Free Kitten Catastrophe by Anna Wilson Page A

you see. He does get a bit worked up at new smells.’
    I felt my face go tight with worry and Bex noticed. ‘It’s OK,’ she said hurriedly. ‘He wouldn’t hurt—’
    ‘A fly, I know,’ I said, unconvinced. ‘Come in,’ I added, raising my voice above Sparky’s rasping and panting.
    I turned to go into the house and caught a glimpse of Jaffa on the stairs. She looked about as horrified as it is possible for a small cat to look: her back was arched so high she was on tiptoes (or should that be tip-claws?) and her fur was sticking out all over the place as if someone had just rubbed her with a balloon and made her go all static. Her eyes were wide with terror and her mouth was pulled back to reveal her teeth as she hissed and spat for all she was worth.
    ‘Nasty doggy!’ she was shouting. ‘Horrid, filthy beastie!’
    ‘Jaffsie!’ I reprimanded her.
    ‘My word!’ Bex exclaimed. ‘I’d say someone’s a bit put out!’
    ‘Let’s, er, go through, shall we?’ I said, almost pushing Bex and Sparky down the hall to the kitchen. ‘I’ll settle Jaffa in my room and then we can set Sparky up with his bed and stuff.
Dad!’
I called.
    Dad came out of the kitchen to welcome Bex while I rocketed up the stairs and cupped my hands around the bundle of spitting fury that was my kitten before she could take it into her tiny orange head to disappear under a wardrobe somewhere.
    ‘Jaffsie is not likin’ that nasty doggy!’ she hissed.
    ‘You’ve got to trust me on this,’ I urged. ‘I won’t let Sparky anywhere near you. You can stay in my room all night – I’ll even bring you your tea. Meanwhile Sparky will guard the back door, and if anything even
tries
to get in, he will deal with it. By this time tomorrow, there will be no more nasty doggy, and, more importantly, no more nasty scary monster taking your food and making a mess, OK?’
    At last Jaffa stopped hissing and put her claws away. I fetched a soft plumped-up cushion and put it in the middle of my bed and told her it was a special cushion just for her. Then I promised I’d be up a little later to check on her. I think she must have worn herself out, because as soon as she’d got herself comfy on the cushion she curled up in a ball, tucking her head under her tail, and fell asleep.
    I had a sudden unwelcome thought as I was going down the stairs: what if Dad and Bex were having a cuddle? It would be excruciatingly embarrassing if I walked in on them. I supposed they did kiss and cuddle – that was what boyfriends and girlfriends did, wasn’t it? Even if they were old? It made me shudder. I mean, I wanted Dad to be happy and everything, but I couldn’t help feeling it would all be a lot easier if Bex was just a good friend.
    I decided that the only thing to do was to give them fair warning that I was coming, so that if they
were
having a cuddle they would have time to stop before I entered the room. So I started coughing really loudly and singing the first song which came into my head, which unfortunately was, ‘Who let the dogs out? Woof! Woof! Woof-woof!’ How totally weird can you get?
    I needn’t have worried. Bex and Dad were sitting at the table, drinking coffee and chatting quietly, and Sparky was curled up at their feet. Until he heard me, that is. He leaped up as I entered the kitchen and banged his head on the table and then started barking and slobbering all over again.
    ‘Are you all right?’ Dad asked, over the racket Sparky was creating. He peered at me curiously. ‘You weren’t coughing like that earlier. I hope you’re not getting a cold so early on in the term.’
    ‘Not a great choice of song either!’ Bex said wearily. ‘Down, Sparky!’ she commanded, shooting her dog a scarily withering look, which silenced him immediately. He put his tail between his legs, lowered his head in an impressively shameful expression, and crawled back to his place under the table, whimpering quietly.
    ‘Wow,’ said Dad in mock