Dear Diary,
I first saw the ginger kitten scurrying behind the hedges during my morning walk, but Mrs. Harper had organised a game of DuckDuckGoose and I never got close enough. The kitten was as orange as the one I call Milo, though I could never tell if his tiny lashes were really coloured. My mother always said the sun had kissed him, and she used to kiss Milo herself before she passed away. Since then no one has kissed the little cat again. Father is always busy, and Grandmother, for reasons I cant grasp, seems to dislike Milo.
If the sun truly kissed him, does that make him a sunson? I wonder whether the orange kitten also received that sunny kiss. Do kittens even have lashes? Those thoughts flit through my mind during nap time.
Thomas, why arent you asleep? Mrs. Harper smoothed my blanket. Close your eyes, love. I obeyed, but sleep evaded me. I lay listening as Mrs. Harper whispered in the staff room, How long will this go on? One assistant for two groups with the number of children we have, its absurd. Who would take that pay? A voice replied, Thank heavens Annas left. How she treated the kids, we could do without a nanny. Mrs. Harper answered, Well never sort this out, will we? and the room fell silent.
I was frightened of the former nursery nurse, Mrs. Anna Blake. She was notorious for scolding the children, and when they refused the lumpy porridge, she could force a spoon down their throats until their tongues hurt. Once she pressed the spoon so hard that Thomas vomited straight onto the table. She shrieked, I was terrified, and Mrs. Harper washed and redressed me while scolding Mrs. Blake for her methods. Soon enough, someone complained and she never returned.
Later that evening, I tried again to spot Milo, catching only a flash of a ginger tail disappearing among the shrubbery by the gazebo. Then Father came home. Since Mothers death, he hardly talks to me and barely notices me at all. He drops me off from nursery and sends me off to play in my room. One day I overheard Grandmother snapping at Father, Simon, Ive told you a dozen times youre raising a child that isnt yours. He doesnt look like you, do you see that? Father muttered, He looks like Emily, to which Grandmother retorted, He barely resembles her. Why not get a paternity test? Itd be easier than dealing with a strangers child. Their words drifted past me; I was used to her angry tone and learned to ignore it.
Morning brought a new nursery caregiver. She was nothing like the previous one softspoken, never shouting, quietly encouraging the children to eat. I set my spoon down and watched her approach. Hello, whats your name? Tommy? she asked. Im Irina Stevens, she replied. Why arent you eating, Tommy? I answered, I dont like lumps in my porridge. She whispered, I dont like them either, and I never force children to swallow them. You can leave the lumps on your plate; well see who ends up with the most later. Intrigued, I began hunting for lumps. To my surprise, there were hardly any, and while I was searching Id already eaten most of the porridge. Irina praised me, calling me a big champion. No one had ever praised me before, and I felt a warm glow of pride.
From that day the nursery felt welcoming. Irina helped Mrs. Harper wherever she could, and the children quickly grew fond of her. One afternoon Mrs. Harper asked Irina to look after the children during nap time while she slipped into the headmistresss office. The toddlers whispered and snuggled, but I still couldnt drift off.
Tommy, why cant you sleep? Irina stroked my head. In a hushed voice I asked, Do you know my mother is now in heaven? Her throat tightened; she hadnt expected that. Shed taken a liking to my quiet, orangecheeked self from the start. Shed noticed that Father and Grandmother both tried to claim me, but Mother never did.
No, love, I didnt know, she replied. And the sun kissed you, didnt it? I nodded. Do kittens have lashes? I asked. Probably, she smiled. I whispered the whole story about the ginger kitten hidden in the bushes, how I thought the sun had kissed him too, and how I wished he were my brother because no one kisses me any longer. Irina, eyes glistening, brushed my shaggy crown and said, Kittens can indeed kiss children, but their tongues are a bit rough. Now close your eyes and rest.
Later, the headmistress explained to Irina that my mother had been a carehome resident who had recently died, that my stepgrandmother never accepted my mothers partner, and that my father kept insisting I wasnt his child. She said I was a tidy, wellkept boy who had stopped smiling, though once I shone like the sun.
One week I didnt show up at nursery. A nasty virus was sweeping through the town despite the early summer heat. I stayed home, sick, and didnt return for two weeks. Mrs. Harper, exasperated, told Irina, He wont come back. Father arranged paperwork to place me in a childrens home. Irina was stunned. A childrens home? With a living father and Grandmother? she asked. They explained that DNA tests had shown Father wasnt my biological parent; Grandmother and he had done the test, and after five years of caring for me, they decided I should be moved.
Walking home in a fog, I kept replaying the question, Do kittens have lashes? Suddenly a bright orange ball rolled out from behind the nursery fence. I scooped it up, realizing it was the very kitten Id spoken of. It was a scruffy, teenageaged ginger, dirty but washable. I discovered kittens truly have no lashes.
That night, when my stepfather Simon came back from work, the clean, fed kitten sprinted to greet him. Look, weve got a new family member! Irina, will it ruin the furniture? he asked, eyes on the cat. Irina, a little nervous, answered, Im fine with it. Ive heard cats can be little troublemakers. Their conversation stretched into the early hours. Finally Simon asked, Irina, are you sure this isnt just a stray? Im not sure she ever felt completely certain; she stayed in the nursery because she had no children of her own, so she could care for other kids. Simon tried to reassure her that everything would settle, that doctors were involved, though nothing was guaranteed. She knew I couldnt stay in a childrens home, just as the stray kitten shouldnt be left on the streets.
Endless paperwork followed medical reports, fosterparent assessments, psychologist visits. Luckily our flat is spacious and Simons salary is decent, even if he sometimes joked about feeding us both. The headmistress helped through her contacts, and my late mothers memory seemed to watch over us. My stepgrandparents even called from the north, shouting that the grandchild should visit them soon.
When I finally got permission to return to the nursery, I smiled shyly, still unable to grasp that a little patience would bring me back to Irinas care and the orange kitten at home. Now every day we walk to nursery together.
Look, Thomas is back! they cheered. Hello, Tommy! I replied, Mrs. Harper, kittens really have no lashes, and their tongues are rough! In two years Ill be starting Year One, with Mother, Father, two grandmothers, Grandfather and a little sister all there to see me off.
End of entry.
