Sammy the Shy Kitten

Chapter Six

Emma held out her fingers to Sammy. They were covered in roast chicken dinner baby food, which apparently was the most popular flavour with kittens. It felt sticky and gloopy, but she didn’t mind. They’d given Sammy a whole twenty-four hours to calm down, and Emma just couldn’t wait any more. All the websites said that the way to make a half-wild kitten like you was to use food. They had to make Sammy see that food came from people, and if he wanted the food he had to put up with them, too.

“He’s noticed, Ems,” Dad breathed behind her. “He can smell it.”

It was true. Emma could see Sammy’s ears flickering, just a little. And his eyes were widening. “He must be able to smell it,” she murmured. “It smells disgusting.”

“Not to a cat,” Dad whispered back.

“He’s coming!” Emma tried not to sound too excited, or too loud. Sammy was stepping delicately, cautiously across the crate to sniff at her fingers. His tiny pink tongue flicked out, and he began to lick them.

Emma held her face straight, trying not to laugh and scare him away, but it tickled so much. His tongue was very strong for such a small kitten. And it was so rough. Emma leaned a little closer, so she could see the tiny white hairs all over his tongue. Sammy stopped licking and glanced worriedly up at her for a second. But then the deliciousness of the baby food won, and he went back to getting every last bit out from under Emma’s fingernails.

Emma wanted to pull her hand away to get some more from the jar, but she was sure that would frighten Sammy. Then she rolled her eyes. Of course! She dipped her other hand in, lifting out several fat fingerfuls, and slowly moved that hand into the crate, too.

Sammy moved his head from side to side, as though he wasn’t sure which hand to go for.

“Aww, poor Sammy – you’ve confused him now,” Dad said.

Sammy decided that he couldn’t get much more from Emma’s right hand and changed to gulping down the food from her left. Emma looked at him thoughtfully. Her right hand was still in the crate. Very gently, she ran her hand down Sammy’s back. He tensed a little, but he didn’t spring away. Emma kept softly stroking his fur.

“Is that nice?” she whispered. “Is it nice being stroked, mmm?”

Sammy glanced up at her, as if to check what the noise was, but he kept licking.

“Keep stroking him,” Dad murmured. “I’m going to get a little bowl of his proper dry food. Let’s see if we can get him to eat that with us still here watching him.”

He filled the bowl quietly and passed it to Emma so she could put it in front of Sammy. The little kitten darted back as the bowl suddenly appeared, but then he caught the scent of the dry cat food he was used to. He gave Emma’s fingers one last hopeful swipe with his tongue and moved on to the bowl.

“You try stroking him,” Emma whispered to Dad.

Dad nodded and reached slowly into the crate, running one finger down Sammy’s back as he busily gobbled the food. Sammy glanced over his shoulder, but he didn’t stop eating.

“It really works,” Dad murmured. “We can do this again when we feed him at lunchtime.”

Emma nodded. “Every time we feed him. And maybe soon we can get him out of the crate and let him eat from his bowl on the floor.” She sighed happily. “It’s really going to be OK, Dad, I’m sure it is.”

“Which top do you think I should wear?” Mum held two out on hangers.

“Mmm. The black one,” Emma said, watching Sammy. He’d nearly finished his bowl of food and he was looking sleepy. She had her arm inside his cage, with her hand cupped round him. Emma had a feeling he might fall asleep with her hand still there, which would be brilliant. He’d be almost back to the same friendly Sammy she’d known at the stables, and it was only a week since they’d brought him home.

“Are you sure?” Mum frowned. “You didn’t look for very long…”

“Yes, Mum. I can stroke Sammy and look, you know. Hurry up! Auntie Grace’ll be here to babysit soon.”

Mum rushed off, and Emma giggled and gently moved the food bowl. Sammy had fallen asleep with his head in it! He twitched a little and then flopped down, collapsing across her hand with a little wheezy snore. She leaned against the crate, closing her eyes and smiling dreamily to herself. Soon they’d be able to take him out of there and he’d be a real pet, she was sure.

“Are you asleep, Emma?”

“Oh! Auntie Grace, shh. I’m not, but Sammy is.” Emma reached out the arm that wasn’t in the crate to hug her aunt. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Your dad was walking up the path when I pulled up, so I didn’t have to ring the bell. He’s just gone to change. So this is Sammy? He’s gorgeous.”

“Isn’t he?” Emma agreed proudly. “And he’s getting much more confident again. He was really upset on Saturday when we brought him home, but he’s a lot happier now.” Carefully, she slid her hand out from underneath him, and Sammy snuffled but stayed asleep. She grinned at her aunt. “I’ve got pins and needles now. Mum says please can you help me with my science homework, but she’s got us a DVD for afterwards.”

Emma yawned and snuggled against Auntie Grace. “Can’t we watch a bit more?”

“No! You know your mum said eight-thirty, cheeky. Besides, haven’t you got to feed Sammy before bed?”

“Oh yes, and you haven’t seen him awake yet, I forgot!” Emma sprang up from the sofa. “I’ll go and get his food.” She hurried into the kitchen and began to measure it out, while Sammy padded up and down the crate, watching her and mewing hopefully.

Emma had just opened the door of the crate to put the bowl in when Auntie Grace pushed open the kitchen door. It banged slightly, and Sammy jumped at the noise. He saw Auntie Grace – someone he’d never met before – and suddenly panicked. He hissed loudly, and Emma stared at him. “What’s the matter, Sammy?”

“Oh dear, is he OK?” Auntie Grace asked, leaning over to look at him.

Sammy hissed again as he saw the strange person coming closer. He darted out of the crate door, desperate to get away.

“I think he’s a bit scared because you’re new,” Emma said worriedly, trying to catch him. “Maybe you’d better just let me sort him out, Auntie Grace.”

Auntie Grace stepped back out of the kitchen, but Sammy was already spooked. He scrabbled over Emma’s arm in a panic, accidentally clawing at her wrist so that she squeaked and dropped the food bowl.

The bowl smashed on the tiles with a huge crash, and Sammy yowled in fright. He raced round the side of the crate, but the table was pushed up against the wall below the window and there was nowhere to go. Frantically, he clawed his way up the curtains, digging his tiny claws into the fabric.

Sammy hung there, swaying a little. He didn’t really understand what had happened. He’d been about to eat his food – he could smell it – and then suddenly everything was different and terrifying. Now he didn’t even know where he was, or how he’d got so high up.

The curtain fabric ripped a little under his weight, and he slid down a few centimetres with a frightened mew. He tried to claw his way back up again, but the shiny fabric was difficult to climb, and he slipped further down.

“Sammy, it’s all right…” Emma’s voice, low and soothing. And now he wasn’t falling any more. Her hands were around him, the way they were when she fed him sometimes. After struggling for a moment, he let her unhook his paws from the few last threads of the curtains, and sat tensely in her hands, ears back and fur fluffed up.

She lifted him down, still whispering gently, and slid him back into the crate. Sammy backed away from the door anxiously, but the strange person had gone now, he could see. It was just Emma. He knew her. She was safe.