“‘Specially formulated to give your kitten the best start in life” … and when are you gonna learn to read?’
Leroy arranged the sachets along the wall. They had glossy pictures of kittens looking satisfied, and one was like my tabby-and-white sister! I touched noses with the picture.
‘He wants that one,’ said Leroy and began to tear the top of the sachet.
‘Don’t be so impatient with everything,’ grumbled Janine. ‘And don’t give him too much. His tummy is the size of a walnut, it says here.’
‘What’s a walnut?’
Janine rolled her eyes, but she didn’t tell Leroy what a walnut was. ‘Best mix him some kitty milk first.’
‘I want to do it. Let me, Mum. LET ME,’ shouted Leroy, and he pushed his mother out of the way as she tried to open the tin.
‘Stop pushing and shoving.’ Janine snatched the tin from Leroy’s eager hands. ‘Or I won’t let you do it … ever. Badly behaved BRAT.’
‘But Timba is my kitten.’ Leroy started his loud crying again. He tried to tug the kitty milk tin out of Janine’s hands and it crashed to the floor and burst open. The precious kitty milk powder scattered across the grubby tiles.
In a frozen moment of horror, we all stared at it, and to me it smelled delicious. I wanted to jump down there and lick it up.
Then Janine exploded.
‘Look what you’ve done! Look at it, you evil little brat!’
‘I didn’t mean to, Mum,’ whimpered Leroy. He looked up at her, desperate for a spark of love to rescue him. But Janine’s eyes were barren and tired. The sight of Leroy’s crying face, and the milk on the floor, and me wobbling on the edge of the worktop seemed to ignite a bonfire of rage. It flared through her aura, and she screamed at Leroy, hitting out at his head again and again as if she couldn’t stop. He fell against the cupboard, howling and pleading. ‘Stop it, Mum. Stop … please, Mum.’
Shaken and afraid, I tumbled off the worktop and ran, low to the ground, searching for somewhere safe. I dived behind some bulging black rubbish bags stacked against the wall. Between the two of them, I found a wigwam of space, and cowered in there, hungry and bewildered.
I heard Leroy’s feet stamping up the stairs and his loud nasal crying. The sound of Janine breathing and moaning, ‘I can’t cope. I can’t do this any more. That kitten will have to go.’
Chilling words. I was too young to be sure exactly what Janine meant, but I sensed foreboding in the tone of her voice. The fear of it was stronger than the hunger in my belly. The memory of how I had stood up to the dog gave me courage and pride. Solomon’s best kitten, the biggest and the best.
I crouched there watching her scraping the kitty milk powder back into the tin with a brush.
Footsteps thudded out in the street and went quiet outside the door. I was immediately on alert, my whiskers twitching and my nose trying to smell whoever it was standing silently out there, apparently listening, then knocking. Not friendly.
Janine glared at the door, as if it was the door’s fault. She put the brush down, muttering curses. ‘If it’s that sodding social worker …’
She flattened herself against the wall, her eyes wide and scared, her lips pursed. The knock came again, louder, and Janine’s legs began to shake.
Leroy appeared at the top of the stairs.‘Mum, someone’s knocking at the door,’ he whispered.
‘Shh!’ Janine held her finger to her lips and held the other hand up as if to stop Leroy. He rolled his eyes and went back to his bedroom. I stayed where I was, cowering behind the rubbish bags, getting hungrier by the minute.
The knock came a third time, insistently, and a man’s voice called out. ‘Mrs McArthur. Answer the door, please.’
Janine shut her eyes and pressed herself harder against the wall.
‘Mrs McArthur. I know you’re in there. Answer the door. You’ll be in trouble if you don’t.’
Still she didn’t move.
‘Mrs McArthur. It’s Trevor from Getta Loan. You are now six weeks in arrears with your payment. If you don’t pay we’ll be taking legal action to reclaim the money you owe us.’
Janine just stood there until eventually the man said,‘I’m going now, but I’ll be back tomorrow and I shall expect a payment.’
A piece of paper shot through the letterbox, and I heard the man walking away. Janine’s back slid down the wall, and she sank to the floor, breathing in gasps and whispering, ‘What am I going to DO? Oh God, what am I going to do?’
After a while she got up and resumed sweeping up the powdered kitty milk from the floor.
‘Timba. Timba. Where are you?’
Janine was searching for me. Calmer now, she scuffed around in her slippers, looking under furniture and behind curtains. Thoroughly frightened, I stayed hidden. Instinct told me that a cat should not reveal a hiding place in case it was needed again. Wait until their back is turned, then magically appear, with your tail up as if everything is fine.
I waited until Janine was at the worktop, vigorously mixing some of the powdered kitty milk with water. It smelled wonderful, so I emerged, meowing, with my tail up, absolutely starving.