Free Kitten Catastrophe by Anna Wilson Page B

admiration. ‘I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of you.’
    ‘No chance of that. Tee-hee!’ said Bex, batting her eyelashes at him.
    Get me a bucket, I thought. But I just coughed again and said, ‘Ahem! Shall we move Sparky into the utility room now?’
    Bex managed to drag her eyes away from Dad for a millisecond and said, ‘Yeah, sure. We’ll sort out your intruder problem once and for all, won’t we, Sparky-boy?’
    Sparky did not take kindly to being shut in the utility room, especially when he smelt the delicious creamy chicken curry Bex was cooking for tea, and he whined when we shut the door on him. But he soon quietened down and we heard him snuffling around the room for the treats Bex had hidden for him.
    We took our plates into the sitting room and got comfy on the sofa, all three of us in a row. Bex had brought round a DVD about a couple who got a dog who was really badly behaved, but who they loved to bits. It was hilarious the kinds of things the dog got up to – like diving out of the car window while the couple were driving along, chasing a cat over all the fences in the neighbourhood, and crashing into everyone’s parties and barbecues and even into someone’s swimming pool. I was really enjoying it and it certainly took my mind off Jaffa.
    Then out of the blue, the film turned into a romantic comedy! There was this toe-curlingly awful bit where the couple actually started
kissing.
URGH and double-URGH! I could almost
feel
Dad and Bex thinking lovey-dovey thoughts towards each other. I closed my eyes, scrunched my toes up inside my slippers and sat on my hands, tensing my arm away from Dad and wishing the sofa would swallow me up.
    CRASH!
    SQUEAL!
    HOOOOOOWWWL!
    What a racket . . . I opened one eye to see what was going on. But it wasn’t the dog in the film who was making the noise.
    HOOOOOWWWWL!
    ‘Sparky?’ Bex had leaped from the sofa and was dashing towards the kitchen, where it sounded like a herd of elephants had crashed into the house, knocking a few doors down and a few bits of furniture besides.
    ‘What the . . . ?’ Dad jumped up as well, knocking over his empty plate and sending his drink flying.
    I followed as Bex shouted, ‘Sparky! Sparky? Are you all right, boy? It’s OK, Mummy’s coming!’
    By the time I got to the utility room, Bex was sitting on the floor, cradling the poor pooch in her arms, her cheeks wet with tears. The room was a total bomb site. Even the events of the past few days hadn’t prepared me for this level of devastation. The ceiling light was swinging to and fro as if something had been hanging from it, cupboard doors were teetering on their hinges, and every available surface was covered in cleaning products, cat food, washing powder and damp laundry.
    But none of this was as bad as what had happened to poor old Sparky. He had blood trickling from a gash on his face and he was whimpering in fright, cowering in Bex’s arms as though he’d just seen a ghost. Or a monster.
    ‘This is worse than we thought,’ Dad said grimly. ‘I’ve a good mind to call the police.’
    Bex shook her head, and said through her tears, ‘No point. It must be a wild animal. A fox or something.’
    ‘Oh, Sparky,’ I said sorrowfully. ‘I’m so sorry, boy.’
    ‘At least we know it’s not Jaffa,’ said Bex, putting on a brave smile.
    ‘That’s true,’ said Dad. ‘From the looks of poor Sparky here I have to say she’s had a narrow escape so far. We’re going to have to block up the cat flap to keep Jaffa safe.’
    Too right, I thought. And she’s going to have to talk to me now, surely. If the intruder was vicious enough to upset Sparky this much, we had to find out who or what it was.

11
A Walk in the Park
    T he next morning I had a lie-in, relieved it was Saturday at last. When I woke up it took a minute for me to recall what had happened the night before. I lifted my head and was comforted to see Jaffa sleeping soundly, curled into a neat comma at