Free The Last Free Cat by Blake Jon Page B

I’d have panicked. Now my mind was focused. I stretched out my hand to show the scratches. “Do you see those?” I asked.
    â€œScratched you, has it?” said Mrs. Hurst.
    I smiled. “She’s got the flu,” I said.
    An anxious frown came over Mrs. Hurst’s face.
    â€œAnd now,” I continued, “so have I.”
    I moved towards Mrs. Hurst. She stepped back.
    â€œOpen that door,” I commanded, “or I’ll cough in your face.”
    â€œYou’ve not got the flu,” said Mrs. Hurst weakly.
    â€œDon’t you read the papers?” I asked. “It’s everywhere! Illegal cats! Dying people! People like me, with nothing to lose!”
    â€œComprot will be here soon,” said Mr. Hurst.
    â€œYes, but that’ll be too late for you!” I replied.
    I moved another step closer.
    â€œWant to risk it?” I said.
    I stared, unafraid, into Mrs. Hurst’s face, and saw the fear in her eyes.
    â€œGive them the key, Brett,” she said.

Chapter Fifteen
    Kris’s head appeared from the window of the narrowboat. “Come on,” he said. “We’re in.”
    I pushed Feela’s carrier on to the roof of the boat and clambered on board.
    â€œI wouldn’t leave that up there,” said Kris, indicating the carrier. “Roof’s rotten.”
    I took the carrier down. “Are you sure this thing is seaworthy?” I asked.
    â€œProbably not,” said Kris. “Lucky we’re not going on the sea.”
    That was true. The plan was to get as far up the canal as it was navigable, which Kris reckoned was about eighty kilometers. It was slow, but it was safer than hitching another ride or trying to smuggle Feela on to the rail. And it was a lot less tiring than walking, which we’d been doing for the past two hours.
    â€œStinks,” I said as Kris let me into the long, narrow cabin, which was in a sorry state.
    â€œNo one’s been on here in a while,” replied Kris.
    I examined the filthy seating and a few cupboards containing nothing but a broken kettle.
    â€œHow d’you think it got here?” I asked.
    â€œDumped, probably,” said Kris.
    â€œWhy would anyone do that?” I asked.
    â€œProbably abandoned,” said Kris. “Owners thought not worth fixing it up, too expensive to moor, too expensive to scrap, dump it.”
    â€œPeople have no responsibility,” I said.
    â€œYes, miss,” said Kris, smiling.
    â€œWell they haven’t,” I replied.
    There was a long, low mew from the carrier. “She needs the toilet,” I said.
    â€œDon’t let her do it in the box, for God’s sake,” said Kris.
    I opened the carrier. Feela’s head came out but she made no further move. She was taking stock of her surroundings.
    â€œAren’t we going to start?” I asked.
    â€œNot till I find the engine,” said Kris.
    â€œ What ?” I said.
    â€œDon’t panic,” said Kris. “The main motor’s gone, but these things always have a back-up.”
    â€œHow do you know?” I asked.
    â€œHow do I know everything?” replied Kris smugly.
    â€œI don’t know,” I replied.
    â€œI don’t waste my time reading books,” said Kris.
    Kris got back to work in the engine room. I hated the way he made me feel useless, except, I was useless most of the time. But it was thanks to me that we’d escaped the guest house, and Kris had admitted then I’d been street smart, as he put it. When he’d said that it had made me glow, like when Dad used to praise me. I didn’t want to glow, and I didn’t show it, but I couldn’t deny how I’d felt and the fact I wanted to feel like that again.
    For now my job was to take care of Feela, encourage her out of the carrier, and make her a litter box to go in. I succeeded at all of these things, with the help of an old tomato box and some booklets