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wasn’t talking about actual words. ‘Oh, no. I mean, I don’t know whether there’s anything wrong, but I haven’t heard any miaows or
anything, no. Maybe we could ask the vet about it later?’
    ‘Yes!’ Dad glanced at his watch. ‘Blimey – look at the time. Come on Bertie, you have to eat and get dressed now. I’ll find a box to put Jaffa in.’
    I ran upstairs and hastily pulled on a pair of crumpled jeans I’d thrown on a chair the night before, found a half-clean T-shirt and pulled my hair back into a scrunchie, then I raced back
down to stuff some toast in my mouth. Dad was cradling Jaffa in his arms, stroking her head and cooing to her. ‘I’m sure I heard her purr just now,’ he said, looking up at me as I
clattered my plate into the sink and washed my hands. I ignored him. I was beginning to get a bit annoyed about his obsession with Jaffa talking. It was like when he’d suggested names for
Jaffa: it made me feel left out somehow.
    Dad didn’t notice my lack of response. He was wittering on, looking lovingly at the kitten as he spoke. ‘I was thinking about how we don’t know her age. While you were lazing
around in bed I did a bit of surfing on the internet to get advice on what to do if you find a stray kitten.’
    ‘Jaffa’s not a stray!’ I protested, flinching at his comment about me ‘lazing around’ while he did research on my kitten. ‘I was given her.’
    ‘I know,’ Dad said, soothingly. ‘But Fenella didn’t know how old she was, did she? She made out that her cat had found Jaffa.’ He laughed. ‘I know she’s
a bit bonkers, but she was quite clear that she didn’t know where Jaffa had come from. And anyway, on this website I was looking at, it says that as well as getting Jaffa inoculated against
all kinds of lurgies, we need to make sure we worm her regularly. And then there are fleas and ticks, of course.’
    Dad handed me Jaffa and disappeared into the cupboard under the stairs in the hallway. He re-emerged with a cardboard box with a lid – it looked like a big shoe box. ‘This will have
to do; it had my new wellies in it,’ he said, hastily puncturing some holes in the lid with a pair of scissors.
    ‘What are you doing?’ I asked in alarm.
    ‘Making some air holes. Right. Put her in, keep the lid on and hold on tight. We don’t want her getting out while I’m driving.’
    I did as I was told, a scowl fixed firmly on my face. Then I checked the box lid was on tightly and followed Dad to the car.
    Jaffa had looked so tiny when I put her in that cardboard box. She sat in the bottom staring up at me, her expression even more anxious than ever. I felt dreadful, like I was
deceiving her, taking her to a place where a huge human was going to lean over her and stick needles in her.
    ‘Don’t worry, little Jaffa Cake,’ I crooned nervously through the sides of the box. ‘I’ll take care of you. We’re just going for a short drive. You hold on in
there, now.’ At that precise moment, I was secretly feeling relieved that Jaffa and I were not on the sort of speaking terms I’d been on with Kaboodle. If Jaffa had been able to
pick up on the nerves in my voice, she would have sensed right away that something horrid was about to happen to her.
    Dad opened the car door for me and I slid on to the back seat, clutching the box firmly to my chest. Then he reached across and strapped me in and I settled the box on my lap.
    ‘What’s up, Bertie?’ he asked, scrutinizing me before putting his key in the ignition.
    ‘Nothing,’ I muttered sullenly.
    ‘Are you worried about the vet?’ he persisted.
    I remained silent and stared out of the windscreen.
    Dad bit his lip. ‘I know it’s not nice, Jaffa having injections, but you know it’s for her own good, don’t you?’
    I felt my sulk begin to thaw around the edges. Poor Dad – it wasn’t really his fault I was grumpy. I was just all mixed up about Jazz going off like that and Jaffa being so silent on