Читать книгу The Secret Cat - Sarah Lean, Sarah Lean - Страница 10

Tiger sat on one side of the long kitchen table and drew a tiger. She kept her pens tidy and was colouring carefully.

“Do you know what my favourite animal is?” Tiger asked May Days.

“A tapir?” May Days smiled.

“No.” Tiger scratched her head. “Even though I don’t know what that is.”

Tiger stretched her arms as wide as they would go. “It’s bigger than my arms, and about this high.” She measured a level beyond her head and thought for a moment.

“Maybe a bit bigger or smaller, I can’t tell when I’m sitting down. And it’s black and white—”

“A panda?” said May Days.

“And orange.”

“An orang-utan?” May Days chuckled. “An orange bear?”

Tiger squinted, because she wasn’t sure if May Days was joking, and held up the picture she was drawing for her.

“Oh!” said May Days, as if she’d suddenly remembered. “I know what it is! Did you know that I adore tigers too?”

Just then a horn honked loudly outside and made Tiger jump and colour over the lines.

“I expect that’s my other guest,” said May Days, which made Tiger’s tummy turn higgledy-piggledy again. Nobody had said anything to Tiger about anyone else coming to stay.

A van had pulled up beside the house, and a young man wearing a green boilersuit and dark sunglasses jumped out of the driver’s seat.

“You must be Tiger,” said the man. “I’ve heard how ferocious you are.” He grinned, but Tiger wasn’t sure what he meant.

“This is Dennis,” said May Days. “He’s escaped from the zoo, and cheeky as a monkey.”

But it wasn’t Dennis that would be staying at Willowgate.

They all went around to the back of the van and Tiger’s mouth fell open. There, inside, huddled in a cage in the straw, was a snout-nosed, tippy-toed, bristled, sorry-looking, saggy-skinned …

“What is it?” said Tiger, pulling a confused face.

“A warthog,” said Dennis. “Known to us zookeepers as a wartie. Don’t you just love her?”

The warthog was knobbly and brown and Tiger did not like the look of it at all.

The warthog was the other guest.

Being so young and small, the warthog would be kept in a pen in the kitchen and was going to need a lot of attention. Dennis clipped four meshed panels together to make the sides of a pen, and bundled in some straw. The little warthog sat in the middle and shook. From the other side of the room Tiger shuddered and sat back at the kitchen table, while May Days got the warthog out of the pen, put a towel on her lap and fed the wrinkly little creature from a baby’s bottle. The warthog guzzled and milk dribbled down its chin.

“Would you like to feed her?” asked May Days, but Tiger was busy drawing again.

“Would you like to hold her?” asked May Days, but Tiger had colouring to finish.

“Would you like to give her a name?” said May Days, and Tiger looked up and said she’d think about that.

Tiger thought of Stinky and Saggy, Snorty and Pooper, but none of these names seemed to quite sum up the knockedy-kneed creature. She’d have to think some more, but it was hard to find a name for something she didn’t really care for.

Dennis sat at the table beside Tiger and told her what he did at the zoo. It was mostly feeding and cleaning poop by the sound of it, but he did look very interesting in his dark glasses, with his wide smile, and Tiger thought she might prefer it if Dennis was staying instead of the warthog.

“Isn’t Willowgate amazing?” asked Dennis.

Tiger put the lid back on her orange colouring pen. She’d finished a tiger picture for Dennis too, but neither of the drawings made her feel happy like she did in her room at home.

Tiger thought about home, her family, her soft bed, her striped blanket and the sign on her bedroom door with her name on it.

“I’ve never been to a house where a warthog lived in the kitchen. And I’ve never camped in a tent,” Tiger said, quietly.

“I don’t suppose it feels like home to the wartie yet either,” said Dennis. The wartie was back in the pen, her head drooping.

“What was her old home like?” said Tiger.

“Empty,” he said. “She’s an orphan.”

Tiger leaned over the table. The warthog looked up. Tiny dark eyes glistened and blinked at Tiger. That’s why she looked so sad. She had no family anywhere at all.

“Hello,” said Tiger to the wartie, even though they had already met.

“Are you missing home?” asked May Days that night when Tiger was zipped up in her sleeping bag on her camp bed.

“Yes,” she said. “Do you miss Africa?”

“Terribly,” May Days said. “Makes me feel all out of sorts.”

Tiger whispered, “I know what you mean. Being here feels a bit unusual and skew-whiff in your tummy.”

“We’ll be fine,” said May Days, and they held hands across the tent. “Have you thought of a name for the wartie yet?”

Tiger nodded. “Monday,” she said.

“I like it,” said May Days. “What made you think of that?”

“Because Monday is the beginning of the week, and being here is the beginning of something new,” said Tiger, softly. “And as we are all Days I thought she might like to be part of our family too.”