Alfie Cat In Trouble. Rachel Wells

and hair like a bird’s nest with lots of pencils sticking out of it.

      ‘But my fruit,’ the man replied.

      ‘I am sure it’ll be fine for a few minutes, Dear,’ she said. ‘We need to organise the furniture.’

      I watched as the two removal men moved sofas, tables and chairs while the woman kept changing her mind about where they should put things. They huffed and puffed as they went backwards and forwards a lot.

      ‘But Mrs Clover, you said it’d be fine here!’ they complained as they lifted the biggest sofa I’d ever seen.

      ‘Yes, well I thought it was, but it just doesn’t look right. Please can you put it by the window? Yes, that’ll do nicely. What do you think dear?’

      The man, I assumed Mr Clover, was staring at an apple, which was painted a bright yellow.

      ‘What? Oh yes, oh lovely.’ He obviously wasn’t paying attention but Mrs Clover seemed happy.

      There was a little girl in the corner of the room. She had a book hiding her face and seemed not to notice the commotion. I thought about approaching her, but then a boy entered the room. He looked a bit scruffy: his clothes were far from neat, he had a cheeky round face with freckles dotted across his nose and messy hair. He was carrying a box, out of which he kept dropping things. As some of them rolled towards me, I saw they were stones. He looked a bit lost. He tried to get his parents’ attention but his voice wasn’t heard in the commotion.

      Mrs Clover was giving orders; Mr Clover was looking lovingly at his yellow apple and the girl had her head in her book. With a thump, the boy suddenly dropped his box and stones flew out across the floor.

      ‘AHHHHH!’ Mr Clover shouted. Both the boy and I looked on in horror as Mr Clover skidded on a stone, slipped along the wooden floor and ended up with his head in a plant pot.

      ‘Stanley, what have you done?’ Mrs Clover screeched. She sounded cross. Stanley was red-faced as he started scooping his stones up. ‘You are such a calamity,’ she bellowed.

      ‘Sorry, sorry but it’s my special stone collection,’ the boy protested, sadly.

      ‘My head, it’s stuck, it’s stuck!’ Mr Clover shouted, his voice muffled by the pot. As he tried to pull it off, he banged into the wall.

      ‘I think it was an accident,’ the girl said, in a quiet voice, but no one took any notice.

      ‘Stanley you need to be more careful,’ Mrs Clover yelled, as Mr Clover’s head was freed by the removal men.

      ‘Sorry,’ Stanley mumbled again. I moved towards him; he definitely needed a friend.

      ‘YOWL!’ I slipped on a stray stone and fell over. My bottom ached, my tail hurt and I was lying on my back with my legs in the air.

      ‘Oh gosh, it’s a cat!’ Stanley exclaimed, scooping me up and giving me a much needed cuddle.

      ‘Miaow,’ I said.

      ‘Wow, how did you get in here? Do you live here? Who are you?’ He seemed very pleased to see me.

      I purred.

      ‘Look, Mum, Dad, Viola! Look it’s a cat! A CAT!’ he shouted.

      Still, no one seemed to hear him. Mr Clover had dropped his yellow apple during the plant pot incident and one of the removal men had stepped on it. Mr Clover was looking upset as he cradled the squishy mess. I thought he might have had tears in his eyes. The removal men were lifting a piano as Mrs Clover was telling them how precious it was and Viola was at her side. No one noticed Stanley or a lone cat.

      ‘No one ever listens to me.’ Stanley looked very upset as he took me and his stone collection out of the room.

      We went upstairs, sat on his bed and he read my name tag.

      ‘Alfie, that’s a good name for a cat.’

      I miaowed in agreement.

      ‘We had to move here from the country. I miss it.’ He looked sad as he stroked me, still clutching his stones. I purred in support. ‘My sister, Viola – she’s a podigy.’

      I tipped my head questioningly; I’d never heard of a ‘podigy’.

      ‘It means she is very good at music. She has to go to the best music school so the whole family had to come here. She’s eleven and I’m only eight so I don’t matter. I miss my old home. And Viola is so good all the time. She never gets into trouble. I always do.’

      I miaowed excitedly – Stanley and I were the same!

      ‘I don’t mean it, but I can be a bit clumsy. Mum calls me Calamity Stan. Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. Even if you don’t live in our house you can visit, and we can be friends. Can’t we?’

      I nuzzled into Stanley. Yes we would be very good friends, I could feel it in my fur. I miaowed and jumped off the bed; it was time for me to leave.

      ‘You will come back, won’t you?’ Stanley said.

      I miaowed again. You bet I would.

      

      When I returned to the Clover’s house the next day, I made my way under the fence and into the back garden. The kitchen door was open so I just walked in. Mr Clover was sitting at the table, painting the outside of the apples in rainbow colours. I wanted to know why he needed to paint fruit but I couldn’t ask, being a cat. Mrs Clover was talking on the phone and cooking lunch at the same time. I wondered, fleetingly, if I would get any but it didn’t smell like fish, so it wouldn’t matter too much if I didn’t.

      ‘I can make two new designs for plates by next week,’ Mrs Clover was saying. There was a pause. ‘Yes of course, matching bowls.’ She was stirring something on the stove and talking. ‘Oh no!’ she shouted, dropping the phone.

      ‘What is it dear?’ Mr Clover asked without looking up.

      ‘I’ve made custard instead of mushroom soup,’ she said, scratching at her messy hair. ‘I must have mixed up the packets.’ She looked puzzled.

      ‘Oh dear, dear,’ Mr Clover replied.

      I thought this might be the maddest house I had ever visited.

      ‘Never mind, custard soup will be delicious for lunch, I am sure,’ Mrs Clover decided.

      I was suddenly glad I wasn’t joining them.

      Half an hour later, I was distracted by the most beautiful music I had ever heard. Viola, the ‘podigy’ was playing her piano and I was impressed. I went over to her and hopped onto her lap. She stopped and scooped me up, giving me a lovely cuddle.

      ‘What a cute cat,’ she said.

      I snuggled into her; she was pretty lovely herself. She was taller than Stanley, with the same colour hair and freckles, and she wore glasses like her mum, although her hair was much neater. As she stroked me, Stanley ran into the room like a whirlwind.

      ‘Alfie!’ he said, grabbing me from his sister. Viola looked a bit surprised; so did I. ‘I have to show Alfie something,’ Stanley said, carrying me off.

      ‘You are my friend not hers, Alfie,’