Kitten Catastrophe by Anna Wilson

people in our classes and about how sad most of the teachers were. It almost felt as though life had got back to normal.
    ‘That Mr Lloyd!’ Jazz shrieked, flapping her hands and jumping up and down in hysterics. ‘He dresses like my
grandad
! No, he dresses like
my grandad’s
grandad!’
    ‘Oh boy! And that Miss Stoodge,’ I joined in. ‘What a witch!’
    We had given up on the last bit of work and were rolling around on the floor, tickling Jaffa and singing along to the music we had cranked up on my ancient CD player, when Dad knocked on my door. ‘I can see you two girls are working hard!’ he teased. ‘Just thought I’d let you know I’m back. No activity downstairs while I was away?’ he asked.
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘Oh, but Dad – Fergus thinks he might have come up with a way of catching the culprit!’ I cried.
    Dad tried to look doubtful by crossing his arms. ‘So he reckons he can succeed where others have failed, does he?’ he said dramatically. He was smiling though. ‘I have to say it would be nice to have a quiet evening with no mention of intruders for once. Bex is coming round later with some food – do you want to stay and eat with us, Jazz?’ he added. ‘We haven’t seen much of you lately.’
    Jazz nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, please!’
    ‘Can Fergus come round too?’ I asked. I put on a pleading expression, wringing my hands, making myself look as desperate as possible. ‘I really want you to hear his plan –’
    Before Dad could answer, there was a ring at the front door. ‘I’ll get that,’ said Dad. Then he fixed me with a mock-stern stare and pointed his finger, saying, ‘And just so we’re clear, I have not said yes to anything yet, Bertie Fletcher!’
    I shrugged and tried to look as if butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth as he turned to go back downstairs.
    Jazz and I sped out on to the landing and peered over the banisters to see who it was.
    ‘Nigel!’ Fiona’s crystal-clear voice carried up the stairs.
    ‘Ah, hello, Fiona,’ said Dad. ‘And Fergus too! What a surprise,’ he said with an edge of sarcasm, casting his eyes in my direction. ‘Come in, come in.’
    ‘It the prawn-lady!’ Jaffa mewed excitedly. ‘Me want to say hello!’ I scooped her up into my arms and Jazz and I rattled down to the hall.
    Wonders will never cease, as Dad says on the rare occasions that I tidy my room without being asked. But in this case the wonders were in the region of the unbelievably miraculous: Fiona Meerley, the woman whom only months earlier I had been ready to write off as my own worst enemy, had not only agreed to Fergus’s idea, but had also pulled out all the stops and arranged to get the equipment we needed for that very night!
    ‘You know how much I
adore
the little pusskins,’ she cooed. ‘I’d do anything to stop her being bullied in this beastly way.’ She bent down to stroke my kitten’s soft orangey fur while making the sort of kissy-wissy sounds that frankly turned my stomach.
    Fergus, Jazz and I exchanged smirks while Jaffa lapped up the attention, purring noisily. She closed her eyes in a satisfied expression that made it look as if she was smiling. ‘Me
is
pretty adorable,’ she admitted.
    ‘So, about this plan of yours. Run me through the details?’ Dad said as he poured coffee into mugs and went to the fridge for milk.
    Fiona cleared her throat and said, ‘A covert surveillance operation.’
    ‘Sorry?’ Dad turned to face her, the milk carton in one hand, his face creased in puzzlement.
    ‘It’s like in those films—’ Fergus began, but Fiona interrupted him.
    ‘Surveillance,’ she repeated. ‘Mark my words, we will catch this intruder red-handed – or should I say red-pawed! Ha!’ She let out a short sharp bark of a laugh. It was the first time I had ever heard her laugh, or make an attempt at humour, for that matter. As laughs go, it was pretty scary.
    Fergus grimaced.
    Dad gave a nervous snigger. ‘The thing is, Fiona, the