Alfie flushed, his cheeks suddenly burning. She was so right he couldn’t even argue.
“You made him come in the house,” he muttered. He wasn’t entirely sure about this, but he didn’t think Penguin would have gone in on his own.
She shook her head virtuously, and he was almost certain she was lying. Her eyes changed, and she didn’t look at him, quite. “He followed me.” Then she looked up, shrugging. “You have to let him do what he wants. You can’t train a cat.” She looked down at Penguin, who bumped his head against her sandal affectionately. “I can’t help it that he likes me, can I? He wanted to explore, that’s all. It’s like the call of the wild.”
“No, it isn’t!” Alfie leaned over quickly and grabbed the shiny foil packet that he’d just spotted half-hidden by the cushions behind. “More like the call of the cat treats! You saw we had this kind at our house, and you went and bought some so you could bribe him into coming over here!”
Grace snatched them back, stuffing them down behind the cushions again, and Penguin stopped licking his paws and watched the progress of the foil packet with interest. He knew exactly what was in there.
“Those are mine,” Grace muttered.
“Oh, you eat them, do you? Tuna’s your favourite, then?”
“If Penguin wants to come over here, you can’t stop him,” Grace said fiercely. “He isn’t even yours. He was a stray. Your mum said so. He just turned up at your house. Well, now he’s turned up at mine, hasn’t he? Maybe he likes our house better.”
Alfie shook his head and looked down at Penguin, who’d given up on the hope of treats and was washing again. He couldn’t, could he? He wouldn’t abandon Alfie, who’d looked after him for two whole years? “Penguin,” he whispered. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
Penguin glanced up at him but didn’t move.
“Penguin,” Alfie tried again, his voice rising to a frightened half-squeak. “Home. Let’s go.”
“He doesn’t have to go with you unless he wants to,” Grace started smugly, and Alfie stepped back towards the door, knowing he was about to cry and not wanting her to see. But Penguin got up and followed him, overtaking and trotting ahead out into the hallway. Alfie ran after him, his heart thudding and skipping in relief, and wrestled with the door catch.
He looked back as he flung it open and saw Grace standing in the door of the front room, clutching the cat treats and looking as miserable as he’d felt a minute before.
Alfie felt quite guilty– for about ten seconds. Then he decided it was all her own fault.
[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: _13.jpg]
But Alfie’s relief didn’t last. He told himself it was only because of the cat treats, but Penguin kept popping round to Grace’s house. He was starting to look even plumper than he had before, and he actually turned down breakfast once, which left even Mum looking shocked.
“Goodness, he must be getting food from somewhere else!” she commented, looking at the full bowl, and Penguin wedging himself into the cat flap. He really had to heave to get through now.
“Mum! I told you! Grace keeps feeding him treats. She’s trying to steal him.”
“Don’t be silly, Alfie.”
“It isn’t silly! She really is, Mum. She kept him at her house overnight last weekend. She wants him to be hers. She even said so! She said he wasn’t really ours because he was a stray.”
“Alfie…”
Alfie knew that tone. It was his mum’s sensible voice, and it meant she didn’t believe a word he said.
“Why don’t you ever believe me?” he yelled, all his worry about Penguin and his anger with Grace coming out in one furious shout. “You don’t love Penguin; you never have. You didn’t even want me to have him. You wouldn’t care if he went and lived at Grace’s house, even if it did make me miserable. You don’t even loveme!”
“Alfie!” Dad walked in from the living room, where he’d been reading to Jess. He looked really annoyed. “Don’t talk to your mum like that!”
“Oh, Alfie…” His mother folded her arms and stared down at him, shaking her head as if she thought he was just having a silly tantrum.
Alfie stamped his feet, and his throat felt rough, as if the words were tearing out of him. He glared at Mum and Dad.“You don’t love me or Penguin, Mum! You said he was a something nuisance, and that’s a word you told me I was never, ever, ever, ever allowed to say.”
Dad made a strange sort of snorting noise. He was laughing! Alfie felt like he was about to burst– it wasn’t funny!
His mother rolled her eyes.“Alfie, he had just torn a pigeon to pieces in my bathroom!” she hissed. “I think I’m allowed to be annoyed!”
Alfie was never quite sure how Penguin had managed that. He must have dragged the pigeon into the house through the cat flap, hauled it up the stairs, and then played with it rather messily all over the bathroom. It was a large pigeon too. It had been a bit of a shock for Mum walking in on it.
“You’re glad he’s gone to Grace’s!” Alfie snarled. “I hate you!”
“Go to your room!” Mum finally snapped, and Alfie stomped heavily out of the kitchen, kicking the door on the way, because he knew it would really annoy her.
“Just because he gets hairs on your black trousers!” he yelled as he hurled himself up the stairs. “You care more about trousers than you do about me!”
Penguin didn’t come back to Alfie’s that night either – which Alfie couldn’t help feeling was ungrateful, when Alfie had bothered to get sent to bed defending his honour.
But then he was back at Alfie’s house for the rest of the week, and things were just as they had always been. Penguin even played football with him on Saturday morning. Alfie had an important match on Sunday, and he was practising in the garden. Penguin was sitting on the bench looking miffed – no birds were going to be onthe feeder with Alfie kicking a ball around. His whiskers trembled with irritation, until Alfie came and sat down beside him, panting. “Sorry, Penguin. I’ve got to practise. We can’t let Purlham beat us again, and I’m in goal since Max broke his leg.”
[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: _14.jpg]
Penguin butted his arm lovingly, yawned, and jumped off the bench, looking expectantly back at Alfie. He nosed the ball, then jumped on it, rolling over and over like a kitten going mad with a ball of paper. Alfie laughed. Penguin hadn’t done that in ages. “Handball, Penguin! Or pawball… Although I suppose actually you’ve got four feet. Maybe you’re allowed.” He chased after Penguin and the ball, and they dodged and weaved all over the garden. Penguin was particularly good at a sort of four-paw sliding tackle.
They had such a good time that Alfie was starting to hope that Penguin had just been nosing at Grace’s house. Maybe now the excitement had worn off.
[Ęŕđňčíęŕ: _15.jpg]
Then Penguin disappeared that night, and didn’t come back.
It ruined Alfie’s weekend. Sunday afternoon’s football match was a disaster. Alfie’s team were playing Purlham All Stars, who’d beaten them last year, and everyone was desperate for revenge.
But Alfie let in three goals, and Sam Kelly’s mum said very loudly, right in front of half the rest of the team – who all told Alfie about it – that Alfie was a disgrace and shouldn’t be allowed to play.
The only good bit of the day was Mum telling Mrs Kelly that when Sam stopped scoring own goals maybe she’d have a right to be rude about everybody else. Dad had to hurry her away before Mrs Kelly managed to work through her shock and think of anything else to say.
Alfie arrived at school on Monday hoping for something fun to happen to take his mind off the football disaster. He still had a horrible feeling people might be pointing and sniggering, but Oliver told him to stop being dim.“We’ll beat them next year. And anyway, my dad said their striker looked as though he was about thirteen; there’s no way he should have been in the under-tens league.”