Winston and the Marmalade Cat

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Quiz Time!

  Scrumptious Scones

  The Life of Sir Winston Churchill

  Acknowledgements

  Read More

  PUFFIN BOOKS

  Praise for Megan Rix

  ‘If you love Michael Morpurgo, you’ll enjoy this’ Sunday Express

  ‘A moving tale told with warmth, kindliness and lashings of good sense that lovers of Dick King-Smith will especially appreciate’ The Times

  ‘Every now and then a writer comes along with a unique way of storytelling. Meet Megan Rix … her novels are deeply moving and will strike a chord with animal lovers’ LoveReading

  ‘A perfect story for animal lovers and lovers of adventure stories’ Travelling Book Company

  Praise from Megan’s young readers

  ‘I never liked reading until one day I was in Waterstones and I picked up some books. One was … called The Bomber Dog. I loved it so much I couldn’t put it down’ Luke, 8

  ‘I found this book amazing’ Nayah, 11

  ‘EPIC BOOK!!!’ Jessica, 13

  ‘One of my favourite books’ Chloe, Year 8

  MEGAN RIX is the recent winner of the Stockton and Shrewsbury Children’s Book Awards, and has been shortlisted for numerous other children’s book awards. She lives with her husband by a river in England. When she’s not writing, she can be found walking her gorgeous dogs, Bella and Freya, who are often in the river.

  Books by Megan Rix

  THE BOMBER DOG

  ECHO COME HOME

  THE GREAT ESCAPE

  THE GREAT FIRE DOGS

  THE HERO PUP

  THE RUNAWAYS

  A SOLDIER’S FRIEND

  THE VICTORY DOGS

  www.meganrix.com

  For animal lovers and their furry friends

  Chapter 1

  The small kitten raced across the icy wasteland after his prey, but the yellow autumn leaf was held by the wind and flew just ahead of him, out of reach of the kitten’s paws.

  Determined not to lose it, the kitten ran on, leaving the den where his mother and his brothers and sisters still slept far behind.

  When the wind finally released the leaf and it dropped to the ground, the kitten pounced on it with a crunch and stared down at his prey, triumphant. Then he spotted another leaf dancing in the wind, another leaf that needed to be caught before it could escape. He released the first one to dash after the second, but then another leaf fell to the side of him and he darted after that instead.

  Sometimes he jumped up to catch the fleeing leaves mid-air. Sometimes he pounced on them when they hit the ground, but there were too many crisp late November leaves for one small kitten to be able to catch them all.

  The kitten looked back again at the hawthorn bush that his family was hidden in and gave a miaow, but none of them came to help.

  He watched as a sparrow flew above him, then spied a worm that disappeared back below the ground before the hungry kitten could reach it.

  In front of him, the kitten spied a long, thin metal tunnel lying on the ground. When he poked his head inside it he saw a mouse on the grass at the other end. The kitten’s heart beat fast with excitement and he crouched low as he squeezed into the tunnel and headed towards it.

  A moment later the kitten gave a cry as the tunnel lifted off the ground. He slid forward and was covered with thick, black wet mud that stung his eyes. He tried to cry out again but the mud went into his mouth and made him cough.

  Worst of all came a great clang followed by a terrifying roar.

  The kitten trembled as the roar turned into a juddering hum, and he curled up into a muddy ball in the darkness.

  Alone and very afraid.

  Chapter 2

  ‘Morning, Callie,’ nine-year-old Harry said, as he released the bolt on her RSPCA cage.

  The yellow Labrador looked up at him with her big brown eyes and wagged her tail.

  ‘Don’t be too long now,’ said Mr Jenner, who ran the centre, as Harry clipped on Callie’s lead. ‘I don’t want you being late for school again.’

  ‘We’ll be quick,’ Harry promised as he stroked Callie’s soft furry head.

  The Labrador looked up at Harry every now and again as they headed out of the centre and down the street.

  ‘I like taking you for walks most of all,’ Harry told Callie as she trotted along beside him. ‘Because you don’t pull on your lead.’

  Some of the other dogs got so excited and pulled so much that Harry felt like his arms were going to fall off when he took them out for a walk. Not that he blamed them. Going for a walk was very exciting when you were stuck in a cage all day.

  ‘I wish you could be my dog,’ Harry said, when they reached the corner and had to turn back.

  He wished he could have a dog, a cat or even a hamster or a budgie of his own, but he knew his parents wouldn’t let him. At least he got to spend time with lots of animals at the RSPCA.

  At school they were learning about the Second World War, which had ended seventeen years ago in 1945. Harry’s teacher Mrs Dunbar was telling them all about Winston Churchill who was Prime Minister during the war and led the country to victory.

  ‘We owe a great deal to him,’ she told the class. ‘And we should feel honoured that he’s chosen to make his main home here in this part of Kent, not far from our school.’

  Harry scowled. The war hadn’t done his family any good and he didn’t care where Winston Churchill lived. He drew a picture of Callie on the back of his exercise book instead.

  William, who sat next to Harry, drew a picture of Winston Churchill’s hand in the famous victory salute and then added a big smile to it.

  Harry sighed and shook his head at his friend. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Only ten minutes left before school was over and he could head back to help at the RSPCA centre.

  As soon as the bell rang Harry and William pulled on their coats and ran over to the bike rack.

  ‘That bike’s too big for you, Harry,’ William said, as Harry pulled out the heavy black-framed 1940s roadster with a basket on the front.

  William had a brand-new 1962 three-speed Raleigh bike. He’d got it for his birthday a few weeks ago and never stopped talking about it.

  Harry just shrugged. He didn’t care that his bike was too big and more than twenty years old. It was a bike and Harry hadn’t had a bike until Mr Jenner said he could borrow this one: ‘Provided you don’t mind running an errand on it for me from time to time.’

  Mr Jenner knew just about everything there was to know about animals and Harry wanted to be just like him one day.

  Because the bike was a bit too big for him, Harry wasn’t able to sit on the saddle and have his feet flat on the ground at the same time. He pushed down on the right pedal while he was standing up and then hopped on quickly and pushed down on the left pedal. It was a bit tricky and wobbly, but he managed.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ Harry called out to William, as he rode off.

  He wasn’t far from the RSPCA centre, cycling down Tindale Street, when one of the school dinner ladies, Mrs Yarrow,
pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her long apron and waved it at him.

  ‘Harry! Harry – stop!’ she called to him, as she hurried out of her front garden gate in her slippers.

  It wasn’t easy to stop the bicycle once he’d started pedalling it. Not without falling off. But Harry just managed to get his foot on the ground before the bicycle toppled over.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Yarrow?’ he said.

  ‘There’s an animal trapped in there,’ Mrs Yarrow said, pointing at an old rusty pipe sticking out of her lavender bush. ‘I think it’s a cat. I heard it scratching and mewling, but it didn’t sound very strong, poor thing. I had a look but I couldn’t see anything and my arms are too big to get down the pipe, but maybe you can? The pipe fell off one of those scrap-metal lorries. They really should take more care on these winding country roads.’

  Harry had been helping at his local RSPCA centre for two whole months, but this was the first time he’d actually been asked to rescue an animal himself and he wanted to do it properly.

  He tried to remember what Mr Jenner had told him about rescuing cats. There was something important. He could picture Mr Jenner in his head, looking at him over his half-moon spectacles and giving him advice.

  Oh yes, that was it!

  The most important thing is never to try to capture a stray or feral cat with your bare hands. A lost cat will probably be scared and you can’t predict how it will react.

  ‘Cat scratches and bites can be very dangerous and cause infections,’ Mr Jenner had added. But Harry didn’t have any special protective gloves with him and this was an emergency. The cat, if it was a cat, needed his help and it needed his help right now.

  ‘It’s pretty mucky and very smelly inside the pipe,’ Mrs Yarrow told Harry as he took off his coat and rolled up his jumper sleeves. ‘I don’t even like to think what it was used for before it ended up on that lorry.’

  Harry pushed his hand inside the pipe but couldn’t feel anything except sticky, oozy muck. Maybe the cat had got itself out of it somehow already. Harry felt around in the mud some more, hoping the poor creature was OK and didn’t decide to bite him.

  Harry wondered where the cat had come from and whether it was a stray or if someone, somewhere, was looking for it. According to Mr Jenner there was a big difference between stray and feral cats. A stray cat was one that had been living with people but then got lost or been abandoned. A feral cat was a wild cat that wasn’t used to people at all. A stray might let you touch it, but a feral cat would probably bite and scratch you.

  There! He could feel something and it wasn’t mud. Definitely not mud. Harry pulled at it and a moment later he found himself holding a kitten that was covered from head to tail in slimy, stinking, thick black mud. Harry couldn’t even see a spot of its fur under all the mess. The kitten gave a little cry as it opened its bright blue eyes and stared at its rescuer.

  ‘Oh, the poor mite,’ Mrs Yarrow said.

  Harry cradled the muddy kitten to him. He could feel its little heart beating very fast as it started to make tiny whimpering sounds. Harry knew he needed to get the kitten to Mr Jenner at the RSPCA as soon as possible.

  ‘Thanks, Mrs Yarrow,’ he said, as he wrapped the kitten inside his coat so that only its head was poking out. He put the kitten and coat into the bicycle basket, pushed down on the pedal with his foot and sped off towards the RSPCA centre.

  Mr Jenner would know what to do for the best.

  Chapter 3

  ‘Mr Jenner,’ Harry shouted as he cycled into the yard, ringing the bicycle bell, and almost colliding with a shiny black Rolls-Royce that was parked in the driveway. ‘Mr Jenner!’

  Harry pressed on the old bicycle’s brakes at the same time as he put his foot on the ground and came to a squealing, wobbly stop.

  Mr Jenner walked out of the centre with a distinguished-looking man in a dark suit. A uniformed chauffeur, waiting inside the Rolls-Royce, immediately jumped out and stood next to the passenger door of the car.

  Harry liked cars very much and usually he’d have wanted to take a closer look at it, but today there were more important things to worry about. He wished Mr Jenner would stop talking.

  ‘We’ve got lots of dogs looking for new homes,’ Mr Jenner was saying. ‘I’m sure Sir Winston would love a dog. Perhaps even a British bulldog? Or Callie, she’s a yellow Labrador with the sweetest nature, and smart too.’

  But the man in the suit shook his head.

  ‘Sir Winston does love dogs, very much, but his miniature poodle Rufus died earlier this year and he was very attached to him. He can’t bear to have another.’

  ‘What about a bird then?’ Mr Jenner asked. ‘People don’t often think of birds needing rehoming, but they do.’

  While Mr Jenner was speaking Harry tried to get his attention without speaking himself. He pointed at the bicycle basket urgently, but although Mr Jenner glanced over at him he didn’t stop his conversation, much to Harry’s frustration. It was cold without his coat on and Harry rubbed his hands up and down his arms and stomped his feet to keep himself warm.

  ‘Unfortunately, Sir Winston lost his budgerigar Toby this year too, when he was in Monte Carlo. No one was able to find him. I think this time it has to be a cat, preferably a marmalade cat,’ the man said.

  Harry looked down worriedly at the tiny kitten whose big blue eyes stared back at him. He wondered whether he should lift the kitten out of the bicycle basket and carry it over to Mr Jenner. Why was he taking so long?

  ‘Well, I’m sorry we don’t have any marmalade cats here at the moment, Mr Colville,’ Mr Jenner said. ‘But if we do get one, or I hear of any, I’ll let you know immediately.’

  ‘It really is most urgent,’ the man said. ‘Sir Winston’s birthday is in two days’ time. He used to have a favourite marmalade cat called Tango many years ago. There’s a painting of him with Sir Winston and his wife at Chartwell. I just know he’d love another marmalade cat.’

  ‘I’ll do my very best, Mr Colville,’ Mr Jenner promised, as the chauffeur opened the passenger door and the man got in. ‘Have you tried the other RSPCAs and cat rehoming centres?’

  ‘Yes, and they’ve all promised to keep a look out.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find one before Sir Winston’s birthday,’ Mr Jenner said.

  ‘I hope so,’ said Mr Colville as he got in the car and the chauffeur closed the door.

  ‘Mr Jenner!’ Harry hissed, but Mr Jenner waved his hand at him to shush until the Rolls-Royce had driven out of the yard.

  Chapter 4

  ‘Mr Jenner!’ Harry shouted, quickly pushing his bike over to him as soon as the car had gone.

  ‘What is it, Harry?’ Mr Jenner asked him.

  ‘A kitten,’ Harry said. ‘I rescued a kitten.’

  Harry pointed to his coat in the bicycle basket where the kitten lay, unmoving.

  Mr Jenner carefully lifted the tiny creature from Harry’s coat.

  ‘It is … it is going to be OK, isn’t it?’ Harry said. The kitten was so small and fragile. It looked helpless in Mr Jenner’s big hands and so covered in mud that none of its fur could even be seen.

  Mr Jenner checked the kitten’s nose and mouth and then he headed back into the centre with Harry following closely at his heels.

  ‘His fur will need a good clean, but his airways look clear, thank goodness. Although I’m sure he must have swallowed some mud because his mouth is muddy. Let’s try him with a little kitten formula,’ Mr Jenner said. ‘He doesn’t look old enough to have been separated from his mother yet.’

  ‘He fell off the back of a lorry,’ Harry said. ‘Stuck in a pipe. But I don’t know where he came from.’

  ‘He’s very thin,’ Mr Jenner said. ‘But not starving. Most likely a feral kitten that’s got lost. Ones as young as this can make good pets. If he were older it’d be harder to tame him. Adult feral cats take a great deal of time and patience because they’re not used to people and shy away from them.’

  Mr Jenner
gave Harry the kitten to hold while he mixed some goat’s milk with an egg yolk and a little sugar in a small bowl. Harry saw that some of the mud from the kitten had got on to Mr Jenner’s RSPCA uniform, but he knew he wouldn’t care about that.

  ‘Let’s see if he’ll eat this,’ Mr Jenner said.

  He put the bowl on the ground and Harry knelt down and set the kitten on the floor. He didn’t even know if the tiny thing would be strong enough to stand. But it could, staggering and trembling a little as if it was very weak and tired.

  ‘Give him a little on your finger. If he’s a wild, feral kitten, which I think he must be, he won’t be used to a bowl,’ Mr Jenner said.

  Harry dipped his finger in the formula and the kitten hungrily licked the mixture from it. Harry did it again and then again.

  The little kitten watched Harry’s finger going into the bowl and then he put his furry head into the bowl too.

  Harry smiled as he watched the kitten lapping at the mixture.

  ‘I know you said not to try to rescue a cat with my bare hands,’ Harry said to Mr Jenner. ‘But I really didn’t have a choice.’

  ‘You did the right thing, Harry,’ Mr Jenner said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘This little chap owes his life to you.’

  The kitten stopped lapping the formula, looked up at Harry and mewed as if he were agreeing.

  Once the kitten’s tummy was full and it had been on the litter tray, Mr Jenner said it was time for the kitten to have a bath.

  ‘It’ll be even harder to get that thick mud off him once it’s fully dried on.’

  He filled a large tin bowl with warm water and set it on the floor next to Harry and the kitten.

  ‘You can bathe him, Harry,’ Mr Jenner said. ‘He already trusts you. Put him in the bowl. Careful now.’

  Harry was worried the kitten would be frightened by the water, but he didn’t struggle at all. Harry didn’t know if it was because the kitten was so weak and exhausted or if the kitten trusted him not to hurt him.