Free Timba Comes Home by Sheila Jeffries Page A

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special meal. I’ve been to endless trouble over it, Graham. It’s an insult to me, it’s discourteous and . . . and . . . ’ She gave a growl of rage. ‘It’s an
insult to the UNIVERSE to waste food and my time.’
    He sighed. ‘Don’t go on about the Universe, Angie. I’m really tired.’
    ‘You’re tired! What do you think I am? I’m absolutely beside myself with FURY, Graham. How dare you treat me like this?’
    He stalked past her and flung his coat over a chair. ‘I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t come home at all.’
    Angie gave a howl of frustration, her fists clenched in the air. ‘I give up,’ she said in a high-pitched voice. ‘Your dried-up meal is in the oven. Get it yourself. I’m
going to bed. GOODNIGHT.’
    ‘If you’d just stop being so angry—’ began Graham, but Angie was already halfway up the stairs.
    I heard the bedroom door slam and Angie cried, ‘Why is the Universe doing this to me?’
    It went quiet, and Graham came over to my basket. ‘Hello, Timba,’ he said in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I’m afraid I’ve been a bad boy.’

Chapter Seven
VATI
    ‘What is the matter, Timba?’ Angie scooped me out from behind the fridge and tried to stroke my hedgehog fur. ‘Such big black eyes. Why are you so
scared?’
    Clinging to her shoulder, I stared out of the window. Sniffing around the garden was a dog, and it wasn’t any old dog. It was Harriet, the dog who had taken my brother and sister.
    When I first saw her I don’t think my paws actually touched the ground. I nosedived into the house and fell over the mat. My chin stung from the impact. The sensation of my fur standing up
by itself along my back and tail was like being prickled all over . . . losing control. Not pleasant.
    Angie followed my gaze.
    ‘Oops!’ she said. ‘A dog in the garden. Someone left the gate open . . . probably me. You stay there, Timba. It’s only old Harriet.’
    She put me on the windowsill where I sat in draconian pose. What was Angie going to do? I practised growling in case she brought Harriet into the house. I watched stiffly as she went out
there.
    ‘Hello, DARLING,’ she said . . . to the dog! She had called that dog ‘darling’!
    Harriet had the grace to look ashamed; obviously she knew she shouldn’t have been there.
    ‘Where’s your mum?’ Angie made a fuss of Harriet and took hold of her collar. At the same time an old woman in a funny hat appeared at the gate.
    ‘Oh there you are. Bad dog! I’m so sorry, Angie,’ she said.
    ‘No problem, Freda,’ Angie said kindly. ‘It’s my fault for leaving the gate open. Not your fault, is it, Harriet? Lovely girl. Oh I wish we had a dog. Graham hates
them.’
    ‘But I see you’ve got a kitten . . . there in the window,’ said Freda. ‘A little beauty! Where did he come from?’
    ‘It’s a long story,’ said Angie.
    The two women stood in the garden with Harriet firmly clipped to a lead (Phew!). The danger had passed, and it was time for me to wash and smooth my annoying fur. I couldn’t hear much of
the conversation but sparks were popping from both the women’s auras. They were gazing earnestly at each other, and waving their hands around.
    ‘Where did you say Leroy found the kitten?’
    ‘Lying in the grass in Frog Lane . . . on a Friday.’
    ‘Then . . . it has to be the third kitten,’ said Freda. ‘Harriet went back a third time, and she was gone for ages, but came back with nothing.’
    ‘So what happened to the other two?’
    The woman walked over to the gate and leaned on it, talking intently and quietly now. Suddenly Angie gave one of her screams. ‘Oh God, Freda . . . this was meant to be! I’m going
over there right now. Thank you, thank you, thank you!’
    Once Freda and Harriet had gone, Angie skipped into the kitchen and grabbed her car keys and handbag. ‘I won’t be long, Timba. You stay there, and I might . . . just MIGHT . . .
bring you a surprise.’
    The key turned in the lock,