“Don’t Take Her Away, Dad!”—Seven-Year-Old Katie Pleads Tearfully as Ginger the Cat Is Sent Off in t…

Dad, please, dont take her away! sobbed the youngest daughter, seven-year-old Pippa, her nose crimson from crying. You can’t just give Daisy away! She’s ours!

Your Daisy, snapped her father, William Bennett, yanking the steering wheel as he spoke, makes a mess everywhere. Absolutely everywhere! In the hall, by the old stove, even yesterday in my shoes. She refuses to use the litter box, so what am I supposed to do with her?

But Dad

Thats enough! he barked.

The old, battered white Ford Escort shuddered as William started the engine. In the backseat, Daisy whined pitifully from her cramped cardboard box.

Pippa stood frozen by the garden gate, gripping the iron bars as she watched the weary old car rattle down the muddy country lane until it vanished around the corner.

A damp and dismal autumn pressed down on the village. The clouds hung heavy and grey, the wind tugging at Pippas plaits and the hem of her faded floral dress.

Pippa, love, come inside! Youll catch a chill! called her mother, Ann Bennett, from the kitchen window. What are you standing out there for?

Pippa didnt move. Tears scorched her cheeks as they slid silently down.

Daisy Their Daisy Ginger, with white socks and a downy chest. In the evenings she would curl up and purr in Pippas lap, or nestle herself by the warmth of the Rayburn. But now

The house clung to the smells of stewed cabbage and rising doughher mother was making pasties. Her older siblingsPeter (thirteen), Alice (eleven), and Jack (nine)sat hunched over their schoolbooks at the table. Or rather, pretended. Peter listlessly scratched at his exercise book, not seeing what he wrote. Alice hid behind a textbook, her swollen eyes giving her away. Jack, who was usually the loudest, chewed a pencil in silence.

Its always the same, Peter suddenly blurted, dropping his pen with a clatter. When Dads made up his mind, thats that! Doesnt ask a soul!

Mind your manners! Ann snapped, kneading dough with tough, floury hands. Your father knows what hes doing. Weve three cats already! Molly and Socks use their litter box properly, and this one your Daisy

She just needed more time! Alice protested through sobs. We could have trained her.

Trained her? their mother scoffed. And who was going to take that on? Me? Ive got enough to do as it iscows, pigs, the allotment, all of you and a cat that acts like she owns the place.

We could have done it! argued Alice. We would have taught her!

Its too late, Ann said bluntly.

Quietly, Pippa slipped back indoors and sat by the window, staring through the rain that veiled the world. The village seemed so bleakgrey houses, gardens blackened by the seasons end.

Mum will she come home? she whispered eventually.

Ann sighed, heavy with sorrow. I dont know, darling. Really, I dont

Half an hour later, William Bennett returned. He hung his dripping coat on a hook, trudging silently into the kitchen without a glance at the children.

Well? Ann asked softly.

Shes gone. Took her to the neighbouring village. Left her at the Joness farm. They promised to look after her.

How fars that? Jack piped up.

Three miles, maybe more, William muttered.

Shell never come back, Alice whispered.

And she doesnt need to, William replied coldly. Thats the end of it. Now, put the kettle on, Ann. Im chilled through.

Ann set a mug of tea in front of him, added a plate of macaroni with gravy. William ate in silence, sucking up the pasta with a weary, bitter grimace. The children sat at the table, staring at their untouched food as if it were something heavy and inedible.

Later that night, after the house had gone quiet and everyone had gone to bed, Pippa lay restless, listening to the rain tapping at the glass, the creaks of the old cottage, and the distant barking of the neighbours dog.

Alice, are you awake? she whispered.

Yes, came Alices soft reply.

Daisy will come back. Im sure she will. Shell find her way.

Dont be daft. How will she find us? Dad took her so farthree whole miles! For a little cat, that might as well be another world.

But shes clever! Shes bound to find us.

Alice turned away, facing the wall. Pippa lay with wide open eyes, whispering a silent prayer as her gran had taught her: Lord, keep Daisy safe. Please help her find her way home. Please

Meanwhile, Daisy huddled beneath the range cooker at the Joness farmhouse on the edge of the next village. The elderly couple were kindthey gave her a bowl of milk, a scrap of food, even stroked her gently. But Daisy didnt purr or rub against their legs. She was a stranger in a strange world, balled tight in her sadness.

Where was home? Where were the childrenPippa, Alice, Jack, Peter? Where was Ann Bennett, whod sneak her bits of ham from the table? Where were the scents of her own yardwood smoke, straw, fresh milk?

Here, everything smelled wrong. The voices were all unfamiliar. A hulking grey tomcat, lord of the Joness kitchen, hissed fiercely each time Daisy neared the food.

She waited for dawn. When Mrs. Jones finally opened the door to let out the hens, Daisy darted between her legs and shot outside.

Oh! Where are you off to? the old woman cried.

But the cat was goneacross the muddy vegetable plot, past the rickety fence, and onto the deserted country lane.

It rained on. Cold, pitiless rain from morning til dusk. Daisys ginger fur stuck to her body, paws slipping in the mud, claws biting into the wet earth. She didnt know which way to go, but somewhere inside burned a stubborn sparka whisper of instinct: This way farther dont give up.

A day passed. She found shelter beneath an old haystack, shaking with cold and hunger. She tried for a mouse, missed, then drank from a puddlebitter, earthy, tastes of autumn rot.

The next day, she reached the main road. Cracked tarmac, potholes, an occasional car spraying mud. Daisy limped along the verge, fell, picked herself up, walked on.

At night she found an abandoned shed. The place stank of mice on damp, splintered boards. She caught one, swallowing it whole. For a time, the hunger dulled.

On the third day, the first snow of the year began to falldamp flakes clinging to her back, leaving dark pawprints on the whitened ground. The pads of her feet were rubbed raw, pink and raw. Still she pressed on.

Because somewhere ahead was a cottage. Children. A warm fireside. And Ann Bennett, who might scold, but always had a gentle hand when no one watched.

By the fourth day, the pale trunks of their familiar birch grove came into view. Daisys heart thudded faster. She hurried, almost ran. Yes! It was the same little wood where the children picked mushrooms in summer, where Pippa wove daisy chains.

On the fifth day, Daisy came to the rivernarrow but icy. She waded through, scrambled out, shivering and soaked.

On the sixth day, she began cough. Her nose ran, breath rattled painfully. But still she struggled on.

And thenthe seventh day. Early morning. Daisy, all mud and snow, reached the familiar gate. She sat, mewedweak and hoarse. No one heard. She tried again, louder.

The front door burst open. Pippa shot out, barefoot in her nightie.

Daaaaisy! the little girl shrieked, flinging open the gate and scooping the cat into her arms. Mum! Dad! Everyone! She made it back! Shes really come home!

Behind her came the restAlice, Jack, Peter. Ann Bennett hurried up, hands drying on her apron, peering close.

Heavens, shes all skin and bone and that nose is running looks like shes got a nasty cold, she murmured.

Mum, we have to help her! Alice pleaded.

Help her? Ann shook her head. People dont call the vet for cats, love. Vets are for cows and pigscats have to manage.

But Mum

Oh, hush up. Ann flapped her hand. Get some milk warmed for her. Find a rag to clean her with. Well see how she does

At that moment, William appeared in the doorway. He paused, gazing at Daisy, ginger and battered in the youngests arms.

Well, she found her way, didnt she he muttered.

Dad, she walked threemaybe even fourmiles on her own! Can you imagine? exclaimed Peter.

William didnt reply. He simply turned and went inside.

Daisy was carried back into the warmth, laid beside the stove. Pippa fetched her a steaming saucer of milk, which Daisy drank so greedily that it splashed over her whiskers. Alice mopped her off gently with an old towel.

Her paws are bleeding Alice whispered hoarsely. Mum, look

Ann sat beside them, examining the cat carefully.

Well, you poor thing youve taken a beating, she sighed. Right. Jack, run for the antiseptic, quick as you can. Alice, fetch a bandage. Well patch her up.

And her cold? Pippa asked anxiously.

Her cold well try chamomile. Old Mrs. Brown next door will know what to doshes a dab hand with this sort of thing. For now, keep her warm, and see that she eats. The rest is up to the Lord.

After that, the children nursed Daisy as if she were their baby. Pippa stuck to her like glue, stroking her and whispering soft encouragement. Alice cooked up a little chicken broth. Jack found an old blanket to lay by the stove. Peter hammered nails, frowning in concentration.

What are you doing? Alice asked.

A proper litter tray, Peter muttered. So shell have somewhere decent. Well teach her.

Do you think well manage it?

We have to.

Daisy stayed ill for nearly a weeksneezing, sniffling, eyes running. But the children didnt give up. They dripped chamomile into her nose, gave her warm milk, kept her wrapped in a scarf.

Bit by bit, she returned to life. The cold faded, eyes grew bright, her fur fluffed out ginger and thick.

Then came the training. Peter made a tray from an old wooden box, filled it with sand. Each time Daisy looked for a place, they took her to it.

Here, Daisy, right here, Pippa repeated patiently.

Daisy grumbled, tried to escape. But the children persisted. And one day the miracle happenedthe cat walked to the tray, pawed at the sand, and did what she was meant to do.

Shes done it! Pippa cried out. Mum, Dad! She went in the tray all by herself!

For the first time in days, Ann smiled.

Well so it is possible. Whod have thought.

William sat at the table, reading the paper. He looked up at the cat, now calmly washing her paw by the litter tray.

Stubborn old thing, he said softly. Such a stubborn heart you walked all those miles

Dad, you wont ever send her away again, will you? Pippa asked timidly.

He was silent, weighing the words, then finally replied:

No. If she came back on her own then this is where she belongs. With us.

Pippa launched herself at him, hugging him so tightly she feared the promise might vanish if she let go.

Thank you, Daddy! Thank you!

Oh, dont fuss, he grumbled, but his face was softer than before.

Daisy lived for years in their home. Not once did she make a mess again, always used her sandy tray. In the evenings shed purr by the stove, curled up warm and safe. She caught mice as well as Molly or Socks, and all the children were proud of her.

Sometimes William would look at her, shaking his head.

Shes got spirit, hed say. Proper spirit. She knows where home is. And no distance, however far, will ever stop her.

The children always agreed. Because it was true: Daisy knew the way back. She returnedthrough rain, cold, hunger, and pain. Because, at home, someone was waiting for her.

And where theres someone waitingthat is where life belongs, and carries on.