A Kitten Called Holly E-Book

Helen Peters

• Herausgeber: Nosy Crow
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Jasmine Green Series
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 83

Beschreibung

The fourth in a fantastic series of animal stories for younger readers by Waterstones Children's Book Prize-shortlisted author Helen Peters, with beautiful black-and-white illustrations by Ellie Snowdon. Jasmine's dad is a farmer, and her mum is a large-animal vet, so Jasmine spends a lot of time caring for animals and keeping them out of trouble. Unfortunately, this often means she gets into hot water herself... When Jasmine and Tom rescue an abandoned kitten, Jasmine is desperate to keep her. But her parents decide to sell Holly - and Jasmine is NOT happy with her new owner! Can Jasmine and Tom give Holly the best ever Christmas present - a good home? Brilliant storytelling that will make you laugh and cry, this is Dick King-Smith for a new generation. Perfect for readers aged seven and up. Check out Jasmine's other adventures: A Piglet Called Truffle, A Duckling Called Button, A Sheepdog Called Sky and many more!

Leseprobe

Toffee sprang out of the Christmas tree, knocking over Mum’s vase of flowers. The water spilled on to Holly and Ivy. The drenched kittens howled in shock and started running madly around the room. The door opened and Dad appeared, holding a bunch of carrots. “What on earth is going on?” he shouted.

For Jimmy, Patrick and Megan H. P.

For my sister, Lizzie E. S.

Chapter One

It Sounds Really Fierce

“This is perfect,” said Jasmine, smiling at her best friend, Tom. “Come in, Sky, and don’t make a sound. We have to keep it secret from Manu.”

Jasmine’s collie dog, Sky, wagged his tail and padded into the shed. Jasmine pulled the door shut. It was coming off its hinges and the rotting wood dragged along the ground. It clearly hadn’t been shut properly for years.

“Sit, Sky,” said Jasmine, and Sky obediently sat on the dusty floor.

“I can’t believe we’ve never been in here before,” said Tom. “It will be really cosy when we’ve cleaned it up. Look, it’s even got a window.”

“We can bring out some old chairs,” said Jasmine, “and find something for a table. And we can clear all the junk out.”

The shed was a small brick building with a sloping roof, in the garden of the farmhouse where Jasmine lived. Two rusting oil stoves stood in one corner, next to a tangled bundle of wire and a collapsed straw bale. On a rough wooden shelf sat a couple of dusty old jam jars containing screws and nails.

“Look,” said Tom, “there’s a mouse skeleton on the floor. Manu would love that for his collection.”

“We can give it to him as a present,” said Jasmine. Her six-year-old brother, Manu, kept a gruesome collection of animal bones and skulls in his bedroom. “But we won’t tell him where we got it. This clubhouse is our secret.”

“That shelf will be perfect for books,” said Tom. “And we can put our maps of the rescue centre up on the wall.”

It was a Friday afternoon in late October and they had a two-week half term holiday stretching out in front of them. Jasmine and Tom were planning to run an animal rescue centre when they grew up, and their new clubhouse was where they were going to work out all the details.

“What shall we call the club?” asked Jasmine.

“The Animal Rescue Club,” said Tom.

Jasmine screwed up her nose. “Not very original.” Then her eyes lit up. “Oh, but it’s A.R.C. for short! Arc. Like Noah’s Ark.”

“Exactly,” said Tom. “So it’s where abandoned animals come to be safe. Like you, Sky.”

He reached down to stroke Sky’s silky fur, and Sky wagged his feathery tail across the floor.

Four months ago, Jasmine had found Sky abandoned and left to die in a hedge. She had nursed him back to health and now he was completely devoted to her. Jasmine and Tom had also rescued a clutch of orphaned duck eggs from the riverbank in the spring, after a dog had killed the mother duck. The surviving duckling, Button, was now a fully-grown drake, who lived happily with the free-range chickens. And Jasmine’s very first rescue animal had been a tiny runt piglet that she had found on a neighbouring farm. She had called the piglet Truffle, and the sick little runt had turned into a giant sow, who lived in the orchard behind the farmhouse.

“I’m not allowed to keep any more animals,” said Jasmine. “Mum and Dad made me promise that if I rescue any more, I have to rehome them.”

“Will you still be able to look after my guinea pigs at Christmas?” asked Tom.

“Of course I will,” said Jasmine. “Are you going to your granny’s in Cornwall again?”

“Yes,” said Tom. “It’s going to be great. She makes the best Christmas dinner ever. And we’re going to swim in the sea on Christmas morning.”

“Swim in the sea? On Christmas Day?” said Jasmine. “Are you crazy?”

Tom was about to reply when something thudded against the door. Then came frantic scratching on the wood and an ear-piercing yowl.

The children looked at each other in alarm.

“Sounds like a cat,” whispered Jasmine.

“A really angry cat,” said Tom.

“Maybe it’s a wild cat,” said Jasmine, “and it’s been living in this shed. And now we’ve shut the door and it can’t get in.”

The cat continued to yowl and scratch at the door.

“We could tame it and have it as our club mascot,” said Tom. “If it’s living here, it kind of belongs to the club anyway.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” said Jasmine. “And I wouldn’t be keeping an animal, because this is its home already.”

“I wonder what it looks like,” said Tom.

They tried to peer through the cracks in the door, but the gaps were too narrow and they couldn’t see the cat.

“We need to let it in,” said Jasmine, “if it lives here.”

“We’d better stand well back,” said Tom.

“I don’t think it will hurt us. It’s probably just confused because the door’s shut.”

Tom looked doubtful. “I don’t know. It sounds really fierce.”

“It’ll be fine,” said Jasmine confidently. She pushed the door open.

Into the shed shot a screaming bundle of grey fur. It hurled itself at Jasmine, hissing and spitting. She screamed and covered her face with her hands as the cat leapt up at her, scratching and biting. Jasmine screeched in pain and, with a final terrific yowling, the cat sprang down and bolted out of the shed.

“Are you all right?” asked Tom, sounding shaken.

Jasmine sat heavily on the collapsing bale behind her. She looked at her hands. They had deep red scratches all along them, and there were sharp teeth marks on her right hand.

“That must really hurt,” said Tom.

Jasmine clutched her hands together to try to stop the pain. “That cat really didn’t want us to be here. Ow, my hands sting so much.”

“You need to run them under the tap,” said Tom. “Let’s go indoors.”

Jasmine frowned. “What was that?”

“What?”

“That funny squeaking sound.”

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“Listen,” said Jasmine.

They listened. Birds tweeted in the garden. Sheep baaed in the field. From the orchard came Truffle’s low contented grunt.

“I can’t hear anything,” said Tom. “Let’s go.”

They stepped out into the sunny garden, avoiding the prickly leaves of the holly bush beside the shed. Then Jasmine heard it again: a high-pitched sound, somewhere between squeaking and mewing.

She turned to Tom. His expression showed her that he had heard it too.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” said Jasmine, “but there’s something in there.”

They crept back into the half-light of the shed. There was another squeaking sound.

“It’s coming from behind that bale,” said Tom.

The baler twine that had held the straw together had broken, so that much of the straw had collapsed in a messy heap. The children peered over the bale into the dark corner.

Jasmine gasped in delight. “Kittens!” she whispered. “Oh, they’re so cute!”

“Three of them,” said Tom, grinning with excitement. “They’re tiny.”

The kittens were cuddled up together in a deep nest of straw. One was a tabby, one was ginger and the third was black. The tabby kitten and the ginger one lay still, but the black kitten was crawling over its littermates, mewing. “They’re gorgeous,” said Jasmine. “I wonder how old they are.”

“They can’t be newborn,” said Tom, “because their eyes are open.”

“So they must be at least a week old. I don’t think they’re much older than that. They’re so little.”

The black kitten gave another piercing mew.

“It wants its mother,” said Tom. And then he drew in his breath and looked at Jasmine in horror.

“Oh no,” said Jasmine. “That cat. She must be their mother.”

“We shut her out from her kittens,” said Tom. “And now we’ve frightened her away.”

Chapter Two

What If She Doesn’t Come Back?

“That’s why she was so fierce,” said Jasmine. “She thought we were threatening her babies.”

“We need to get her back,” said Tom. “If she can’t feed the kittens, they’ll die.”

They walked out into the garden, looking for the cat. But there was no sign of her.

“How are we going to get her back?” said Tom. “She’s completely wild. She’s not going to come if we call her, is she?”

Jasmine thought for a second. Then she said, “Food. All animals come for food. And she must be really hungry if she’s feeding kittens.”

They ran up the garden path and in through the back door of the farmhouse to the scullery. Jasmine had two cats of her own, Toffee and Marmite, and their food was kept in the cupboard next to the sink. She grabbed two pouches from the box and some empty takeaway containers from the next cupboard.

“We’ll use these as bowls,” she said. “We can lay a trail of food across the garden, leading up to the shed. That should tempt her back.”

In the garden, Jasmine tore the top off the first pouch and started squeezing it into a container.

“Don’t put too much in each one,” said Tom, “or she’ll be full before she gets to the shed.”

They put a little food in each container and laid them in a line from the bottom of the garden to the shed. Then they tiptoed in to look at the kittens. The black kitten was still mewing piteously.

“Do you think we should give them some milk?” asked Tom.

“Kittens can’t have cows’ milk,” said Jasmine. “It upsets their stomachs. I wish Mum or Dad was here. They’d know what to do.”