The Brave Kitten

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Lucy glanced back at her, frowning, but she could see that Helena wasn’t going to stay out of the way. Her cousin loved cats, even though she didn’t have one of her own. And Lucy knew how sensible she was. “I think so. Don’t cry, Helena. It must have been quick.”

But Helena wasn’t listening. “Lucy, look! He moved! I’m sure he did.”

Lucy whipped round. The little cat had been so cold and lifeless that she hadn’t thought he could still be alive, but Helena was right. He’d twitched, just a bit. “Oh, wow…” she muttered. “We need to get him to the surgery, now. Molly and Pete should be in soon – he’s definitely going to need a vet to look at him.”

“How are we going to get him there, though? Won’t it hurt him if we pick him up?” Helena crouched down by the car, peering at the little cat. One of his back legs was really swollen and seemed to be at a funny angle, and she could hardly see him breathing at all. But his eyes were open now, just a tiny slit of gold. He was looking at them.

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