Free Timba Comes Home by Sheila Jeffries

his hand and this time it felt warm and comforting. Humans can be awesome.
    ‘You’re soaking wet. Come on, come to Graham.’ He held me firmly, put me on his massive shoulder, and climbed down to the ground. He took a folded white hanky out of his pocket
and dried me with it. We stared into each other’s eyes. ‘I promise not to sing,’ he said, and I stretched up to touch noses with him to show my appreciation.
    ‘When I’m a cat,’ I said, sending him the thought, ‘I’ll be your best buddy.’
    ‘Aw, what a sweet kitten. He’s so fluffy.’
    ‘Here, you hold him.’ Angie carefully handed me to Laura and I liked her straight away. She smelled strongly of horses, and her brown eyes were happy and kind. I crawled inside her
jacket and listened to her heart while Angie told me who she was. ‘Laura is our neighbour,’ she explained, ‘and she’s got all these lovely horses and ponies. Some of them
are rescue ponies, and they live in the field at the bottom of the garden.’
    ‘I hope the children will get a look at Timba,’ Laura said, and I came out from inside her jacket and touched noses.
    ‘Oh they will . . . definitely,’ said Angie, ‘and I’ve invited Leroy to come to our Saturday club, if that’s OK with you, Laura? He really needs a bit of horse
therapy.’
    I meowed at the mention of Leroy’s name. I was anxious and Angie picked that up immediately. ‘He treated Timba VERY badly, but only from ignorance, not intention . . . I hope
Timba’s forgiven him . . . have you, Timba?’
    I did a yes-meow, which was a skill I’d been developing. I could now do yes-meows, purr-meows, call-meows, and fragmented squeaks which I used in conversation only with humans. Then there
was the extended-meow, a really useful kind of wail to use in emergencies, and beyond that was the amplified extended-meow, strictly for special occasions.
    ‘You’ll be nice to Leroy, won’t you, Timba?’ Angie asked and I replied with a silent stare. I needed to think about that. What to do if Leroy tried to kidnap me.
    By the end of the week I was much more confident. I’d met the horses, and the rabbits who were in wire runs and cages, and the chickens. None of them took much notice of me, but Angie and
Graham gave me lots of attention. Graham persuaded me to get used to his ‘singing’ by humming tunes to me when I was stretched out on his chest. He did it so gently and I quite liked
the vibration . . . maybe it was his way of purring, I reasoned.
    One night I became aware that all was not well between him and Angie.
    She made him a special meal and put flowers and candles on the table, then rushed upstairs and came down in a slinky dress that sparkled like the night sky. I thought she looked beautiful.
    But Graham didn’t arrive. Angie paced between the kitchen and the front window, watching for his car. She got more and more agitated, pulling trays of food in and out of the oven, turning
it on, then off.
    ‘WHY is his mobile switched off? What is he doing?’ she raged, and hurled the oven gloves across the kitchen. ‘This meal is RUINED!’
    I sat quietly in my basket on the red cushion, tired from my evening playtime, but I couldn’t go to sleep while Angie was stressing.
    It was dark outside and the candles on her table had gone out when Graham’s car finally swung into the drive.
    Angie was waiting for him at the door, a burning spot of colour on each cheek. Her bust and her chin were lifted high with fury. ‘Where have you BEEN?’ she demanded.
    Graham looked evasive. ‘Sorry, love, I am a bit late.’
    ‘A bit late? It’s ten o’clock, and our meal is ruined. It was ready three hours ago. And why was your mobile turned off?’
    ‘Calm down, and let me get inside.’ Graham held up his hand in a sort of peace gesture.
    ‘Don’t you tell me to calm down!’ Angie had sparks flying from her aura. She flung her hands in the air. ‘Not only is it our anniversary, but you knew I was cooking