Free The Kitten Hunt by Anna Wilson Page A

careful, I would reach boiling point and then probably evap-orate. Actually, that didn’t seem such a
bad prospect at that particular moment.
    Dad raised his eyes to the ceiling and said, ‘You know what? I’m exhausted. I’ve spent all day listening to arguments and I really can’t be bothered to listen to any
more. Jazz, put your cat outside and then why don’t you come in and sort it out in Bertie’s room in front of a DVD with some popcorn or something? You can take my laptop from my study
to watch a film on – you know how to work it. I’m not doing any more on it today – I’m bushed. I’m going to put my feet up and watch some telly down here.’
    Jazz perked up at the mention of popcorn and DV Ds, but I suddenly remembered I had to talk to her about Mr Smythe and said, ‘NO!’
    ‘What now?’ said Dad wearily.
    ‘Erm – the kitten. We have to take the kitten back to where he comes from – and you don’t like animals in the house, do you, Dad?’
    Jazz was mouthing ‘What are you on about?’ at me, and Kaboodle was whining, ‘Can’t we go with the popcorn and DVD option? Your dad’s not the only one who’s
tired, you know. It’s been quite a day.’
    I ignored Kaboodle and mouthed back at Jazz, ‘Pet-sitting!’
    Meanwhile Dad let out an exasperated puff of air and said, ‘I don’t know what you two are up to, but just let me know when you’ve decided what you’re doing. I’ll be
in front of the telly.’
    At least he didn’t kick off about Kaboodle being there.
    Jazz waited until Dad was out of earshot and then said, ‘What is “peck city” when it’s at home?’
    ‘Eh? Oh – not “peck city”! Pet-sitting!’ I said.
    A fit of giggles took me by surprise It was quite a relief to just let the giggles take over and not have to think of what to say for a minute.
    Luckily Jazz seemed to be infected by my out-of-control laughter fit and had stopped glaring and scowling at me, and soon the two of us were squeaking and holding our sides and trying to get our
breath back.
    ‘Stop! I’m going to die!’Jazz squealed.
    Kaboodle sat on the doorstep, glowering at the two of us, looking very much unamused. ‘When you two have quite finished,’ he said sourly, ‘perhaps you’d be good enough to
show me to my room, Bertie?’
    Dad was deep into some mindnumbing programme about DIY by then, so it was easy to smuggle Kaboodle upstairs. Jazz stayed for the DVD, but we didn’t watch much of it. We spent the whole
time planning the next level of our pet-sitting empire. Kaboodle quickly bored of our excitable conversation and crept out of my bedroom window, telling me over his shoulder, ‘I’m going
to see some friends of mine. Don’t wait up.’
    Once Jazz had gone home, Kaboodle slept on my bed that night. Dad didn’t find out, because Kaboodle hid until Dad had come to say goodnight, and then leaped softly and
silently on to my duvet and curled up beside me on the wall side of the bed.
    ‘What if he comes in while I’m sleeping and sees you here?’ I whispered.
    ‘Oh ye of little faith,’ Kaboodle sighed. ‘I keep telling you, we felines are the masters of deception. I’m mostly black – I can merge into the shadows as easily as
ice melting on a hot day, my dear. And besides, humans only ever see what they expect to
    ‘I don’t understand,’ I hissed.
    ‘Your dad isn’t expecting there to be a cat in your room. He thinks I belong to Jazz, remember? So he won’t see me,’ Kaboodle explained impatiently. ‘Now let me get
some sleep, can’t you? It’s been an exhausting day.’
    I sighed and wriggled down to get comfy. ‘Just one more thing,’ I said. ‘Why do you want to stay here?Wouldn’t you prefer to be in your own house on one of those fluffy
cushions?’
    Kaboodle raised his head and those spooky big eyes flashed orange in the darkness. ‘Can’t a cat have a bit of company once in a while without being grilled under a spotlight about
his