‘Hope the little girl will be all right,’ she was saying. ‘That was a nasty cut on her head.’
‘I thought you said it was her finger?’ the boy said.
‘I knew you weren’t listening. I told you, she hit her head when she fell over. She was running away from the dratted seagulls because one of them bit her finger when it pinched a bit of her sandwich. Damn things are getting to be a real nuisance around here, if you ask me. There’ve been a few people lately who’ve been attacked like that on the beach.’
‘Poor kid, she must have been frightened. I don’t like their big beaks myself.’
‘No, well, you’re a big wuss, aren’t you,’ she said, laughing. ‘And yes, I do feel sorry for the girl of course, but you know, they were asking for trouble, running away from home like that – silly children. God only knows what might have happened to them, far worse things than a sore finger or even a bumped head.’
I stopped eating for a minute at this, and gave a little meow of agreement. Wasn’t this exactly why I’d been so worried about the girls myself? I agreed with Stella – it had been a relief, in a way, that they had to go to hospital rather than carry on with their mad running away idea. But it wasn’t until I’d finished my food, licked the bowl clean and started to wash myself that the reality of my situation came flooding back to me in a rush. I was lost and alone in a strange place, and although my poor Caroline was safe now, I had no idea how badly injured she might be or whether the hospital would be able to make her better. Or whether I’d even be able to get back to her again, to find out. Now that my urgent need for food and milk had been satisfied, these worries were suddenly so overwhelming to me that I didn’t know what to do, apart from pacing up and down and crying.
‘Poor little thing’s still hungry,’ said the boy, watching me.
‘I don’t think so, Robbie.’ The female bent down and picked me up, giving me a little stroke and looking at me carefully. ‘I’m sure he’s somebody’s missing pet, you know. But he’s not wearing a collar.’
No, I wasn’t. I never do. I know some of you are happy about wearing them, but personally I can’t stand the things. After I chewed my way out of the first two Julian bought me, my family gave up trying.
‘Tell you what,’ the boy said. ‘Shall I put a picture of him on Twitter?’
‘Bloody Twitter, leave off about it for God’s sake. You’re never off your bloomin’ phone doing your cheeps and whatnot when you’re supposed to be washing up.’
‘Tweets, Auntie Stella!’ he said, laughing. ‘Tweets, not cheeps.’ He held his phone up in front of me and pressed something on it. ‘Look this way, little cat,’ he called. ‘That’s it.’ He pressed again. ‘Good one. Right, I’ll just share this on Twitter – and on Instagram and WhatsApp, while I’m about it. I’ll say he’s a lost kitten—’
‘I don’t know what the hell you’re on about, bloomin’
‘Oh, Auntie, you’re, like,
Needless to say, I didn’t understand what he meant, any more than Stella seemed to. Caroline had sometimes done that thing before, holding up her dad’s or Laura’s phone and saying she was taking a picture of me, but when she showed me the picture of a little cat on the phone later, I couldn’t understand why she thought it was me. It could have been any little tabby, surely.
‘Well, for someone so
If the boy responded to this, I wasn’t there to hear it. As you can probably imagine, as soon as I heard the word
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