forcing a sour smile said, ‘I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.’

I hurried across the road without looking back, clutching Jaffa to me so tightly she began to scramble to try and free herself.

‘No chance,’ I said, keeping my voice low so that the Meerleys wouldn’t be able to hear me. ‘You are coming home. With me.’

I
’ve no idea how I managed to escape from the Meerleys’ without committing the sort of crime that would have had me thrown behind bars
for the rest of my life. All I know is that I did get back over the road to my house without dropping the snarling, spitting bundle that was Jaffa.

I wrestled with trying to open the door and holding on to Jaffa and quickly realized it would be easier to ring the bell, even though I knew it would probably annoy Dad. I braced myself for a
why-don’t-you-take-your-own-keys-instead-of-disturbing-me rant, but instead, Dad looked flustered and hassled when he answered.

‘Oh!’ he cried, his eyes on stalks as he noticed Jaffa. ‘Thank goodness you’ve got her!’ He enveloped us in a huge bear hug, with Jaffa between us like a fluffy,
squeaking sandwich filling. ‘I thought she’d gone again,’ he babbled, releasing us from his grip.

‘Me
had
gone,’ Jaffa mewed. ‘And me is going again after that icky-squishy squash-hug.’

‘No you don’t,’ I said in a low voice.

‘What’s that?’ Dad asked, peering at me oddly.

‘I said, “Yes, she had” – gone again, that is,’ I said, thinking on my feet.

Dad frowned. ‘You didn’t take her out with you? I wish you’d told me. I’ve been worried sick.’

‘No, no. Listen, Dad, you won’t believe what that horrible woman over the road has been up to—’

‘Prawn lady not horrible!’ Jaffa protested.

‘She IS!’ I hissed into her ear.

‘Bertie.’ Dad cut in on what was threatening to turn into a full-scale three-way argument of worryingly complicated proportions. I looked up from my kitten to see him staring over my
shoulder at something. ‘I think you’ll have to save that story for later.’

I whirled round and came face to face with Fergus.

‘It’s the Fergus!’ Jaffa mewed excitedly and wriggled harder than ever.

I pushed Dad aside and marched purposefully into the house. How dare he follow me home after what his mum had just done!

I heard Dad say, ‘Hello!’ and Fergus mutter, ‘Hi.’ Then Dad called after me, ‘Hey, Bertie. Come back, please. You’ve got a visitor.’ He made it quite
clear from his tone of voice how rude I was being. I turned back slowly, still keeping a firm grip on Jaffa.

‘What do you want?’ I spluttered at Fergus.

‘Bertie . . .’ Dad said slowly, frowning over the top of his glasses to admonish me, just like he’s done ever since I was a baby. But it wasn’t going to work this
time.

‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing, coming here—’ I shouted.

‘I came to say sorry!’ Fergus shouted back.

I jumped.

‘Ow! Bertie hurted Jaffsie!’ Jaffa protested, as I squashed her into my chest.

‘Well, stay still then,’ I muttered as quietly as I could.

‘Bertie, I think you need to calm down,’ Dad said.

‘Yeah, you should be nice to the Fergus. He coooool,’ Jaffa purred.

‘Shut up!’ It slipped out . . .

‘BERTIE!’

‘It’s all right,’ Fergus said, reddening as he held up one hand to stop us. ‘Listen, I feel really bad about this, Bertie.’

‘No, you don’t!’ I snapped. ‘You
knew
how upset I was about Jaffa – I told you all about it the first time we met. Now I suppose you’re going to tell
me that she came round and absolutely
begged
to be let into your place and that you couldn’t help feeding her because she looked so hungry and saaaaad—’ I pulled a face and
put on a sing-song voice, mimicking his mum.

‘Oh, Bertie!’ Dad admonished. He looked angry and ashamed. Ashamed of me, I realized with a sting. ‘That’s no way to talk. I’ve no idea what’s been going on
between you two . . . Goodness knows I’ve no idea what goes on most of the time these days, Bertie. First you and Jazz and now this—’

‘Dad. Do you think you could leave us alone for a moment? Please?’ I added, struggling to keep my Tone of Voice under control. Dad screwed his mouth tight shut and looked for a
moment as though he was tussling with the idea of shouting me down and locking me up for a month. But by some miracle, he decided to back off.

‘OK,’ he said calmly. ‘But I’ll be upstairs if you need me.’

Yeah, and listening in, no doubt, I thought grimly.

‘Come into the kitchen,’ I grunted to Fergus. Our house was the mirror image of Pinkella’s so he knew where to go, but I led the way anyway.

‘Is Jaffsie getting a yummy treat?’ my kitten purred. She looked up at me with her melty eyes.

‘Didn’t you already get something to eat?’ I snapped.

‘What?’ Fergus said, puzzled.

‘Oh, nothing,’ I said, too irritable to be embarrassed. I plonked myself down on a chair and Jaffa actually settled on my lap, I was relieved to see. ‘So?’ I said,
staring at Fergus challengingly.

Fergus looked appalled. ‘Hey, I’m really sorry you’re so upset about this. But it’s not me you should be mad at – it’s Mum. She’s nuts about
cats.’ He shrugged. ‘We all are: me, Mum
and
Dad really. We used to have one – but that’s another story. I don’t think you’d be interested. And I know
it’s no excuse, but you have to admit your kitten is pretty adorable.’

‘I
know
she is!’ I spluttered.

‘You is sooooo right,’ Jaffa added, stretching out her front paws.

I ignored her. The cute act was not working. I was livid. ‘So. What I don’t get is, why did you let me go on and on about how I thought it was
Jazz
who was enticing Jaffa away
when all the time it was your mum? You’ve made me look stupid.’

‘I don’t think you look stupid,’ Fergus said quietly.

I closed my eyes. He was not going to stop me being angry with him, no matter what he said. ‘And you knew I’d fallen out with Jazz too. Everything’s gone wrong!’ I almost
howled that last bit.

‘I’m sorry . . .’ Fergus muttered.

I opened my eyes and narrowed them at Fergus in a scowl. ‘
Why didn’t you tell me?
’ I insisted.

He sighed deeply and looked around the room, as if he was searching for inspiration. ‘I honestly don’t know. To start with I genuinely didn’t put two and two together –
when we first met, I mean. I just thought it was a bit of a coincidence. Then when I did realize Muffin – I, I mean Jaffa – was your cat, it was kind of too late to admit it.’

‘What do you mean, too late?’ I snapped.

‘Why Bertie so cross with the Fergus?’ Jaffa whined.

‘Because he’s an idiot,’ I hissed under my breath.

‘Listen, I should go,’ Fergus said, pushing back his chair.

‘No, you haven’t explained properly,’ I said grumpily.

Fergus’s eyes were wide and panicky. He looked a bit like a rabbit caught in the headlights of oncoming traffic. ‘I just meant . . . I just meant that I really like you and I
didn’t want you to hate me.’ It came out in such a rush I wasn’t sure I’d heard him correctly.

‘Me like you too,’ Jaffa said softly. ‘Me like Bertie
and
the Fergus.’

My head was spinning. I’d lurched from upset to fury to embarrassment in under a minute. I put out a hand to hold on to the edge of the table.

Fergus hurried on: ‘Once I’d worked it out, I told Mum you’d be angry. I crept over to yours and brought Jaffa back, but she kept following me home. And when I told Mum I
thought it was getting ridiculous, she just said she couldn’t help it if your cat liked coming over to our place.’

‘Everybody love Jaffsie!’ Jaffa crooned.

‘Yeah, a bit too much,’ I muttered. Then to Fergus: ‘Why doesn’t your mum get her own cat, then?’

Fergus nodded, lowering his eyes. ‘I know. I told her that. She said she and Dad had discussed it but it wouldn’t work cos they both have to move around with their jobs so much.
Bertie, I’ve tried everything to get my parents to let me have a pet – you have no idea.’ Actually, I do, I thought grimly. ‘I gave up on the cat idea long ago, but Mum
won’t even let me have a rabbit or a guinea pig. She says it’s too much of a tie, especially if we’re only staying here for a couple of months . . .’ He tailed off and fixed
me with a crestfallen look from those dark blue eyes.

Only a couple of months?

‘S-so,’ I stammered. I was intrigued that Fergus seemed as animal-mad as me, but I couldn’t let myself get distracted. ‘What was your mum planning to do with Jaffa the
next time you all went away, then?’

Fergus shrugged again. ‘I don’t think she thinks of herself as Muf— Jaffa’s owner as such,’ he said. ‘I suppose she thought Jaffa would come home to you when
she wasn’t at our place.’

‘Fabby-dooby idea!’ Jaffa agreed.

‘Rubbish idea!’ I snapped. ‘Your – I mean, Jaffa’s – home is
here
and that means one hundred per cent of the time, not just every other day or week or
whatever,’ I said. This conversation was getting pretty confusing.

Fergus was looking more and more out of his depth. ‘Listen, I’d really better be getting back. I am seriously sorry about all this. Like I said, I told Mum you’d be angry. Hey,
if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you? Anything at all. I just feel so bad . . .’ He had got up from the table and shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked like a
naughty puppy who’s just been told off for raiding the fridge. In spite of everything I felt myself softening.

‘No,’ I shot back at him, forcing myself to put all my energy into staying angry. ‘You’ve done enough— ’

I stopped.

Would he really do ‘anything’ to help? I wondered. Even if it meant helping me sort things out with Jazz?

I had had one of those rare and blinding brain-flash ideas that Dad calls ‘light-bulb moments’, like the time I’d been doodling on a piece of paper and come up with the idea
for my Pet-Sitting Service. Boy, did that feel like a lifetime ago!