by Anna Wilson
She was so grateful, she asked me and Jazz to look after Kaboodle on a regular basis while the play was on, and she paid us a fiver a day – ‘Result!’ as Jazz put it. She could have bought ten pairs of those trainers she’d wanted by the time the curtain dropped on the last performance!
But then suddenly it was all over.
Pinkella told us she was moving.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, taking in the looks of surprise and shock on our faces. ‘I just can’t live so glaringly in the public eye any more, darlings,’ she said. ‘I need to get away from it all. And besides, I’m going to be on the road so much with all the new work I’m getting.’
‘We’ll miss you,’ said Dad, blushing. He was never very good at saying stuff like that.
‘And Kaboodle,’ I said, swallowing hard.
‘Yes, darling, and we’ll miss you too,’ said Pinkella. ‘We’ll come and visit you from time to time though. And of course you must come and see us.’
Dad took her through to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and I sat down on the sofa, my head in my hands. What would I do without Kaboodle? He’d become as good a friend to me as Jazz. He was almost as much my pet as Pinkella’s. Life was going to be so empty without him around. My brain was whizzing around in overdrive, and I was so preoccupied, I almost missed the tiny mewling noise coming from outside the front door.
I went to the window and peered out on to the drive.
‘Kaboodle!’ I cried and ran to open the door.
He trotted up to the porch and said, ‘Mffuuggggle.’
I stared in horror as I realized there was a small bundle of fur hanging from his jaws. ‘Oh no, it’s not a . . . a mouse?’ I asked shakily.
‘Of course not!’ Kaboodle protested, dropping his offering.
Only then did I get a proper look at what he had been carrying.
‘A kitten?’ I squealed.
‘Full marks for observation,’ Kaboodle said coolly. ‘I thought you might like her.’
‘She’s – she’s for me?’ I asked, hardly daring to go anywhere near the tiny creature, which wasn’t much larger than the palm of my hand. ‘But where did you get her?’ She was orange and white. A tiny stripy marmalade cat, with the largest crystal blue eyes I’d ever seen.
Kaboodle gave a rasping sound as if he was clearing his throat. ‘I – er – let’s just say she needs a loving home,’ he said cryptically ‘Best not to ask too many questions. I thought you might like a farewell gift. You’ll have heard by now that we’re leaving?’
‘Oh, Kaboodle, thank you. She’s gorgeous! What’s her name?’
‘Well, her mother called her Perdita de la Chasse—’ he began.
‘De la Chasse?’ I asked. ‘But isn’t that your—?’ ‘Anyway, feel free to call her whatever you like You humans normally do, cut in Kaboodle. He washed a front paw earnestly and then, as if to make it clear that this conversation was over, he turned, holding his tail high in the air, and called out over one shoulder, ‘I thought it was about time you had your own cat. Especially now I won’t be around for much longer. And I think you’ll make a lovely companion for the little one.’
That was the closest Kaboodle had ever come to paying me a compliment, I realized, as I bent down to scoop up the tiny kitten. I watched as the black and white cat who had been my friend for the past year trotted back over to Pinkella’s. I wanted to call out something, but my throat had closed up. He gave his tail a final flick in my direction as he disappeared down the side of the house.
What on earth will Dad say? I thought, as I slowly turned to go inside.
‘Oh, look at that adorable little baby!’
It was Pinkella, who’d just come out of the kitchen with two coffee mugs in her hands.
Dad came after her. ‘Oh good grief, what’s that?’ he cried. ‘It’s not another blinking mouse, is it?’
Pinkella smiled at him as if he were a rather foolish small child and said, ‘Marvin, darling, it’s a gorgeous little kitten!’
I just stood there, holding the kitten and looking up at Dad with what I hoped were the hugest, most pleading, I’m-your-only-daughter-and-you-owe-me-big-time eyes.
Dad looked at Pinkella, and Pinkella looked at Dad. Then he turned to me, sighed, and said, ‘So what are you going to call her?’
Anna Wilson used to edit children’s books until she discovered it was much more fun to write them. She took a flying leap from being an editor to being a fully-fledged author in 2008 and has never looked back (except when she has tripped over something). Inspired by her family, friends and pets, she writes funny yet heart-warming novels which are absolutely NOT based on any MORTIFYINGLY EMBARRASSING incidents which have happened to her in the past.*
Anna lives in Bradford on Avon with her husband, two children and an array of pets, including a dog, cats, a tortoise and a pair of extremely noisy ducks.
*This may not be entirely true.
Books by Anna Wilson
The Parent Problem
The Great Kitten Cake Off
The Pooch Parlour series
The Poodle Problem
The Dotty Dalmatian
The Smug Pug
The Top of the Pups series
The Puppy Plan
Pup Idol
Puppy Power
Puppy Party
The Kitten Chaos series
The Kitten Hunt
Kitten Wars
Kitten Catastrophe
For younger readers
I’m a Chicken, Get Me Out of Here!
Monkey Business
Monkey Madness: The Only Way is Africa!
And for older readers
Summer’s Shadow
www.annawilson.co.uk
The Kitten Hunt first published 2009 as Kitten Kaboodle by Macmillan Children’s Books
This edition published 2016 by Macmillan Children’s Books
This electronic edition published 2016 by Macmillan Children’s Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-0463-4
Text copyright © Anna Wilson 2009
Illustrations copyright © Moira Munro 2009
Cover Illustrations by Matt Hunt
The right of Anna Wilson and Moira Munro to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third-party websites referred to in or on this book.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Typeset by Nigel Hazle
Visit www. panmacmillan. com to read more about all our books and to buy them. You will also find features, author interviews and news of any author events, and you can sign up for e-newsletters so that you’re always first to hear about our new releases.