Ginger the Stray Kitten (2 page)

Chapter Two

Rosie thought about the ginger kitten all weekend. It was such a big step that he’d let her stroke him! Maybe she really would be able to tame him. He was very young, after all.

She sat dreamily at the kitchen table, while Mum was writing a shopping list, drawing pictures of the kitten.
It was so hard to get his stripes right, she had to keep starting again.

“That’s beautiful, Rosie!” Mum said, leaning over.

Rosie shook her head. “His face ought to be more of a peachy colour. I don’t have the right pen for it.”

“Is it a real cat then?” Mum asked. “One of the ones you see on the way home from school?”

“He’s a kitten at Mrs Bowen’s farm,” Rosie explained. “You know, the little farm down the lane, about two minutes’ walk from Gran’s house? There’s five of them altogether. You’d love them, Mum.”

She looked hopefully at her mother. Maybe if Mum came and saw how cute the kittens were, she’d let them take the little ginger one home. If only Rosie could tame him…

“He does look cute,” her mum agreed. “Just be careful though, won’t you? Those wild cats have probably got all sorts of horrible bugs.”

Rosie sighed. That didn’t sound particularly hopeful…

Rosie’s mum couldn’t understand why she was so keen to get to school on Monday morning.

“I’m going to be at work early, at this rate,” she said. “What’s got into you, Rosie? Usually it’s me telling you to get a move on, not the other way around.”

Rosie just smiled. The sooner she was at school, the sooner it would be home time and she could persuade Gran to take her to the farm again. Or it felt that way anyway, even though she knew that really it didn’t make any difference how early she got there.

She’d made sure Mum bought ham for her sandwiches this week, and she’d begged for an extra yoghurt so she could save both sandwiches and not have her tummy rumbling all afternoon.

Luckily, Gran didn’t mind going to the farm again, and chatting with Mrs Bowen. Rosie ran ahead as they went down the lane that led past the farm, calling to her gran to hurry.

“I can’t walk any faster, Rosie,” said Gran. “You really do love those cats, don’t you?” She was frowning a little as she said it, but Rosie was thinking about whether the ginger kitten would remember her and didn’t notice.

It seemed to Rosie that the cats appeared more quickly this time when she sat down on the old tractor. Obviously they remembered her as the food person. The ginger kitten was the first to appear, his wide, white whiskers
twitching with anticipation. Rosie wished he wasn’t so nervous of her, and that she could take him home and look after him. She crumbled the sandwich and scattered a few pieces around, hoping that again he’d be brave enough to come really close.

The kitten sniffed the air delightedly. More ham! And the others weren’t as brave as he was, so he could have most of it to himself. He was sure the girl wasn’t dangerous – she
had
touched him last time, but very gently. It had been quite nice. He’d even let her stroke him again, if there was ham.

Rosie watched hopefully as he crept forward, and she held out a particularly yummy-looking piece
of ham. The kitten nibbled it delicately, then bumped her hand with his forehead, as if to say thank you. Rosie held out her left hand with some more sandwich, and carefully rubbed behind his ears with the other.

The kitten looked up at her, still confused about why she wanted to stroke him like this, but not minding too much. He even purred, just a little. He was a bit itchy behind the ears, and she was rubbing exactly the right spot.

He finished the last of the sandwich and stared at Rosie, sniffing her fingers to see if more food would appear. When it didn’t, he yawned, showing a very pink tongue, and jumped on his little tabby sister’s tail, starting a kitten wrestling match.

Rosie watched them, giggling quietly to herself. They were so funny! Maybe tomorrow she would bring a piece of string for them to chase, she was sure they would like that.

The kittens suddenly scattered, and Rosie turned to see her gran coming out of the farmhouse and waving goodbye to Mrs Bowen. Gran looked a bit worried, and Rosie jumped up.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, as they headed for the gate into the lane.

Gran looked down at her, and sighed. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for a while, Rosie,” she said. “Mrs Bowen is moving – she’s going to live with her son in the village. The farmhouse is a bit too big for her now she’s on her own.”

Rosie stared up at Gran in surprise. She couldn’t imagine the farm without Mrs Bowen. “Oh… So who’s going to live at the farm now?” she asked. “Is Mrs Bowen selling it?” Rosie looked back at the farm gate. There was no For Sale sign up.

“No…” Gran hesitated. “Well, yes, I suppose she is. The land has been sold to a developer – they’re going to
knock down the farm buildings and put up some houses instead. Mrs Bowen signed the contract with them a little while ago, and she’s been gradually packing her things up and moving them over to her son’s house. She’s leaving the farm this week.”

Rosie gasped. It was all happening so quickly. Then a horrible thought struck her. “But Gran, what’s going to happen to the cats? They won’t stay around when the farm’s a building site! Where will they go?”

“It’s all right, Rosie,” Gran said soothingly, putting an arm round her shoulders. “Mrs Bowen’s asked the people from the Animal Rescue Centre in Wilmerton to rehome the cats. They’re going to come and collect them
tomorrow, she told me. It’ll be much better for the cats, you know. They’ll check them over, and find proper homes for the kittens. As for the older cats, they’ll try and find someone with farm buildings or stables who’ll have them as outdoor cats, like they are here.”

Rosie nodded. “But I won’t see them any more,” she said sadly, her voice quivering. “Not even the little ginger kitten, and he was starting to like me, Gran, he really was. I … I even thought of trying to take him home, if I could persuade Mum…”

“I’m not surprised he liked you, considering you were feeding him all your sandwiches.” Gran smiled at her. “Mrs Bowen does have windows and I’m not blind, Rosie!”

“Oh.” Rosie looked up at Gran, her cheeks a little pink. “You won’t tell Mum, will you?” she asked.

“Well, no. But I think you’d have been better off eating the sandwiches yourself and buying some cat treats with your pocket money,” Gran suggested.
“I shouldn’t think your mother would like to know she was making sandwiches for a tribe of wild cats.”

“It won’t matter now anyway,” Rosie said tearfully. “I’ll never see any of them again!”

When Mum picked Rosie up from Gran’s that night, she was surprised by the quiet, sad little figure who trailed down the stairs.

“What’s up, Rosie? Did you have a bad day at school?” she asked.

Rosie shook her head.

“You go and get your things, Rosie,” Gran suggested, and by the time Rosie had packed up her homework and her
pencil case, Gran had obviously told Mum what was going on, because she didn’t ask again.

Rosie stared miserably out of the car window as they drove back to their house, which was a bit further out of the village than Gran’s. The rescue centre people would be thinking about new homes for the kittens already, she supposed. All those lucky people, who’d be getting gorgeous kittens. Rosie wondered who would get to adopt the ginger kitten. Maybe there’d be a girl her age. But she was sure no one would ever love him as much as she did. She was so jealous.