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Chapter One – Kittens

“Jack, don’t stuff your food in like that!” said Megan. “Mum, tell him!”

“Eat properly, Jack,” said Mum, who was pouring cups of tea.

“I am!” said Jack, indignantly. That was just like Megan, and all his sisters for that matter. They bossed him about, were mean to him and got him into trouble.

No one deserved to have four older sisters. Especially bossy ones.

It was teatime, and all the family were together, sitting round the table and chattering like magpies. At least, all the girls were chattering. Sometimes their voices rose to a shriek when two or more wanted to speak at the same time. Jack kept on eating his cauliflower cheese, not listening to them. He was trying to decide whether or not to go to William’s house to play on his computer. It was quiet at William’s.

“But they’re so sweet!” Rosie was saying, waving her fork in the air. “Pretty little faces, and blue eyes, and cute whiskers…”

Jack looked at her in amazement. Who was Rosie talking about? None of her friends, boys or girls, looked like that.

“Close your mouth, Jack,” said Amy, the oldest girl. She went on, “I agree with Rosie. I went to look today, and there’s a grey one, and a black one with little white paws. They’re so tiny – they’d be no trouble at all.”

Jack remembered that Rosie had a friend who’s cat had had kittens. Rosie and Amy were talking about kittens!

“We always said we’d get pets some time,” said Amy, in a pleading voice.

“But they have to be looked after,” said Mum. “Kittens grow into cats, and sometimes they are a lot of trouble.”

“But we’d all help. And these two really need a home. Greta’s mum says so. They’re free to a good home.”

“But cat food costs money,” said Dad.

“Mind you, I’ve always rather fancied having a cat,” said Mum, thoughtfully. Amy and Rosie looked at each other, and so did Megan and her twin Marianne.

“We could all chip in a bit of our pocket money,” said Marianne, eagerly.

“Oh, please Dad!” said both the twins together.

Dad could see that he was fighting a losing battle. He said, “Well, I suppose it would be nice to have a cat. Or even two. What do you think, Jack?”

Jack always felt important when Dad or Mum asked his opinion. But the girls nearly always told him what to do, say and think. He thought now, long and carefully, chewing and swallowing his last mouthful. Then he said, “I’d rather have a dog.”

Of course, all the girls jumped down his throat for saying he wanted a dog.

“Jack, you’re just being awkward!”

“He does it on purpose!”

“What have you got against kittens?”

“Sweet little things – they never did any harm to anyone!”

Jack sighed. It was no use trying to explain that he had nothing at all against kittens. He quite liked cats, in fact. He wouldn’t mind having them at all. But his opinion had been asked for, and he’d given it. “I’d just rather have a dog,” he repeated.

It was true. He’d often thought how good it would be to have a dog of his own. Especially just lately, since William had moved house and he had to go through the car park to get to his new place. He could imagine the dog walking with him, and the kind of dog it would be. Big and black, a Dobermann, maybe, or a German shepherd. It would stay close to him, and no one would dare to try and make trouble when they came along, him and his dog.

There had been trouble just lately. Some bigger boys from school sometimes hung about the car park, kicking a football or just messing about. They hadn’t noticed him much, until one day Megan and Marianne had walked with him to William’s house. The boys had seen him and had laughed at him for walking with girls, and now they teased him all the time when he was alone, calling him a wimp and other stupid names. They’d started to pick on him at school, too. He tried to take no notice but sometimes it was hard. He was starting to get frightened.

The following Saturday, Rosie brought home the kittens in a cardboard box. One was grey and fluffy, the other black and shiny with white socks and a white bib. Both had small spiky tails, white whiskers and tiny pink tongues. They mewed in squeaky little voices, and their eyes were wide and blue. The girls made them feel at home in a comfortable box in the kitchen.

At first, everyone fought about whose turn it was to feed and cuddle the kittens. Even Mum and Dad seemed to like them. By Monday morning, they’d settled in and were beginning to explore, padding round in a wobbly kind of way.

Monday mornings were always hectic. Upstairs, two of the girls were arguing. Rosie rushed past on her way downstairs, a hairdryer in her hand. “Jack, be a darling and feed the kittens,” she called over her shoulder, and disappeared into the downstairs bathroom. Jack knew it wasn’t really his turn, but he didn’t mind. He poured out the milk and spooned the kitten food into bowls. The kittens ate it hungrily and then sat washing their whiskers. He sat down on the floor and started stroking the grey one. It lazily turned its head and licked his fingers with a tiny rough tongue. The black one wobbled over and rubbed its face against Jack’s knee, and it began to purr in a squeaky way. Both of them rolled over and over and swatted at his fingers as he played with them.

“Jack! Get your shoes on!” called Mum from upstairs.

“I have to go,” Jack told the kittens. “But I’ll see you later.”

He was glad that Rosie had brought the kittens home. He loved them already, and couldn’t imagine life without them.

But he still wished he had a dog.