“Emma, look,” Dad murmured, a few minutes later. “Sammy’s going in on his own. You can close the door in a second.”
Emma nodded, and as the white tip of Sammy’s striped tail cleared the door, she gently swung it shut and twisted the catches.
“Let’s go home,” she whispered.
Sammy sat pressed against the back of the box. He had no idea what was happening – he’d never seen anywhere but the barn. Now he was shut into the small, shadowy carrier, and somehow it was moving. The smells were strange and sharp, and there was so much noise. The vibration of the car was completely new to Sammy and very frightening.
He could hear Emma’s voice, and her dad’s, and he knew that they were familiar, but it wasn’t making him feel much better.
“Do you think he’s all right? I thought he might meow, but he’s not even making any noise.”
“It’s a big shock for him, poor kitten. We’re nearly back, Emma.”
“We’re almost home,” Emma whispered through the holes in the carrier. “Not much longer.”
Sammy felt himself pressed against the side of the carrier as the car swung round a corner. He let out a little hiss of fright and tried to back further into the box – but there wasn’t anywhere to go. He scratched at the plastic, just a faint little movement of his paw. Nothing happened. Sammy closed his eyes and hoped his mother would come.
“I don’t understand,” Emma whispered. “He was so friendly before. He let me pick him up. He even slept on my lap.”
“One of those websites did say to expect a kitten to take a couple of steps backwards when it’s moved, Ems,” Dad pointed out. “He’s only been here a few hours.”
“I didn’t think he’d be this jumpy.” Mum looked worriedly at Sammy, tense and nervous, his whiskers bristling.
“He’s just a bit scared,” Dad said encouragingly.
“I suppose so…” Mum sighed.
Emma looked over at the big wire crate they’d borrowed from one of the neighbours, whose puppy didn’t need it any more. Sammy couldn’t be loose in the house just yet, as he’d probably run off and hide. But they could put the crate on the table in the corner of the kitchen, and he could see everything that was going on and get used to lots of people being around. The kitchen didn’t have any holes a kitten could get stuck in when they let him out to play.
It had seemed like the perfect plan for an almost-wild kitten. But Emma had imagined Sammy watching curiously as she ate her breakfast or did her homework. She’d thought of him purring to Dad as he made the dinner. She hadn’t seen a hissing, spitting, miserable little kitten hiding at the back of his crate. He’d even swiped at her with his claws when she put a bowl of fresh water in for him. He’d missed, but still. It was like Sammy was a different kitten.
“We need to give him time,” Dad said gently. “A day or so to calm down, before we start trying to handle him again.”
“Yes,” Emma sighed. “And I know I should have expected he wouldn’t be very happy…” But she hadn’t thought it would be like this. Mum looked so worried – and she’d really been coming round to the idea of a kitten! What if she changed her mind?
Dad patted Emma’s shoulder, and then gave Mum a hug. “Don’t look so tragic, you two! It’ll be OK! I’m just going to make some coffee. Do you want anything, Emma?”
Emma shook her head. Deep down, she realized sadly, she’d just thought that Sammy would see how nice their house was. He’d know how excited she was to have a kitten of her own – he’d understand, and he’d settle in straightaway.
“I was being stupid,” Emma muttered to herself. She crouched down in front of the crate, looking at Sammy sideways. He was still huddled up at the back, his ears flat against his little head. “I thought everything would be perfect all at once. But I’ll do anything to make you love us, Sammy. I just want you to be happy.”
Emma held out her fingers to Sammy. They were covered in roast chicken dinner baby food, which apparently was the most popular flavour with kittens. It felt sticky and gloopy, but she didn’t mind. They’d given Sammy a whole twenty-four hours to calm down, and Emma just couldn’t wait any more. All the websites said that the way to make a half-wild kitten like you was to use food. They had to make Sammy see that food came from people, and if he wanted the food he had to put up with them, too.
“He’s noticed, Ems,” Dad breathed behind her. “He can smell it.”
It was true. Emma could see Sammy’s ears flickering, just a little. And his eyes were widening. “He must be able to smell it,” she murmured. “It smells disgusting.”
“Not to a cat,” Dad whispered back.
“He’s coming!” Emma tried not to sound too excited, or too loud. Sammy was stepping delicately, cautiously across the crate to sniff at her fingers. His tiny pink tongue flicked out, and he began to lick them.
Emma held her face straight, trying not to laugh and scare him away, but it tickled so much. His tongue was very strong for such a small kitten. And it was so rough. Emma leaned a little closer, so she could see the tiny white hairs all over his tongue. Sammy stopped licking and glanced worriedly up at her for a second. But then the deliciousness of the baby food won, and he went back to getting every last bit out from under Emma’s fingernails.
Emma wanted to pull her hand away to get some more from the jar, but she was sure that would frighten Sammy. Then she rolled her eyes. Of course! She dipped her other hand in, lifting out several fat fingerfuls, and slowly moved that hand into the crate, too.
Sammy moved his head from side to side, as though he wasn’t sure which hand to go for.
“Aww, poor Sammy – you’ve confused him now,” Dad said.
Sammy decided that he couldn’t get much more from Emma’s right hand and changed to gulping down the food from her left. Emma looked at him thoughtfully. Her right hand was still in the crate. Very gently, she ran her hand down Sammy’s back. He tensed a little, but he didn’t spring away. Emma kept softly stroking his fur.
“Is that nice?” she whispered. “Is it nice being stroked, mmm?”
Sammy glanced up at her, as if to check what the noise was, but he kept licking.
“Keep stroking him,” Dad murmured. “I’m going to get a little bowl of his proper dry food. Let’s see if we can get him to eat that with us still here watching him.”
He filled the bowl quietly and passed it to Emma so she could put it in front of Sammy. The little kitten darted back as the bowl suddenly appeared, but then he caught the scent of the dry cat food he was used to. He gave Emma’s fingers one last hopeful swipe with his tongue and moved on to the bowl.
“You try stroking him,” Emma whispered to Dad.
Dad nodded and reached slowly into the crate, running one finger down Sammy’s back as he busily gobbled the food. Sammy glanced over his shoulder, but he didn’t stop eating.
“It really works,” Dad murmured. “We can do this again when we feed him at lunchtime.”
Emma nodded. “Every time we feed him. And maybe soon we can get him out of the crate and let him eat from his bowl on the floor.” She sighed happily. “It’s really going to be OK, Dad, I’m sure it is.”
“Which top do you think I should wear?” Mum held two out on hangers.
“Mmm. The black one,” Emma said, watching Sammy. He’d nearly finished his bowl of food and he was looking sleepy. She had her arm inside his cage, with her hand cupped round him. Emma had a feeling he might fall asleep with her hand still there, which would be brilliant. He’d be almost back to the same friendly Sammy she’d known at the stables, and it was only a week since they’d brought him home.