Misty the Abandoned Kitten (6 page)

Chapter Seven

Over the next few days, even Amy’s mum got used to the idea of having a cat. Misty was so sweet, and very well-behaved. Amy’s mum had been worried about her making messes in the house, but Amy’s dad went out and bought a litter tray, and Misty soon showed that she was beautifully house trained. 

“I don’t think she can have been born feral,” Amy’s mum said, tickling Misty under the chin. “She’s so friendly. I’m still worried she’s somebody’s pet.”

Amy folded her arms and frowned. “Well, it was somebody who didn’t love her as much as we do!” She sighed. “OK, OK, Mum. I promise. We’ll give her back, if anyone says they’ve lost her.” But she was certain they wouldn’t.

Misty and Amy still spent a lot of time in the tree house. It was Misty’s favourite place, and Amy loved curling up there with her. But once Misty had proved she could use the litter tray, she was allowed anywhere in the house, too. She loved exploring – the house was full of warm, comfortable places.
And Amy’s dad was very good to sit on. She was even allowed to sleep on Amy’s bed, since she hated being shut in the kitchen. They had tried it on her first night in the house, but Misty had mewed frantically, and in the end Amy’s mum had given in. Now she slept snuggled up with Amy, or sometimes blissfully curled on Amy’s toes.

Amy spent the last of her birthday money buying her toys, and a collar – a pink one that looked beautiful against her black fur.

Misty could still remember her old home with Mrs Jones, but she knew she belonged to Amy now.

Mrs Jones sat in her armchair, staring out at the front garden, and stroking Charlie. But she was frowning. “It’s been a week since I’ve seen Jet now,” she murmured to the Siamese cat. “I hadn’t realized, because she was only popping in and out even before. But she hasn’t even been back for her food.” She looked down at Charlie, worriedly. “I have to say, Charlie, you’re a bit heavier than you used to be. Have you been eating Jet’s meals?” She pushed him gently off her lap, and stood up, leaning on her stick. Slowly, she walked into the kitchen, with Charlie trotting after her.

“Sarah, when did you last see Jet?” said Mrs Jones, easing herself on to a kitchen chair.

Her daughter looked surprised. “Oh. I don’t know, Mum.” She glanced over at the cat food bowls, both of which were empty. “Well, she’s eaten her breakfast, so she must have been here this morning, although I didn’t actually see her.” She smiled as Charlie wove around her ankles. “It’s a pity we can’t ask him!”

“Hmm.” Mrs Jones frowned. “I don’t think we need to ask him. It’s clear exactly who’s been eating Jet’s food. Look how much plumper he is!”

Sarah shook her head. “Oh no. He wouldn’t!”

“Sarah, I haven’t seen Jet for a week. And before then she was so flighty and scared that I’d only see her here and there for a second. I think Charlie frightened her away.”

“Charlie’s not like that, really…” But Sarah was looking a little worried.

“It isn’t his fault,” said Mrs Jones. “This is his house, after all. But we have to find Jet. I should’ve realized what was going on, but those new pills Dr Jackson gave me made me so tired. Poor Jet! She must be starving by now.
She doesn’t know the area at all… She might’ve got lost or she could even have been run over.” Mrs Jones’s voice wobbled at the thought.

Sarah came over and put her arm comfortingly around her mother. “Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll find Jet. I’m sure she can’t have gone far.”

One afternoon, a fortnight after their sleepover, Amy and Lily were walking back from school, chatting away as their mums followed behind.

“Dad’s going to put in a cat flap this weekend,” Amy told her friend happily.

But Lily didn’t reply. Amy looked round and realized that Lily wasn’t
actually there. She’d stopped and was looking up at something stuck to the lamp post they’d just passed.

Amy went back to see what Lily was staring at. “What is it? Oh no…”

It was a poster, with a photo of a small kitten, and the words: “LOST. Jet, a black kitten. Please check sheds and garages in case she has been trapped inside. Contact Mrs Sylvia Jones if you have seen our cat.” Underneath there was a phone number and an address.

Amy stared at the poster numbly. “Do you – do you think it’s Misty?” she whispered to Lily.

“It looks ever so like her,” Lily admitted sadly. “And Rose Tree Close is only round the corner from you, isn’t it?”

Tears welled up in Amy’s eyes. “I don’t want to give her back,” she muttered. “It isn’t fair. Misty doesn’t love this Mrs Jones, whoever she is. She can’t do, or she wouldn’t have come to live with us. And think how thin Misty was when we first saw her – she mustn’t have looked after her properly!”

Lily nodded. “What are you going to do?”

Amy looked up at the poster. “I could just pretend I haven’t seen it. That Mrs Jones doesn’t deserve to have Misty back – I wouldn’t feel guilty.” Then she gazed at the photo of Misty again. “Well, only a little bit…”

She glanced along the road. Her mum and Lily’s had nearly caught them up. She could just tear down the poster, then Mum would never know… But as her mum approached Amy could see that she was holding another copy that she must have taken from somewhere further down the street.

“Oh, Amy. You’ve seen it too. I’m so sorry, but it looks like Misty has a home after all.”

“But how do we know it’s her?” Amy whispered.

“She does look very similar,” Mum said gently.

“She didn’t like her old home, or she wouldn’t have run away. She’s ours now. Dad was even going to put in a cat flap!”

“I know, Amy. But someone’s missing her – this Mrs Jones—”

“She doesn’t deserve a kitten!” Amy sniffed, and Lily squeezed her hand.

“We have to take her back,” said Mum. “Remember, it was our deal.”

Amy was silent for a moment. There was nothing she could say. “I know. But I still think it’s wrong.”

Back home, Misty wasn’t in the house, running to the door with welcoming mews, like she usually did.

“Maybe she’s in the tree house,” Amy suggested. But a little seed of hope was growing inside her. If she couldn’t find Misty, she wouldn’t have to give her back, would she?

Amy ran out into the garden, and climbed up to the tree house, but it was empty. She sat down on the beanbag. It felt warm, as though Misty might have been curled up there until a moment ago. “Oh, Misty, I wish I’d kept you a secret,” she whispered. “Please don’t come!”

But then she heard a familiar thud on the boards of the tree house, as Misty jumped from the branch. The tears spilled down Amy’s cheeks, as the kitten ran to her, leaping into her lap.

Misty rubbed her head lovingly
against Amy’s arm, and then stood up with her paws on Amy’s shoulder, and licked the wet tear trails with her rough little tongue.

“That tickles!” Amy half-laughed, half-sobbed. She picked her up gently. “Sorry, Misty, we have to go and find Mum.” Amy carried her down from the tree house and across the garden. Misty purred in her arms, so happily. She was such a different kitten from the nervous little creature Amy had first seen. It felt so wrong to take her back!

“Oh, you found her!” Mum came over to stroke Misty, as Amy opened the kitchen door. “Please don’t cry, Amy.” But she looked close to crying herself, as she gave Amy a hug. “I don’t want to give her back either, but we have to. You know we do. Look, shall we wait until tomorrow? So you can have tonight to say goodbye?”

Amy shook her head. “No. That would be worse. We should go now. Come on, Mum, please, let’s just get it over with.”

“All right. I’ll call the number on the poster. Rose Tree Close isn’t far. We can just carry her there, can’t we?”

Amy nodded, and sat down at the table with Misty, half-listening as Mum explained to someone on the
phone that they’d found their missing kitten. With shaking fingers, Amy started to take off Misty’s pink collar. Misty wasn’t even Misty any more! She had another name.

“They’re really glad to know she’s safe,” Mum told her gently. “I said we’d bring her round.” She grabbed her bag, and they set out, Amy with Misty held tightly in her arms as they walked down their street and along another road, to the little turning that was Rose Tree Close.