A Friend Called Alfie

‘Don’t worry, we’ll teach you one day. Anyway,’ I continued, ‘I count and you hide somewhere, and then I come and find you.’

‘Wowee that sounds like fun.’ Pickles was so excited he forgot where he was and fell off the sofa, landing on his back.

‘Are you alright?’ I asked; puppy-sitting was hard work.

‘Yes, fine.’ He bounced up. ‘Right I’m going to be the best hider ever.’

I lay down and pretended to count for as long as I thought I could get away with. George had always loved hide and seek, and it was my favourite game because it gave me a few moments of peace while I counted. Top parenting tip for you.

Finally, I had to go and find Pickles. I padded through the hall and then into the kitchen. He was sat on the floor with his head in a cereal box. Although I could see his body, it wasn’t a bad hiding place, actually.

‘Found you,’ I said, approaching.

‘Hmmph.’ A vague sound came from the box.

‘You can take the box off now, I’ve found you,’ I said, edging closer to try to hear him.

‘I’m stuck,’ he replied, his voice still muffled. The next thing I knew he was running round in circles, cereal crumbs falling onto his fur and the floor before he bumped into a cupboard door. ‘Ow,’ he cried.

I sighed. I wasn’t sure what to do. I was a cat, after all, and I had paws, which meant I wasn’t sure how I could get the box off.

‘Calm down, Pickles. Right, lie down, and I’ll see if I can grab the box,’ I commanded. He lay down, still wiggling. He did look funny. I tried to grip the box with my paws but they just slid off. Pickles was really quite stuck. I began to panic. I was the worst puppy-sitter ever. George had got into quite a few scrapes as a kitten: stuck in bags, boxes, and various cupboards, but I could deal with cat scrapes. Puppy scrapes were a whole different ball game.

‘I can’t live in this box forever,’ Pickles said, sadly, and I redoubled my efforts, but it really wasn’t budging. Thankfully I heard the door open and in walked Claire. I sat up and looked at her, my eyes full of guilt.

‘What on earth?’ Claire pulled the box off Pickles and picked him up. He was covered in cereal.

‘Meow,’ I said, it wasn’t my fault.

‘Oh goodness, I better clean this mess up. I guess puppies can be hard to look after,’ Claire said, gently, holding Pickles in one arm and petting me with the other, to show she wasn’t angry.

‘Meow,’ I agreed, relieved.

‘Right, well, Pickles, stay in there, while I get this cleared up.’ She brushed the cereal from his fur and set him down in his bed. I went over to him.

‘Not the best hiding place after all, then, Pickles,’ I said.

‘Oh, I wasn’t hiding. I was going to find somewhere to hide then I spotted the cereal box on the floor.’ Why was it on the floor? I wondered. One of the children I guessed.

‘So, what were you doing?’

‘I wanted to have a snack, so I got the box on its side and then I went in to get my snack, and I somehow got stuck.’

Of course he did.

‘But it was quite delicious,’ he finished. ‘But next time I’ll have to find an easier way to get it.’

Claire took Pickles with her while she cleaned the house, saying it was the only way she could keep him out of trouble. I wasn’t sorry, as I went out and bumped into George who was coming from Hana’s house.

‘Hi, son,’ I said, happy to see him. ‘What have you been up to?’ As if I didn’t know.