The Last House on Needless Street by Catriona Ward (guided reading books .TXT) 📕

So, I say, stalking up and down. Let’s go through our options. Can you shout for help?

‘I do,’ Lauren says. ‘Or I used to. But no one came. The walls are thick. I don’t think much sound gets through. You have cat ears, remember? I started to think that even you would never hear me.’

Hm, I say. You’re right. Cross that off the list.

‘What’s the next option?’ she asks.

Now I feel terrible because actually I only had one option. That’s the end of the list.

‘It’s not your fault.’ Lauren is trying to comfort me, and somehow that makes my tail hurt most of all. ‘It’s not so bad, sometimes,’ she says. ‘I like my pink bike and I can ride it around the house. There’s TV. He gives me food unless he’s angry.’ Lauren giggles. ‘Sometimes he lets me look at the internet, even. If I am “supervised”.’

The feelings in my throat and tail are worse than a hairball. What can I do? I row miserably. I was always so happy to be a cat but now I’m not sure. If I had hands I could get you out, I say.

‘If I still had feet I could get myself out,’ Lauren says. ‘But you can help, Olivia. You just have to do one thing.’

Anything, I tell her.

‘Make him turn down the music,’ Lauren breathes. ‘That’s all you have to do. I can’t do anything with the music on. He made sure of that, long ago. You hear? It has to be off, or at least so low I can barely hear it.’

OK! What happens then?

Piles of lead weights and counterweights are stacked on top, like abandoned castles in a bad land.

‘You can get me out, Olivia. Just do what you do with the Bible.’

It would be good to record all this in case something happens to me. But I don’t dare.

Ted watches cars screaming through the dirt on the TV and the level of the bourbon bottle dips steadily. He leaves the record player on while he watches. Under the roar of engines there is a banjo playing and the woman sings about bars and love. He is fading. Bourbon and exhaustion twine their arms about him, pulling him earthwards.

I prrp and go to him. But then I stop and my tail blows out. I become a tall arch. When the banjo strikes, I yow.

‘What’s up?’ He reaches for me.

The banjo tinkles and I speed beneath the couch.

‘You’re such a dumdum,’ he says. He changes the song; it becomes something mournful sung by that pretty voice. I cry along to the music, as loud as I can.

‘You dumb kitten,’ he says. The banjo twangs and I row with it, a long note.

‘Oh man, really?’ He turns the record down so that the piano and the woman are ghosts of themselves, whispering into the air.

I row. I don’t come out.

‘Hey, Olivia,’ he says, exasperated, ‘what am I? Your butler?’ But he turns it down even further. I think this is as good as it’s going to get.

I emerge from under the couch.

‘Oh,’ he says warmly. ‘There you are. Decided to honour us, did you?’

I start slowly doing all the things, the way I know he likes them. I circle his ankles in a figure of eight, purring. He bends to tickle my ears. I rear up to rub my head against his face. For a moment I wonder if it’s a trick. Perhaps he’ll take my head and twist it, now, until my neck breaks.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Kitten.’ The fondness in his voice gives me a broken feeling in my spine, all along my tail. He is familiar to me as my own silky coat, or Night-time. I thought he saved me. I thought we were part of one another, almost. The thought makes me cough again in my throat.

‘What’s up? Got a bone stuck or something? Let me take a look.’ He lifts me gently onto his lap and parts my jaws.

‘No,’ he says. ‘You’re OK, kitten.’ I purr and knead and he runs a gentle hand up and down my back. ‘I’ve been away too much,’ he says. ‘We’ve spent too much time apart. I’m going to be home more often, I promise. Starting now.’

I row furiously and purr.

‘You want me to turn off the TV?’ he asks.

I purr louder. We’re going to get away from you, I start to say and then I think better of it. What if he’s like Lauren and understands cat? A horrible thought – that all this time he has been listening to me.

‘Got to turn the music up again,’ he says sleepily, but I stroke the underside of his chin with my tail. I know just what to do to give him peace, I always have, and his eyes close, as I knew they would. His breathing becomes slow and regular and his chin meets his chest. I watch for a moment, searching for a way to feel. I guess something or someone made him the way he is, but that doesn’t matter now.

He looks so much younger when he sleeps.

I did it, I say to Lauren. He’s asleep.

‘Is he really out?’ Lauren asks. ‘Is it really safe?’

I listen. Ted’s breathing in the far room is heavy and regular. I think it’s now or never. OOoooeeeeeooo. The whining in my head is back, a mad wasp in my ears.

Yes, I tell her. I hope I’m right. I shake my head and rub my ears.

She says, ‘You see where the freezer sits close up against the kitchen counter?’

Yes.

‘Knock the top weight off the pile. It’ll make some noise, but not too much. Don’t let it fall on the floor. Then push it off the freezer, onto the counter. Got it?’

I nod, forgetting she can’t see me. Got it, I say.

The first weight comes off the pile with a clang. It’s small and wants to roll. I bat it back with my paws and push it onto the counter. Then the next. The