26 October 2025
Today I found myself drifting back to the first time I caught sight of that orange kitten while we were out for a walk in the park near my school. Miss Clarke had organised a game of Duck, Duck, Goose and, as usual, I never managed to get any closer. The little furball was ginger, just like the one I later called Len. I still cant decide whether kittens really have lashes the thought of tiny whiskered eyes made me smile.
Mother used to say the sun had kissed me once, and she gave me a quick peck on the cheek before she passed away. After that, no one has ever kissed me again. Father is always busy, and Gran seems to hold a quiet resentment towards me for reasons I cant grasp. If the sun really did kiss me, does that make me some sort of sunson? And did it also kiss that ginger kitten? I wonder if kittens even have lashes.
During the quiet hour after lunch, I heard Miss Clarke smoothing my blanket.
Tommy, why are you still awake? she whispered, tugging the edge of the quilt. Close your eyes, love.
I obeyed, but sleep refused to come. I lay there, listening to the staffroom where Miss Clarke was arguing with someone about the schedule.
How long can we keep this going? One assistant for two classes? With the numbers we have, its madness. Who would take that salary£520 a week?
Good thing Annas gone, a voice replied. She was terrible with the children; wed rather have no nanny at all.
Dont say that, but how do you expect to manage the kids? Miss Clarke snapped back. Well never solve this. The voices faded.
Anna Whitfield, the previous nanny, was a figure of dread for many of us, not just me. She often scolded the youngsters, and if they refused the porridge with lumps, she would thrust a spoon into their mouths so hard it hurt their tongues. Once she jabbed the spoon straight into my tongue, sending the whole bite flying onto the table. I was terrified, and Miss Clarke had to clean me up and change my clothes. Someone must have complained, because Anna never returned.
Later that evening, during my walk home, I hoped to see the kitten again. All I caught was a flash of a ginger tail disappearing behind the rose bushes near the gazebo, just before Father arrived. Since Mothers death, Father scarcely talks to me and hardly notices me at all. He brings me home from the playgroup and sends me off to my room to play alone. Yesterday I overheard Gran snapping at Father:
David, Ive told you a dozen times youre raising a child that isnt yours. He looks nothing like youcant you see?
I think he looks like Beth, Father replied weakly.
And not even much like Beth, Gran retorted. Get a paternity test, then stop pretending. Its easier than dealing with a child that isnt yours.
I didnt understand a word of it. Grans voice is always sharp and angry, and Ive learned to ignore it.
This morning a new nanny arrived. She was nothing like Anna. I could feel the difference immediately. She didnt shout; she spoke softly to the children, and they actually ate their meals.
I set my spoon down and stared at her. She knelt beside me.
Hello, whats your name? she asked. Tommy? Im Irene Harper. Why arent you eating, love?
I dont like porridge with lumps, I muttered.
Little secret, she whispered, I dont like those lumps either. I never force the kids to eat them. You can leave any on your plate and well see who ends up with the most.
The challenge delighted me. I searched my bowl for lumps, but there were hardly any. While I was hunting, Id already swallowed most of the porridge. Irene clapped her hands and said, Well done, Tommy! Youve been such a good boy. No one had praised me like that for ages, and it lifted my spirits.
From then on the playgroup felt a bit brighter. Irene helped Miss Clarke wherever she could, and the children grew attached to her quickly.
One quiet afternoon Miss Clarke asked Irene to stay with the little ones while she stepped into the office to speak with the headteacher. The children were sniffling and fussing, and once again I couldnt drift off.
Tommy, why cant you sleep? Irene stroked my head.
Do you know my mum is in heaven? I whispered.
Her throat tightened. Shed taken a liking to this quiet, gingerhaired boy who never smiled. Shed noticed how often Father disappeared, how Grans sharp words replaced Mothers warmth. No, love, I didnt know, she said gently.
And the sun kissed me, I added softly.
I noticed that, she smiled.
Do kittens have lashes? I asked, halflaughing.
Probably, she replied. Why do you ask?
I told her the whole storyin low tonesabout the ginger kitten hidden in the bushes, about how I imagined the sun might have kissed it too, making it my brother. I wanted a brother, even if it was a cat, because nobody else kissed me since Mother died.
Do kittens kiss children? I asked, my voice trembling.
She brushed my untidy, reddish hair once more, nodded, and said, Yes, Tommy, kittens can give kisses. Their tongues are a bit rough, though. Try to get some sleep now.
Its really rough? I murmured, closing my eyes and finally drifting off.
Later, the playgroup teacher, Mrs. Clarke, mentioned to Irene that my mother had been in a childrens home and had passed away recently. My stepgrandmother never accepted my mothers partner, insisting the boy wasnt her son. The little boy was neat and tidy, but his smile had faded since Mothers death. He used to beam like sunshine.
A week later I didnt turn up at the playgroup. I think I caught the flu thats been ravaging the town despite the early summer heat. I stayed home for two weeks, and the staff whispered that I might never return. Miss Clarke even spoke to the headteacher about placing me in a childrens home. The idea shocked Irene; she couldnt believe I would be sent away when both my father and Gran were still alivethough theyd just discovered through a DNA test that Father wasnt my biological parent. Five years of upbringing, and now this twist.
I walked home through a fog of thoughts, still wondering, Do kittens have lashes? Suddenly, a bright orange ball rolled out from beneath the playgroup fence. I scrambled to pick it up and realized it was the very kitten Id been dreaming about. It was a scruffy, teenagelooking ginger cat, dirty but still adorable. I examined it; it had no lashes at all.
That night, when Dad came back from work, the clean, wellfed cat strutted straight to him.
Looks like weve got a new family member! he shouted, halfjoking. Hope it doesnt chew the sofa.
Seeing my mothers frown, I felt a knot in my stomach. Dad tried to reassure me, Its just a cat, love. Were not going to turn the house upside down.
He asked later, Are you sure this isnt just a stray you found?
I wasnt sure myself. Id taken the job at the playgroup because I have no children of my own, only the need to look after other kids. Dad kept saying things would get better, though the doctors notes were grim. I wasnt certain about anything, except that I could not let the kitten end up in a shelter like I once feared.
The paperwork piled upadoption forms, school applications, psychologist reports. Thank goodness Dads salary of £3,200 a month was enough to keep a roof over our heads and to pay for the cats vet visits. Mom, though gone, seemed to watch over us, and even my grandparents in Sheffield called, urging us to welcome the little orange furball.
Soon, the kitten settled into our home, curling up on my pillow each night. Irene visited often, bringing treats and stories, and the playgroup welcomed me back with open arms.
Look, Tommys back! shouted Miss Clarke one morning. Welcome home, lad!
Did you know kittens dont have lashes? I replied with a grin. And their tongues are indeed a bit rough!
In two years time Ill be off to Year 1 at St.Marys Primary. My mother, my father, both grans, my grandfather, and my little sister will be there to see me off. For now, I sit by the window, watching the ginger cat chase a leaf, and feel, at last, a sliver of that sunshine my mother once spoke of.
