Cat Kin by Nick Green

been nasty to me,’ Avril had sighed. It had never happened to Tiffany either.
    Her ears pricked up.
    ‘This lesson,’ Mrs Powell was saying, ‘will be your last for a few weeks. You’ll be relieved to hear that I’m off on holiday tomorrow.’
    Olly mimed a cheer.
    ‘Where’s that?’ asked Yusuf.
    ‘Around and about,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘Kerala, mainly.’
    ‘South India,’ Susie put in.
    ‘Yes. I’m patron of a wildlife sanctuary there. I pop in from time to time. See how the inmates are getting on.’
    ‘Cats?’ said Yusuf. ‘Big cats, like, tigers and so on?’
    ‘Of course,’ Mrs Powell smiled. ‘I’ll bring you photos.’
    She hoisted herself into a higher fork where the whole group could see her.
    ‘So it’s to be a special lesson,’ she said. ‘Out here you can put together everything you have learned so far, and maybe more. I’m going to take you along the Wild
Walk. A path I’ve mapped through the treetops. You may discover what you’re capable of.’
    A whisper of leaves was her only answer. Nervousness crackled in the air. Olly raised a hand.
    ‘This Wild Walk,’ he began. ‘It isn’t dangerous at all, is it? Only I promised my mum that I’d be home today by—’
    Mrs Powell pointed towards the sycamore next door.
    ‘There’s our first port of call. Tiffany, get your claws ready and lead on. Ben, you be the eyes at the back. The rest of you wait for my word.’
    It took Tiffany a moment to register what Mrs Powell had said. Turning in surprise, she almost lost her balance and had to grab at a twig.
    ‘Watch where you’re going, Tiffany,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘You’re not that good yet.’
    Tiffany half-closed her eyes, mixing blue Ptep and green Mandira until she felt the tingle of whiskers. She imagined thin posts under her feet and stepped along the oak bough onto the
sycamore’s smoother bark. She heard Olly whisper, ‘She didn’t answer my—’ and a grunt as Daniel elbowed him in the ribs.
    So Mrs Powell knew. She had guessed about her Mau claws. Tiffany had only begun to feel them in the last couple of days. Irked that Ben had got there first, she had run through the catra
exercises until her head ached, and her only reward was cramp. Then it happened. Waking up late on Tuesday she’d had a good stretch, dragging one arm across the poster above her bed. She
turned to find three rips in Elijah Wood’s face.
    After that it grew easier. With just a little effort she could bring that tight feeling to her fingertips, as if tweezers were pinching the skin. Then, for a second, there was something there.
Whether it was a static electrical charge or a real, ghostly thorn, she couldn’t say. But by Wednesday’s breakfast she found she could lower her finger over a Rice Krispie and, before
she actually touched it, burst it to dust.
    She had lined up five Krispies on her place-mat, popping them in turn, when Stuart asked what she was doing. She couldn’t resist showing him a trick. Concentrating, she curled her right
hand and jabbed it at the nearest cereal box. Clouds of Ready Brek billowed over the table as her fingers punctured through. Her parents weren’t amused. ‘Haven’t you grown out of
playing with your food?’ Mum demanded, making her re-house the cereal in a tupperware box. Stuart was now bubbling with questions about how she did it.
    He’d been so much better recently. Though he hadn’t yet made the miraculous recovery they all hoped for, on his best days he could have passed for a normal kid. After all (Dad
scathingly pointed out), lots of boys with full use of their muscles spent more time slouched in front of the telly than Stuart did. He took four Panthacea pills a day and no longer complained
about the bitter taste. He could walk from room to room using crutches and had even started going swimming, with the help of armbands. At first Tiffany had gone too, until she’d splashed him
and got a telling-off from Mum. That was a bit rich,