Free Kitten Catastrophe by Anna Wilson

Jaffa stubbornly.
    I shook my head in bewilderment. ‘I really don’t know what you’re on about,’ I persisted, forcing myself to sound firm, ‘but I’m afraid you
are
going to have to put up with Sparky coming, because otherwise we’re in danger of being separated, you and me – for good.’
    ‘What?’ Jaffsie cried, jabbing me painfully with her tiny claws.
    ‘Yes,’ I said. I pushed her off me and rubbed my arm. ‘Dad has had enough. If you don’t tell us what’s going on, we’re going to have to solve it our way, and if you don’t let us do that, Dad wants you to leave.’
    I was overdoing it, of course. Dad hadn’t actually said that, and if he did, I would put up a massive fight – I’d never let him send Jaffa away. And I knew deep down that he was too much of a softie to do that anyway. But I had to shock Jaffsie somehow – get her to see how serious we were about catching the offender she was mysteriously protecting. I couldn’t have her hitching any more lifts to school as a rucksack-stowaway.
    ‘Me can’t leave! Me can’t go outside!’ she whined. ‘Not now, not never! Me is not never going outside again in my whole life! There’s nasties out there!’
    Blimey, things were obviously worse than I’d realized. I held her up so I could get a good look at her, face to face.
    ‘Listen, Jaffsie. I am not going to
let
Dad chuck you out, OK? But you have to see that life is pretty difficult at the moment. And until we find out what’s going on, or at least frighten this other creature away, life is not going to get any better, is it? You do see that, don’t you?’ I pleaded.
    Jaffa went completely limp in my hands and started slipping. I clung on. ‘Oh no, you don’t!’ I cried, grappling with my slithery cat, who seemed to have transformed herself into a piece of silk. ‘You are not going to go and hide until I have your word that you’ll at least let Sparky have a go at this thing!’ I insisted.
    Jaffa stopped struggling and gave me a look of such misery that I felt as though I had turned into an ogre. ‘All right,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But I is telling you, Bertie, no one is going to make that monster frighted. It is not going to be frighted of no one, not never. Not even that big-teethed doggy.’

10
Guard Dog
    F riday took its time arriving. The rest of the week had dragged its feet like the slowest sloth in the jungle. I had tried to throw myself into other stuff, finding out about clubs and extra activities I could join in with to distract myself from thinking about the mystery beast. Not to mention to stop me being paranoid about Jazz and Fergus’s new obsession with the Cool Gang, aka Kezia and Charlie. Whenever I spotted one of my friends in the crowded corridors I couldn’t get near them; those two witches or one of their weird groupies were always in the way. And when I did get a moment with Jazz, all she could talk about was the auditions on Friday night.
    ‘I’ve decided I’m going to design my own outfit this time!’ she told me breathlessly. She was shiny-eyed with excitement. ‘I need to stand out from the crowd. I mean, who knows what the competition will look like?’
    I stopped listening to her after a while. I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying about how many hours she’d spent in her room practising new routines and downloading music. I was far too worried about my kitten. Jazz was on her own in this audition: I had my own agenda on Friday.
    Bex came round at teatime with a very overexcited Sparky in tow. When I opened the door he was straining on the lead so hard that his thick orange collar was cutting into his fur and his tongue was lolling out of his mouth as he panted loudly. It seemed he had a desperate urge to get into the house as fast as possible.
    ‘Sparky! Heel!’ Bex said forcefully.
    But Sparky had gone momentarily deaf.
    ‘I’m sorry, Bertie,’ she said, her face creased with concern. ‘I think he can smell Jaffa,