Dad thought putting small versions of the poster through people’s doors was a very good idea. The neighbours would have a copy of the flyer with their number on if they spotted Charlie, he pointed out, and Darcy knew they wanted as many people as possible to look for Charlie. But when everyone in the street was getting a little photo of Charlie through their door, it made him seem a lot more missing.
She and Dad took turns to do the houses on their side of the road, while Mum and Will did the other side. Will was enjoying it, Darcy noticed sadly. He thought it was exciting, getting to post the little notes through the letter boxes. If it had been anything else they were posting, Darcy would have liked it too. But she seemed to keep catching the photo of Charlie at just the wrong angle – he looked so sad as she squashed him through the flaps, his nose wrinkling up, his whiskers drooping. He looked like a Lost Cat.
They worked their way down the street to the side road, Thirsk Way, which led on to Barrett Close – a mirror image of their road, with its gardens joining on to theirs.
“We definitely need to deliver notes along here,” Darcy said to Dad. “Charlie was out in the garden – he could easily have gone over the back fence into one of the gardens here.”
“Do you think so?” Dad said doubtfully. “Our back fence is pretty high. I’m not sure he could get over it, to be honest. I’d have thought he nipped up the side passage and out through the front garden.”
Darcy shook her head. She’d seen Charlie scrambling up the side wall before and shooting up a tree as if it was a little cat ladder. He was an amazingly good climber.
“But maybe you’re right,” Dad said. “And it’s not that far away – he could even have walked down the road and round the corner like we did. Have we got enough flyers left or do we need to go back and print some more?”
“Just about enough,” Darcy said, showing him her handful. “Except there’s the little block of flats that almost backs on to us. I don’t know how many people live there.”
“Well, let’s see how far we get,” Dad said, heading up the path of the nearest house.
They still had a few flyers left when they got to the flats at the end of the road, and Darcy looked at the main door uncertainly. It didn’t have a letter box – should they go in and put the flyers in the pigeonholes just inside?
“Do you think we should put them under the doors of the flats?” she asked Dad. “There’s no post on Sundays, is there? No one’s going to come down and check those.” She pointed at the pigeonholes. “We want them to look in the garden for Charlie today… I wonder which flat has the garden? Or maybe they share it?”
“Probably that one.” Dad held the main door open and walked over to the door behind the staircase. “Put a note under here, Darcy.”
But as Darcy crouched down to post the flyer under the door, the lock clicked and the door started to open.
A friendly voice said, “Hello! I heard you talking – are you delivering something?” But Darcy wasn’t listening because right there, almost nose to nose, was a small tabby and white cat, staring curiously at her with round yellow-green eyes.
Darcy was so surprised that she half fell over backwards. “Charlie!” she cried loudly, and the tabby and white cat turned tail and raced back into the flat.
“Was that Charlie?” Dad exclaimed. “Are you OK, love? Did you hurt yourself? I didn’t see – was that him?”
Darcy only nodded. She couldn’t speak. She was quite sure it had been Charlie, but he had taken one look at her and run away!
“Charlie?” The old lady looked anxiously between Darcy and her dad. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite… Oh!” She stared in surprise as Darcy scrambled up and raced away, pushing past Dad and out of the main door, running for home.
Charlie was in the kitchen of the flat, hunched up in a little ball under the table. His ears were flattened back and his tail was double its usual size. He was confused. He hadn’t expected to see Darcy here – she belonged in his other house. He had been missing her. He’d wanted to go back, but the windows had been closed overnight and there wasn’t a cat flap here, like there was at home.
He hadn’t minded all that much, since the old lady had made such a fuss of him and kept giving him little treats. She’d even bought a ball that rattled when he batted it and a litter tray to go in the corner of her kitchen. But he’d kept thinking of Darcy and Will, and how good it would be to snuggle up on the end of Darcy’s bed. He’d sat on the windowsill looking out at the dark garden and mewed a little, but the old lady had stroked him and tickled under his chin and he’d forgotten…
Then to see Darcy when the door opened, that hadn’t been right. He didn’t understand – and she had shouted! He didn’t even understand why he’d run… But Darcy was gone again and now he wished he hadn’t dashed away from her…
The old lady hurried into the kitchen, calling, “Puss! Come on, little one. Oh dear…”
Charlie eyed her, confused. She didn’t sound right either – she wasn’t shouting, but her soft voice was high and anxious now.
The old lady sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and sighed. Then she leaned over and peered at him under the table, looking between him and the piece of paper in her hand. “This is you, isn’t it, puss? The little girl dropped it when she fell over. Oh, this is awful. I was so sure you were a stray when you kept coming back, and you seemed so hungry… I suppose I just wanted you not to have a home so you could stay with me.”
Charlie crept closer, nudging the piece of paper with his nose.
“Yes, that’s definitely a picture of you. Well, we’d better take you back. That poor girl, she was ever so upset. They’re from the house over the fence, I’ve heard them in the garden, the girl and her little brother.”
Charlie put his front paws up against the old lady’s knee and tried to nibble the paper, but she scooped him up, cuddling him against her shoulder and rubbing the soft velvet of his nose. “I really must take you back. Oh dear…”
Darcy raced down the road towards home. She wasn’t thinking very clearly – she was too upset to think. She just wanted to get away. That old lady had stolen Charlie! She had shut him up in her flat and made him her cat instead. “She stole him! She stole him!” Darcy whispered shakily to herself as she ran.
But the problem was, even though she was upset, Darcy knew that wasn’t really what had happened. It was only what she wanted to believe. If that old lady had shut Charlie up and kept him there when he hadn’t wanted it, he would have raced away as soon as she opened the door. He hadn’t been trying to escape when Darcy saw him – he’d just wanted to see who was at the door. It had been Darcy who’d upset him. He’d actually run away from her.
The old lady had adopted him. She’d probably thought he didn’t have a home because he’d kept turning up in her garden and he had no collar on. They had neglected him, all of them, but especially Darcy, and Charlie had gone looking for someone to love him.
Darcy sniffed hard. He’d found someone and he’d chosen them instead.
She shoved the front gate open and stumbled up the path. Then she realized that of course the front door was locked and Dad had the keys.
Darcy sank down on the doorstep, the last copy of their flyer in her hands. She stared at it and a fat tear splashed on to the photo of Charlie, blotching his beautiful pink nose. How could they have been so stupid and forgotten how special he was?
