A Cat Called Kat

Chapter One - Kitten Walks Again

For a couple of days, I just hung around town, doing my vagrant kitten thing. I was more or less certain that whoever had attacked our home would be looking for me so the best thing I could do was stay put and keep my head down. There were still a couple of places I could hole up and at least, this time, I had a bit of cash in my pocket so I could afford to eat - not the fancy fine dining stuff I'd got to know with Master but I quickly slipped back into the whole, familiar vagrant kitten mindset and food was food.

Then, after a week, I headed out to our Titanic Headland - on foot, of course. A vagrant kitten would look out of place on a bus... noticeable... and they, whoever they were, might be watching.

The route out of town took me quite close to Mr Bossy's office and I was sort of half tempted to go and have a look until the invisible Jiminy Cricket type version of Caroline on my shoulder told me not to be so stupid.

So I plodded on towards the coast.

It took a fair bit longer than I'd been expecting to get there but at last the headland... and the bench... came into view. Then, sort of torn between excitement and fear, I unscrewed the cover on the left hand backrest support.

Nothing.

I checked carefully.

Still nothing.

And with this empty feeling in my tummy, I unscrewed the other one.

Nothing...

Nothing...

Nothing...

I simply collapsed onto the bench and, for the first time since that terrible 'small crocodiles' text, I let myself give in to the wild, uncontrolled sobs that had been hovering just below the surface. I hadn't realised how desperately, desperately I'd been depending on finding a letter from Master, telling me what I had to do.

By the time I was done, it was too late to do anything else so I just stuffed myself into my sleeping bag and went to sleep. At least it wasn't raining.

And by dawn, I knew what I had to do.

It was obvious, really!

I pressed on along the coast - and I wanted to collapse into tears again when the familiar Arncliffe House Hotel came into view. But at least the terrible feeling of emptiness was matched by very pleasant memories so I concentrated on them as I trudged on past. And so I had a bit of a smile on my face when I reached the next town.

There, I visited the first charity shop [thrift store] I could find. The lady behind the counter was a bit suspicious at first... I guess she thought I was going to try and nick something... but, when I showed her that I had a bit of money and told her that I wanted to smarten myself up, she got a lot more friendly. She helped me pick out a couple of bits... a pair of sensible jeans, a sweatshirt and a light jacket... and a significantly less rancid baseball cap - I needed something to hide my face. She even let me use their private toilet out back to have a bit of a wash and to change.

When I was done, I looked a fair bit less disreputable so I didn't get funny looks when I bought myself a coach ticket up to London using the last of my cash. I suppose I could have caught the train but I wanted to get as far away from home as possible before I started using my bank cards.

But once I got to London, I really... well... went to town. I bought myself a complete new outfit with leggings, brightly coloured t-shirts and a pair of 'respectable' shorts. I added a pair of light reactive sunglasses that I could wear all the time.

I did my 'changing in McDonald's toilet' trick, stuck my hair in a ponytail and was pretty pleased with the effect - I'd turned into a student.

Then I bought myself a phone and used it to book a railway ticket.