THE TIME-TRAVELLING CAT AND THE AZTEC SACRIFICE ‘Don’t ever travel to the time of the Aztecs, Ka.’ Topher Hope ran his fingers through his cat’s silky fur. ‘I’d hate to have to go there.’ He was watching, well half-watching, a programme about the Aztecs, and they were making a blood sacrifice. It wasn’t real blood, he told himself, as he studied Ka’s golden fur flecked with black and white. That was paint pouring down the pyramid steps. But the Aztecs did sacrifice people. Everyone knew that. They thought the sun wouldn’t rise if they didn’t kill someone every day in exactly the same way. They didn’t dare make the slightest change. They were dead against change. Dead was the word. Ka’s fur crackled and clung to his fingers as he stroked her – static electricity. Outside a crust of snow covered the grass. As he glanced out of the window – it was dark but no one had closed the curtains – Topher thought about all the changes in his life, some good some bad. His mum dying had been very bad. His dad meeting then marrying Molly had seemed bad, but turned out good. Moving house and leaving his best friend, Ellie, in London had been bad. He’d moved house twice now. But keeping in touch with Ellie was good and finding Ka – or had she found him? – was very, very good. He stroked her throat and felt her purring beneath his fingers. ‘Did you hear me, Ka? Don’t travel to the time of the Aztecs.’ Ka was a time-travelling cat, though only Topher knew that, because he travelled with her sometimes. She turned to face him so he could see her amber eyes, and the ankh on her forehead. The glossy black key-like mark was the Egyptian sign of life. She’d been to Ancient Egypt several times. Don’t wo-rrr-y. Don’t wo-rrr-y. She seemed to speak, sometimes did speak. The commentator had started talking about sacrifices and he turned down the sound. When they’d done the Aztecs at school, he’d laughed at stuff like that, but now it didn’t seem so funny – especially with Tallulah crying. Tally, as they mostly called her, was his new baby sister, nearly a year old now, and she was upstairs in her cot. She’d been bawling when he switched on the TV a quarter of an hour ago. That was why he’d put it on. He couldn’t bear to hear her cry, and luckily she didn’t much. She was usually so happy. She made him laugh, and he made her laugh. He’d been surprised to discover how entertaining a baby could be. If she did cry she nearly always stopped when someone gave her a cuddle or a feed. But not tonight. She was still crying, though Molly and his dad were with her. He turned the sound up again. At least the gruesome bits seemed to be over. The voice-over was saying that the Aztecs didn’t have cows, sheep or goats, and therefore no cheese, butter or milk. ‘You wouldn’t like that, Ka.’ She loved creamy milk and her favourite treat was a cube of cheese. ‘But I suppose you could eat rabbit or turkey meat – or dog.’ They had strange wrinkled hairless dogs and tiny hairy ones called Chihuahuas, but they didn’t have horses or cats, well not domestic cats. That was a relief. Ka probably wouldn’t go there. ‘But if you do you must tell me.’ Of cou . . . rrrse. Of cou . . . rrrse. She sometimes told him where she’d been by pressing the keyboard of his computer and writing a word. She was extraordinarily clever. ‘But I’m not sure if you could spell the names of Aztec places. They’re weird.’ She frowned as if to say, I’m not stupid. ‘Okay, but if you’re thinking of going tell me, right, before you go?’ He didn’t say – so I can persuade you not to. Try, anyway. Ka had a mind of her own, like all cats. She didn’t obey or do tricks like a dog. ‘Did you hear me?’ She didn’t reply. In fact she turned to face the TV as the voice-over described what Aztecs ate. They had sweet corn, peppers, tomatoes and beans, including cocoa beans. ‘Not much there for you, Ka, except chocolate.’ Chocolate was her second favourite treat. ‘Chocolate? Did someone say chocolate?’ said Molly from the doorway. She must have crept downstairs. ‘Shall I make some?’ ‘No, you sit down.’ His dad stood behind her now, glasses on top of his bald head. ‘I’ll get it.’ Topher and his dad had the same name – Christopher Hope – so to avoid confusion, his dad was called Chris for short, and Topher was called Topher. That had been his mum’s idea. As Chris Hope went off to the kitchen Molly flumped down beside Topher, and pushed back her black hair. ‘What was the matter with Tally?’ ‘Not sure. Probably a cold.’ ‘As long as she’s not ill?’ ‘Don’t think so.’ Molly gave him a hug. ‘You love her, don’t you? Everyone told me you’d be jealous.’ ‘Everyone told me I’d be jealous.’ He laughed. ‘Perhaps that’s why I’m not.’