The Loneliest Kitten Read online

Darcy listened to Mum’s end of the phone conversation with Mrs Jennings – she sounded very apologetic. She kept saying how much Darcy loved football, it was just that this was important and everyone was very upset.

  At that point, Darcy put one of the sofa cushions over her head. It was too weird listening to Mum describe how miserable she was. It made her feel even sadder. The more people who knew that Charlie was missing, the worse it felt. And now loads of people were going to know, Darcy thought, sighing into the dusty fabric of the cushion.

  Dad thought putting small versions of the poster through people’s doors was a very good idea. The neighbours would have a copy of the flyer with their number on if they spotted Charlie, he pointed out, and Darcy knew they wanted as many people as possible to look for Charlie. But when everyone in the street was getting a little photo of Charlie through their door, it made him seem a lot more missing.

  She and Dad took turns to do the houses on their side of the road, while Mum and Will did the other side. Will was enjoying it, Darcy noticed sadly. He thought it was exciting, getting to post the little notes through the letter boxes. If it had been anything else they were posting, Darcy would have liked it too. But she seemed to keep catching the photo of Charlie at just the wrong angle – he looked so sad as she squashed him through the flaps, his nose wrinkling up, his whiskers drooping. He looked like a Lost Cat.

  They worked their way down the street to the side road, Thirsk Way, which led on to Barrett Close – a mirror image of their road, with its gardens joining on to theirs.

  “We definitely need to deliver notes along here,” Darcy said to Dad. “Charlie was out in the garden – he could easily have gone over the back fence into one of the gardens here.”

  “Do you think so?” Dad said doubtfully. “Our back fence is pretty high. I’m not sure he could get over it, to be honest. I’d have thought he nipped up the side passage and out through the front garden.”

  Darcy shook her head. She’d seen Charlie scrambling up the side wall before and shooting up a tree as if it was a little cat ladder. He was an amazingly good climber.

  “But maybe you’re right,” Dad said. “And it’s not that far away – he could even have walked down the road and round the corner like we did. Have we got enough flyers left or do we need to go back and print some more?”

  “Just about enough,” Darcy said, showing him her handful. “Except there’s the little block of flats that almost backs on to us. I don’t know how many people live there.”

  “Well, let’s see how far we get,” Dad said, heading up the path of the nearest house.

  They still had a few flyers left when they got to the flats at the end of the road, and Darcy looked at the main door uncertainly. It didn’t have a letter box – should they go in and put the flyers in the pigeonholes just inside?

  “Do you think we should put them under the doors of the flats?” she asked Dad. “There’s no post on Sundays, is there? No one’s going to come down and check those.” She pointed at the pigeonholes. “We want them to look in the garden for Charlie today… I wonder which flat has the garden? Or maybe they share it?”

  “Probably that one.” Dad held the main door open and walked over to the door behind the staircase. “Put a note under here, Darcy.”

  But as Darcy crouched down to post the flyer under the door, the lock clicked and the door started to open.

  A friendly voice said, “Hello! I heard you talking – are you delivering something?” But Darcy wasn’t listening because right there, almost nose to nose, was a small tabby and white cat, staring curiously at her with round yellow-green eyes.

  Darcy was so surprised that she half fell over backwards. “Charlie!” she cried loudly, and the tabby and white cat turned tail and raced back into the flat.

  “Was that Charlie?” Dad exclaimed. “Are you OK, love? Did you hurt yourself? I didn’t see – was that him?”

  Darcy only nodded. She couldn’t speak. She was quite sure it had been Charlie, but he had taken one look at her and run away!

  “Charlie?” The old lady looked anxiously between Darcy and her dad. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite… Oh!” She stared in surprise as Darcy scrambled up and raced away, pushing past Dad and out of the main door, running for home.

  Charlie was in the kitchen of the flat, hunched up in a little ball under the table. His ears were flattened back and his tail was double its usual size. He was confused. He hadn’t expected to see Darcy here – she belonged in his other house. He had been missing her. He’d wanted to go back, but the windows had been closed overnight and there wasn’t a cat flap here, like there was at home.

  He hadn’t minded all that much, since the old lady had made such a fuss of him and kept giving him little treats. She’d even bought a ball that rattled when he batted it and a litter tray to go in the corner of her kitchen. But he’d kept thinking of Darcy and Will, and how good it would be to snuggle up on the end of Darcy’s bed. He’d sat on the windowsill looking out at the dark garden and mewed a little, but the old lady had stroked him and tickled under his chin and he’d forgotten…

  Then to see Darcy when the door opened, that hadn’t been right. He didn’t understand – and she had shouted! He didn’t even understand why he’d run… But Darcy was gone again and now he wished he hadn’t dashed away from her…

  The old lady hurried into the kitchen, calling, “Puss! Come on, little one. Oh dear…”

  Charlie eyed her, confused. She didn’t sound right either – she wasn’t shouting, but her soft voice was high and anxious now.

  The old lady sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and sighed. Then she leaned over and peered at him under the table, looking between him and the piece of paper in her hand. “This is you, isn’t it, puss? The little girl dropped it when she fell over. Oh, this is awful. I was so sure you were a stray when you kept coming back, and you seemed so hungry… I suppose I just wanted you not to have a home so you could stay with me.”

  Charlie crept closer, nudging the piece of paper with his nose.

  “Yes, that’s definitely a picture of you. Well, we’d better take you back. That poor girl, she was ever so upset. They’re from the house over the fence, I’ve heard them in the garden, the girl and her little brother.”

  Charlie put his front paws up against the old lady’s knee and tried to nibble the paper, but she scooped him up, cuddling him against her shoulder and rubbing the soft velvet of his nose. “I really must take you back. Oh dear…”

  Darcy raced down the road towards home. She wasn’t thinking very clearly – she was too upset to think. She just wanted to get away. That old lady had stolen Charlie! She had shut him up in her flat and made him her cat instead. “She stole him! She stole him!” Darcy whispered shakily to herself as she ran.

  But the problem was, even though she was upset, Darcy knew that wasn’t really what had happened. It was only what she wanted to believe. If that old lady had shut Charlie up and kept him there when he hadn’t wanted it, he would have raced away as soon as she opened the door. He hadn’t been trying to escape when Darcy saw him – he’d just wanted to see who was at the door. It had been Darcy who’d upset him. He’d actually run away from her.

  The old lady had adopted him. She’d probably thought he didn’t have a home because he’d kept turning up in her garden and he had no collar on. They had neglected him, all of them, but especially Darcy, and Charlie had gone looking for someone to love him.

  Darcy sniffed hard. He’d found someone and he’d chosen them instead.

  She shoved the front gate open and stumbled up the path. Then she realized that of course the front door was locked and Dad had the keys.

  Darcy sank down on the doorstep, the last copy of their flyer in her hands. She stared at it and a fat tear splashed on to the photo of Charlie, blotching his beautiful pink nose. How could they have been so stupid and forgotten how special he was?

  “Darcy!” Dad came hurrying down the path with Mum and Will clos
e behind him.

  “What happened?” Mum demanded. “We saw you running along the road! What’s wrong? Did you find him? Oh, he’s not…” She stopped herself, but Darcy knew what she had been going to say – she was worried that Charlie might have been hit by a car.

  Darcy sniffed. If that had happened, it would be so much worse. She felt a tiny bit more cheerful – at least Charlie was safe.

  Dad reached over her to unlock the front door. “Come on, we’ll explain.” He pulled Darcy up gently and led her inside.

  “Did you find him?” Will asked. “What happened? Why’s Darcy crying? Where’s Charlie?”

  “At the flats,” Darcy sniffed. “With an old lady. He doesn’t want to be our cat any more.” She pressed her hands against her eyes. “But at least he hasn’t been run over, like Mum thought.”

  “What?” Mum put an arm round her. “Oh Darcy, were you listening to me and Dad last night?”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Darcy muttered shakily. Then she jumped as the doorbell rang shrilly, just behind them.

  Will opened the door and stood staring at the old lady on the doorstep – Charlie was clutched tightly in her arms.

  She held him out, looking anxious, and Charlie wriggled.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m Rose Macaulay, and I think this must be your cat.”

  Charlie nibbled at the little pile of cat biscuits he’d left in his food bowl the day before, but the old lady had fed him that morning and he wasn’t very hungry. He padded around the kitchen, inspecting everyone’s feet approvingly. They were all home, just where they should be. He nuzzled against Will’s trainers and Will leaned down to stroke him. Charlie let Will pet him for a minute and then sprang up on to Darcy’s lap, expecting to be stroked. Darcy always fussed over him.

  But she only stared at him, her hand lifted uncertainly as though she wanted to stroke him but wasn’t sure if she should. Charlie gazed back at her, remembering the way she’d yelled at Will the day before and then shouted at him when he peered round the door. Perhaps she didn’t want him after all? He laid his ears flat and crouched a little, wondering if he should jump down.

  Slowly, hesitantly, Darcy reached to rub his ears, and Charlie nudged his chin against her hand. No, it was all right. She was just the same as before. He closed his eyes and lifted his chin blissfully to the ceiling as she scratched him underneath. That was the exact place – no, there… He began to purr.

  “I’m so, so sorry,” Rose was explaining. “He didn’t have a collar on, you see, and he looked so hungry.” She sighed. “Of course, I’m sure he wasn’t hungry at all. I expect he’s just a very good actor. I never should have let him in that first day…”

  “It’s our fault,” Mum said guiltily, turning round from filling the kettle for tea. “Everyone’s been so busy since Darcy and Will went back to school. I should have realized that Charlie was wandering off. But I was occupied with work and we just didn’t pay him enough attention.”

  “Well, of course I won’t feed him any more. And if he comes into my garden again I’ll shoo him away,” Rose said, looking down at Charlie, who was curled up on Darcy’s lap now, a little tabby and white bundle. Darcy saw her face twist sadly.

  “You don’t need to do that!” she said in a whisper, so as not to disturb the dozing kitten, and Rose looked at her in surprise. “I mean – Charlie likes you. He’s allowed to have friends…” Darcy shrugged, looking embarrassed. She knew what she meant, but it sounded a bit silly.

  “Darcy’s right,” Dad said, smiling. “If you don’t mind him inviting himself in, that is.”

  Rose smiled rather shyly. “That’s very kind of you. I still feel dreadful about accidentally stealing your cat…”

  “You should be,” Will said, glaring at her accusingly. “We were very worried about him!”

  “Will!” Darcy gave him a shocked look. “Don’t be so rude!”

  But Rose shook her head, smiling. “Will reminds me very much of my grandson, Louis. He’s seven.”

  Will looked pleased. “I’m only six, but I’m really big. Does Louis go to the same school as us? There’s a Louis in Year Three, isn’t there, Darcy?”

  “No.” Rose shook her head sadly. “He lives in London, I’m afraid, quite a long way away. But I get to chat to him on the phone every week.”

  Darcy looked down at Charlie and stroked the fine puffs of fur just at the bottom of his ears. She couldn’t help wondering if Rose was lonely as her family didn’t live close by. It felt as if she needed Charlie almost as much as they did.

  “Charlie’s very bad about keeping his collar on,” she explained to Rose. “Do you think we could give you a spare collar, in case he comes over to you and he hasn’t got one on?”

  “Oh, of course!” The old lady nodded delightedly. “I’ll make sure to check.” She leaned over to look at Charlie on Darcy’s lap. “He really is a little beauty, isn’t he?” she murmured admiringly.

  Darcy nodded. “The most beautiful cat ever.” She wasn’t sure if Charlie heard her but he made a little prrp noise in his sleep and turned over on her lap, so he was lying on his back with his perfectly pink paws in the air. His tummy was all white fluff, with just a few patches of tabby spots around the edge.

  “Oh, the angel,” Rose said, laughing, and Darcy smiled down at Charlie, heavy and saggy and warm in her lap. Charlie was their cat – but she didn’t mind sharing him, just a little.

  Copyright

  STRIPES PUBLISHING LIMITED

  An imprint of the Little Tiger Group

  1 Coda Studios, 189 Munster Road,

  London SW6 6AW

  A paperback original

  First published in Great Britain in 2019

  Text copyright © Holly Webb, 2019

  Illustrations copyright © Sophy Williams, 2019

  Author photograph copyright © Charlotte Knee Photography

  eISBN: 978–1–78895–130–2

  The right of Holly Webb and Sophy Williams to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work respectively has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  www.littletiger.co.uk