Читать книгу Alfie Cat In Trouble - Rachel Wells - Страница 7

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.’