Spaghetti Bolognese all over his face or when he throws a bouncy ball up towards the sun and it hits him right on his nose and then his nan calls him a silly sausage. Harry trotted over to the rosebush and crouched down low, like he always did when he plays hide and seek and shuts his eyes as hard as he can. He wishes that nobody will ever find him sitting there in the airing cupboard and Lottie can never find him and he stays there until his mum asks where could Harry have gone? Harry was right here, next to the prickly rosebush, afraid he was going to tear his goalkeeper gloves on the thorns. He remembered bounding down the stairs on Christmas morning and tearing open his presents, while it was dark and his parents were sleeping. He had to crawl under the tree to grab his last present; it was a box with black and white stripes. The pine needles scratch his skin but the box is filled with brown paper and the most brilliant goalkeeper gloves.The gloves fit only him, and he feels special like Cinderella and her glass slippers. He’s going to keep his gloves forever and ever and make sure nothing ever happens to them. He took off his gloves and reached out to grab his ball, trying not to touch the buzzing and bumblebees and butterflies and bluebottles but it’s hard as they’re everywhere and they fly and float and flutter. He saw that the ball was in front of a cat. It was curled up with its knees tucked against its chest. Harry strokes the cat; here kitty, kitty, he says, but he’s cold.The cat feels cold. It smells bad. Harry ran from the bad smell straight into his mum’s warm arms. She hugged him tight and covered him with her jacket, as the sky had had a bad dream and was crying, calling out for his mummy as Harry called for his mummy too. His mum crouched down, with her hand on his cheek and jacket over his head and smiled. It’s okay, she said, the cat will be fine but we must leave him alone
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