Alfie Cat In Trouble Read online

  Copyright

  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2016

  HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

  HarperCollins Publishers,

  1 London Bridge Street

  London SE1 9GF

  The HarperCollins Children’s Books website address is

  www.harpercollins.co.uk

  Text © Rachel Wells 2016

  Illustrations © Katie May Green 2016

  Rachel Wells and Katie May Green assert the moral right to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

  Source ISBN: 9780008172084

  Ebook Edition © 2016 ISBN: 9780008172091

  Version: 2016-03-17

  For my wonderful son, Xavier

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Keep Reading

  About the Author

  Also by the Author

  About the Publisher

  Sitting under a bush, I stared at a van, which two big men were unloading furniture from. I was about to move closer when my best cat friend, Tiger, appeared.

  ‘Alfie?’ she said.

  I flicked my tail up in greeting. ‘Hello, Tiger. Look, people moving in!’ I was always excited by the sight of a removal van. You see, I am a doorstep cat. I visit more than one house and have lots of humans who think they own me. Of course, in reality I own them. But that is why removal vans have such a fascination for me. They mean new people, and new people need a cat.

  I might make some new friends to play with and if I’m lucky they might even give me yummy food – pilchards are my favourite.

  ‘Alfie, this isn’t even our street, what are you doing here?’ Tiger was annoyed by my doorstep antics. She had one family and she liked it that way. But I loved my families – I had three altogether: one main home and two others, but I always say you can never have enough humans. Or pilchards for that matter.

  ‘It’s only round the corner.’ We were in the street next to mine, Edgar Road. ‘I’m in trouble again,’ I admitted.

  ‘What did you do?’ Tiger raised her whiskers.

  ‘Why do you always assume it’s my fault?’

  ‘Because it usually is, Alfie.’

  I raised my whiskers back at her in protest, but Tiger was right. ‘It’s to do with baby Summer – she isn’t sleeping. She cries all the time. She sounds like you when someone steps on your tail.’

  ‘Thanks Alfie.’ She glared at me with her yellow eyes. ‘Anyway, what has that got to do with you being in trouble?’ She licked her brightly striped fur; it was clear why she had been named Tiger.

  ‘I’m just trying to explain,’ I huffed. ‘I’m tired, and Claire and Jonathan are tired and grumpy.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And at breakfast I was half-asleep so I stumbled into my food bowl. My paws got covered in food so I panicked and somehow managed to tread it all into the carpet.’ I shuddered as I remembered how Claire and Jonathan, my normally lovely humans, had shouted at me and called me a ‘pest’.

  ‘So, they’re cross?’ Tiger asked, sounding sorry for me.

  ‘Yes, so I decided to lie low for a while. And in doing so I’ve found a new family, just to spend a bit of time with.’ I wasn’t planning on running away or anything like that.

  ‘I guess that’s fine but I know you. Don’t get too involved with them – don’t poke your whiskers into their business,’ Tiger said. I nuzzled her neck.

  ‘Don’t be silly, of course I won’t,’ I replied. Honestly, Tiger didn’t need to worry so much. After all what could possibly go wrong?

  I made my way to the new house. It was easy to sneak in – the door was wide open, and the men were still carrying furniture so no one noticed me. I found myself in a big room that opened onto a kitchen.

  There was a tall, thin man unpacking a lot of fruit onto the kitchen counter. There were more bananas, oranges and apples than I had ever seen. He seemed to be taking a great deal of care, polishing them and putting them down very gently. It seemed a little strange.

  ‘Dear, could you leave that and help me?’ a woman shouted. She was shorter than the man, with big glasses 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 ai
r.

  ‘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,’ he said as he took me upstairs.

  I miaowed. Of course I could be friends with everyone but I wasn’t sure Stanley understood that. I glanced back at Viola who looked unhappy as she watched us go.

  ‘Anyway I am going to show you where Mum works. We call it the Clay Room and we are absolutely not allowed to go in there.’ He opened the door.

  ‘YOWL!’ I said in my loudest voice. If we were absolutely not allowed to go in there, maybe we shouldn’t?

  ‘Oh it’s all right, Alfie, no one will ever know.’ Stanley crept in and I followed him, although I was sure that it was a bad idea; I could feel it in my fur.

  I had never seen a room like it before. There were boxes everywhere, and I could see that the ones that were open were full of pots. A massive wheel was set up in the centre of the room.

  ‘My mum is a very famous pottery maker,’ said Stanley. ‘She designs things and then a big factory makes loads of them to sell.’ I purred in understanding. ‘My Dad, he’s an artist. You’ve probably seen him with funny coloured fruit – that’s what he paints. He sells it to a gallery and they seem to like it.’ He sighed. ‘They are both so busy, and for me, moving here, not having any friends – well it’s not so much fun at the moment.’ He sounded troubled.

  ‘Miaow,’ I replied.

  ‘Dad’s not as successful as mum, but some people say he’s a genius. We all think he’s a bit bonkers. He’s branching out into eggs next.’

  I was lost for words.

  I looked into the big container of clay and then at the potter’s wheel. It was quite interesting.

  ‘It’s so cool isn’t it?’ Stanley said. I purred my agreement as Stanley picked me up. ‘Come and see the clay,’ he said as he walked towards a large bucket. ‘Ahhh!’ Stanley shouted, narrowly avoiding bumping into a large pot which was next to the clay. He wobbled and I felt myself slipping.

  ‘YELP!’ he dropped me and I landed in the bucket of clay. It was wet and sticky, not at all how I thought it would be. I panicked. I couldn’t move – I miaowed, yelped and yowled.

  ‘Oh Alfie, sorry, sorry, don’t worry, I’ll help you,’ Stanley shouted, trying to free me from the clay. Finally, I was out but we were both covered in the sticky stuff; it was all over my fur and paws. So much for no one knowing we were here.

  ‘You look like a clay cat!’ Stanley laughed. I wasn’t amused. Oh boy, we were going to be in so much trouble! We had no choice but to go downstairs. I shuddered as we left a trail of clay behind us; it reminded me of home and the cat food incident.

  We both stood in the doorway. Mr and Mrs Clover just looked at us.

  ‘Heavens above!’ Mr Clover said, dropping an orange. I could see where Stanley got his clumsiness from.

  ‘Stanley what have you done now?’ Mrs Clover asked.

  ‘Sorry,’ Stanley said. ‘Alfie wanted to see where you worked and well, he sort of fell into a box of clay and it left a huge mess on the carpets.’

  I stood as close to Stanley as I could, trembling with fear.

  ‘I don’t believe this; we’ve only been here five minutes and already you’ve ruined the carpets!’ Mrs Clover bawled.

  ‘But Mum,’ Viola started saying. ‘You said you hated the carpets, remember? You said they would be the first things to go.’

  I looked at Stanley, who was still staring at the floor.

  ‘Well, OK, yes that is true but still … That is no excuse for you breaking the rules and you two definitely need a bath.’ She turned to us. I wasn’t happy with that, I hated water of any kind – baths, ponds, even puddles. What had we done?

  ‘I know,’ Viola said, in her timid voice. ‘It’s so hot, shall we get the hosepipe?’

  ‘Great idea,’ Mr Clover boomed. For the first time, he seemed to be looking at something other than his fruit.

  ‘OK, I suppose so. Children, put your bathing suits on,’ Mrs Clover ordered. ‘Alfie, stay where you are. Don’t move.’

  I wasn’t sure I could; I was stuck to the fl
oor.

  Viola and Stanley shrieked with laughter as Mr Clover swung the hosepipe around and they ran through the water. Tentatively, Mrs Clover removed the clay from my fur and paws, as I tried hard to avoid getting too wet.

  ‘Well, you are back to normal. I assume grey is your normal colour?’ Mrs Clover said as she finished. I miaowed. I was grey but in some lights I had a blue tint to my coat.

  ‘Well, this is a fun activity,’ Mr Clover chuckled and the children cheered.

  I wasn’t having very much fun, not being a fan of water, but seeing my new friends happy was almost worth getting wet for. The phone rang and Mrs Clover rushed indoors. She emerged a few minutes later. ‘Viola, quickly get dried. You’re seeing your new piano teacher this afternoon, I can’t believe we nearly forgot. Dear, can you sort out Stanley? She said, turning to Mr Clover. ‘Viola get dressed and practise.’

  ‘But Mum—’ Viola groaned.

  ‘Chop chop, hurry hurry.’ Mrs Clover wrapped Viola in a towel and took her inside. Mr Clover put the hosepipe away and Stanley and I stood, dripping, alone on the lawn.

  ‘It’s always the way – we start having fun and she has to ruin it,’ Stanley huffed.

  ‘Miaow?’ Did he mean his mum?

  ‘Viola. It’s always about Viola and her piano. No one even notices me half the time. More than half really.’

  I wanted to tell him that Viola had been enjoying herself, too. She hadn’t wanted to go in.

  ‘Come on Stanley, get yourself dried and dressed,’ Mr Clover said, going inside.

  I knew that I had a job to do. Stanley was sad; Viola seemed a bit miserable, too. Mr and Mrs Clover were distracted but in the garden they had all enjoyed themselves. I knew my mission here was to remind them that they could have fun together.

  A little while later, I found Tiger chasing butterflies at the end of Edgar Road.

  ‘Hey,’ I said.

  ‘What’s wrong, Alfie?’ she asked. She could always read my moods.

  ‘I’ve just left the Clover’s. It’s not a happy place. Stanley gets into trouble because he’s bored and the grown-ups are obsessed with work.’