Free The Last Free Cat by Blake Jon

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    â€œWhat are they going to think?” I asked.
    â€œThey can think what they like,” said Kris. “We’re paying, that’s all they care about.”
    â€œBut what’s it going to look like?” I continued. “Two kids, just one bag between them, and a pet carrier.”
    â€œI’ll hide the carrier,” said Kris.
    â€œHow are you going to do that?” I asked.
    â€œLeave it under the bush here,” said Kris. “Then, once we’ve got the room, nip out and fetch it.”
    â€œThe room?” I replied. “Don’t you mean ‘rooms’?”
    â€œWe can’t afford singles,” said Kris.
    â€œIt’s my money!” I replied.
    â€œ You can’t afford singles then,” said Kris.
    A slight panic took hold of me. “I’m not sharing a bed,” I said.
    â€œWhat makes you think I want to share a bed with you?” said Kris.
    â€œI’m just saying,” I replied.
    â€œWell now just go and ring the bell,” said Kris.
    I did so. There was a long wait, then a shadow appeared behind the patterned glass of the door. The door opened and there stood a woman, about fifty, wearing a formal gray dress, with an old-fashioned bob hairstyle which seemed glued to her head. She had a suspicious look in her eye and nervously stroked the palms of her hands together, like a bluebottle fly.
    â€œYes?” she said in a clipped, cold tone.
    â€œHave you got a double room, please?” I asked.
    Mrs. Bluebottle’s eyes darted from me to Kris and back again. “Double or twin?” she asked.
    â€œWhat’s a twin?” I asked.
    â€œTwo beds,” she replied.
    â€œYes—that, please,” I said.
    â€œI’ve got a room on the second floor,” she said.
    Mrs. Bluebottle held open the door for us to enter. I could tell she didn’t like the look of Kris one bit, but there was nothing unusual in that. We walked through the hall, where I was dismayed to see a copy of the Daily Mail. No paper printed more cat scare stories than the Mail.
    Mrs. Bluebottle, who told us her name was Hurst, led us up the stairs and showed us the room. It was small and old-fashioned, with pine furniture, yellow walls, and blue curtains. There was a cramped shower and toilet unit off to one side, and a window with a view over next door’s roof. But it was clean and it would serve our purposes for the night.
    â€œWe’ll take it,” I said. Mrs. Hurst insisted on payment up front. She handed me a key, gave Kris another onceover, wiped her hands together, and left.
    â€œCozy,” said Kris, in a sarcastic voice.
    â€œBetter than most,” I replied.
    â€œI wouldn’t know,” said Kris.
    I sat on the bed and, without thinking, took out my phone. The first thing I did, whenever I arrived somewhere, was to ring Mum. Once again that utter loss hit me in the guts, and I burst out crying.
    Kris stood there above me, silent and unmoving. He could have put an arm around me, or said a few kind words, but he did neither. After a while, when it was obvious my sobbing was not going to stop, he told me he was going to get some fish and chips and would bring Feela in when he came back.
    I was starting to really hate that boy.

Chapter Fourteen
    Feela must have come back to life sometime in the night. I’d nodded off for a while, then had a bad dream, then awoke to the real-life nightmare. As I lay quietly sobbing, I saw the tips of her two ears above the edge of the bed. As always, there was a few seconds’ pause, then she leaped silently up beside me and stretched her face towards mine. She was responding to my distress, I knew it. Not understanding my emotions maybe, not feeling compassion, but responding all the same, just as she would to the cries of a kitten. When I didn’t move, she advanced a tentative paw, and touched me gently on the cheek. That was the sign for me to stroke her, which I