Pet Detectives Page 2

  Kenny, Rosie, Lyndz and I stared at her.

  “Are you sure your mum and dad won’t mind?” Rosie said. “I mean, shouldn’t you at least go home and ask?”

  Frankie shook her head. “I know they’ll be pleased,” she said. “Mum knows how much I miss Muffin, and Pepsi’s getting much older now – she’ll be thrilled to have another animal to play with!”

  “Meow,” said the kitten. It was funny! It was just as if he had understood every word Frankie was saying.

  Frankie looked desperate. “I have to have him!” she said. “LOOK! You can see he knows he belongs with me!”

  “Five pounds,” said Mr Garez. “The owner said five pounds to a good home.”

  Frankie tucked the kitten inside her jacket, and opened her purse. “Can anyone lend me a pound?” she asked. “I’ve only got four – no, four pounds twenty.”

  We scrabbled about in our pockets. Rosie had ten pence, and Lyndz had fifty. I didn’t have any money at all, and neither did Kenny.

  Mr Garez watched while we piled up the money on the counter.

  “Hm,” he said. “Four pounds eighty. Maybe I do a discount for bad kittens,” and he actually smiled as he scooped the money up and put it in the till.

  “Thank you!” Frankie said. “He’ll be the happiest kitten EVER!”

  We stroked the little tabby kittens while Mr Garez stumped off into the back of the shop. I wished I could have had one, but Mum says pets aren’t hygienic. Also she says they give Callum asthma, although he never gets asthma when he plays with animals at other people’s houses.

  Mr Garez came back with a piece of paper and a big cardboard box with holes in it.

  “Here you are,” he said, and he gave Frankie the paper. “He’s had all his injections. Feed him four small meals a day, and make sure he has water where he can reach it. Now, pop him in the carrying box to take him home.” Mr Garez smiled again. “And don’t bring him back! I’m too old to chase him all round the shop five times a day!”

  We were just about to walk out when I remembered why we’d come to the shop in the first place.

  “Please,” I said, “has anyone brought in a lost cat?”

  Lyndz jumped round. “Wow, Fliss!” she said. “Well done! How could I have forgotten poor old Truffle?”

  But Mr Garez said that he hadn’t heard anyone talking about a lost cat, and they certainly hadn’t brought one in.

  “If we write a notice will you put it up in the window?” I asked.

  “Of course.” Mr Garez seemed really happy now. “Bring it in, and I’ll be pleased to do that.”

  Once we were outside Lyndz gave me a hug. “That’s a mega-brilliant idea about the notice,” she said. “We’ll write a whole lot out at Frankie’s house, and ask all the other shops as well. Do you think we could use your dad’s computer, Frankie?”

  “Hm?” Frankie wasn’t listening. She was holding the big cardboard box very very carefully, and was trying to squint in through one of the holes.

  “Can we use your computer?” Lyndz asked.

  “I expect so,” Frankie said. “Dad’ll probably be there when we get back. He and Mum were going out somewhere together this afternoon – don’t ask me where. They wouldn’t tell me – it seems to be some sort of secret.”

  “Ooh!” Kenny said. “Tell us more!”

  Frankie grinned. “It’s something to do with holidays, because when I asked Mum where we were going next summer she looked at Dad, and then he winked at her, and then they both said next summer would be a real surprise … but I’d have to wait for a bit to find out.”

  “Oh.” Kenny sounded disappointed. “Grown ups are so boring.”

  Rosie suddenly clutched my arm. “FLISS!” she said. “Where’s Callum?”

  We pounded back into the pet shop. My heart was fluttering, but I needn’t have worried. Callum was sitting on the counter chatting to Mr Garez – and he was holding a rat!

  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKK!!!!!

  I didn’t mean to scream. It was the surprise – and it was such a BIG rat! It was a fast runner, too. When I screamed the rat and Callum jumped – but the rat jumped higher. Callum and Mr Garez both grabbed at it, and they both missed – and the rat scuttled off at a hundred miles an hour.

  “I can see it!” Callum yelled, and he flung himself on to the floor. He didn’t mean to knock over the bag of rabbit food, but it tottered … and then crashed to the floor almost on top of him. Crunchy bits and grassy bits spread absolutely everywhere.

  “STOP!!!!!” yelled Mr Garez. “STOP – before I have no shop left!”

  Callum froze … and so did the rest of us. I’m sure Frankie and Kenny were completely cracking up laughing, but they hid behind the kitten’s cardboard box so Mr Garez couldn’t see.

  “Now, OUT!” said Mr Garez, and Frankie, Kenny and Rosie zoomed out through the door. Lyndz grabbed Callum’s hand, and followed them, and I was going to go too, but I didn’t. I really did feel bad about the mess – and after all, Callum is my brother.

  I took a deep breath, and I swallowed hard.

  “Mr Garez,” I said, “I’m very sorry.”

  Mr Garez glared at me. “I should hope so!” he said. “Look at all this mess! I should tell your mother!”

  “I’ll help you sweep it up,” I said, and then I nearly flipped. The rat had come sneaking back out and was nibbling at the rabbit food – and another rat had come out too! A HUGE black rat!

  I would have screamed again, but I couldn’t. My tongue was stuck in my mouth. I couldn’t do anything except stare.

  Mr Garez swooped down and picked up both rats – first the brown one, and then the huge black one. Would you believe that he seemed really really pleased to see the black one? He even gave it a little kiss!!! YUCKKKK.

  “Aha!” said Mr Garez. “So there you are, my pretty friend!”

  GROSS!!! Mr Garez had a rat in each hand, and their bristly, scaly tails were twisting round his fingers! I wanted to shut my eyes, but I couldn’t.

  The rats were soon safely back in their cage, and Mr Garez shut the door with a click. “So – you frighten my rat, young lady, and you spill my rabbit food – but you find me my prize rat while you do it! Maybe we should say that we are quits. And maybe you should go quickly before I change my mind!”

  I nodded. I still couldn’t say anything. I just headed for the door.

  “If your little brother wants a rat,” Mr Garez called after me, “I can get him one! Very cheap, too!”

  “NO – er – thank you,” I called back, and I rushed after the others.

  Callum talked about rats all the way back to Frankie’s house. The trouble was he’d heard Mr Garez, and he asked me over and over how much ‘very cheap’ was. I kept telling him to be quiet, but then Kenny told him how great rats are. It’s no good, though. My mum would rather have an alien living in the house than a rat. Actually, I think I’d rather have an alien too.

  Frankie was right. When we got to her house both her parents were at home. They were sitting have a cup of tea in the kitchen, and they looked – I don’t know – pleased with themselves. Anyway, they seemed pleased to see us too, even Callum. Frankie’s mum opened a new box of biscuits and her dad put on the kettle.

  “So – what ghoulish surprise are you keeping in the box, Frankie?” her dad said as we marched in. “Some horrible sleepover special?”

  Frankie went very pink. “Oh, Dad!” she said. “It’s the most fantastic thing that’s happened to me since Muffin died! LOOK!” And she opened the cardboard box.

  I don’t know what that kitten had been doing in the box. He’d been dead quiet all the way home; not a squeak or a meow. He must have been planning his arrival at Frankie’s house. He came out of that box like a furry black streak, and he went straight up the curtains and meowed so loudly you could have heard him six doors down.

  Frankie’s mum jumped up, and Frankie’s dad dropped the milk jug. Callum shouted, and Frankie rushed after the kitten calling, “Mu
ffin! Muff, muff, muff! Don’t be frightened!” The kitten jumped; he jumped off the top of the curtains, and he landed on the draining board. It was full of glasses and cups, and he kind of slid along the shiny surface with them … only they fell on the floor and he didn’t.

  “Whoops!” said Rosie, and she ran to head him off, but he did a quick turn and leapt on to the table. Kenny grabbed at him, but he was much too quick. He shot back up the curtains, climbed to the top and hid behind the curtain rail.

  “FRANKIE!” said her mum. “Whatever is that?”

  “He’s just scared,” Frankie said. “He’ll come down in a minute – oh, don’t you think he’s the most gorgeous kitten in the whole wide world?”

  Frankie’s dad finished wiping the milk off the floor, and stood up with the wet drippy cloth in his hand.

  “I think we should let that animal calm down,” he said. “If everyone keeps on chasing it we’ll never catch it.”

  “He’ll come down soon,” Frankie said. “He’s just getting to know us all. Mum, where did we put Muffin’s old bowl?”

  Frankie’s mum looked at her in that way parents do when something is Very Bad News.

  “Oh, Frankie!” she said. “Whatever were you thinking of? We can’t have a kitten – I’m sorry, but there’s no way it’s possible. I don’t know where you got that one from but he’ll have to go back.”

  I felt so sorry for Frankie. I know she’s bossy and sometimes she gets too big for her boots and tries to tell us what to do, but anybody would have been sorry for her then. She looked at her dad, and he shook his head.

  “Sorry, poppet,” he said. “No can do. Wait until he’s come down off his mountaineering expedition, and take him home.”

  “I can’t,” Frankie said, and there was a wobble in her voice. “Mr Garez said I couldn’t. He said he didn’t want him back. And,” – she looked up at the clock – “his shop is shut now.”

  “The kitten could come to my house for the night,” Lyndz said. “If that would help, that is.”

  Frankie’s mum smiled. “That’s very kind of you, Lyndsey – but we can probably manage for tonight.” She patted Frankie’s hand. “Just don’t get too fond of him. I’m not going to change my mind.”

  Frankie nodded. She didn’t say anything, and I think it was because she would have cried if she’d had to open her mouth.

  “What were you doing in the pet shop anyway?” asked Frankie’s dad. Lyndz had seen Frankie’s face too, and she bounced up.

  “We were asking about my cat, Truffle,” she said. “She’s disappeared, and we thought someone might have found her and taken her to the pet shop.” She sighed. “But they hadn’t.”

  “There were LOTS of rats!” Callum piped up. “One of them had got out, and Fliss found it! And I want a rat of my own.”

  “Goodness me,” Frankie’s dad said. “Missing cats, found rats, mad kittens – whatever next?”

  Just then the kitten came down from the curtain. He skipped across the floor, and began to lick the tiles where the milk had spilt.

  “Can I give him some water with a little milk in it?” Frankie asked, and her mum nodded.

  “Take him up into your room as soon as he’s drunk it. And you’d better take his box with you – oh, and put some newspapers in Muffin’s old litter box. Is he house trained?”

  “I don’t know,” Frankie said, and she went very slowly to fetch the milk.

  You should have seen us sitting in Frankie’s bedroom! GLOOM. MEGA GLOOM. And then MEGA MEGA GLOOM.

  That’s not like us. If you know anything at all about the Sleepover Club you’ll know we’re usually falling about or cracking up about something. But even with scrummy chocolate biscuits in front of us we all looked totally miserable.

  Frankie was sitting with the kitten on her lap. He was looking as if he’d never climbed a curtain in his life, and making this cute little purring noise.

  Lyndz was staring out of the window. Rosie was slumped against the wall. Kenny was frowning at her feet. I was watching the kitten. I couldn’t believe that Frankie couldn’t keep him. I mean, my mum has always said no pets, but Frankie’s got a dog, and a cat is much easier to keep. You don’t have to take them for walks, and they don’t need playing with the same way a dog does.

  Thinking about cats made me remember Truffle, and I sat up.

  “I’ll have to take Callum home soon,” I said. (I’d left him downstairs watching the Simpsons. Anything to keep him quiet.) “Are we going to make those notices about Truffle?”

  No one answered at first, and then Lyndz suddenly leant forward. She pointed out of the window.

  “Hey! Fliss – can you see a cat over there on the wall?”

  I hurried to look, but I couldn’t see any cat. Frankie got up and carried the kitten to the window so they could both look out.

  “Oh – that’s one of Mrs Brierley’s cats,” she said. “She’s got dozens of cats – I think she collects them or something.”

  “LYNDZ!!!” Kenny rushed to the window too. “If she collects cats maybe she’s collected Truffle! Maybe she goes round the streets with a cat bag—”

  Rosie nodded. “And she calls, ‘Kitty, kitty’! And she has smelly fish heads in her bag—”

  “And when they come running she snatches them up and hurries home to add them to her collection!” Lyndz said. Then she looked really worried. “Do you think she might have taken Truffle?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Frankie said. “We’ll go and see!”

  “We can’t!” I said. “We can’t march in and say, ‘We’ve come to check out your cats’!”

  “We could – we could offer to do odd jobs for her!” Frankie said. “My mum’s always saying she’s a poor old thing who could do with some help! We could say we’re—”

  “Boy scouts!” said Kenny. “My dad says boy scouts used to come round to his house once a year and say ‘Bob a job!’ And whatever you asked them to do they did, and it only cost a bob. Dad says that’s about five pence!”

  “We can’t be boy scouts,” I said, and for some reason all the others cackled with laughter.

  “It’s good idea, though,” Rosie said. “We could do – er—”

  “Weeding!” Frankie said. “Her garden’s full of weeds! And that would give us a brilliant excuse for spying on Mrs B and checking out the cats!”

  Rosie moaned loudly. “I HATE weeding.”

  “Me too,” said Kenny. “But detectives have to be ready to take on any disguise! Tomorrow we’ll be the Sleepover spies – undercover in the garden!”

  “I’d rather be a cabbage,” Rosie said.

  “You already are!” said Frankie, so Rosie threw a pillow at her. The kitten took off and Kenny dived for him and missed. Frankie threw the pillow back at Rosie, but Rosie ducked – and it landed FLOP!!! on the plate of chocolate biscuits.

  When we had caught the kitten again and picked some of the biscuit crumbs off the carpet we went back to the plan.

  “I’ll ask Mum,” Frankie said. “She’s bound to say yes to us being helpful. Then we can knock on Mrs Brierley’s door after school. She’s always there in the afternoons.”

  Rosie nodded. “I expect she goes cat catching at night.”

  “Out in the dark, with the cats’ eyes shining!” Kenny said.

  “We won’t wait until it’s dark though, will we?” I asked.

  “Who knows where the hunt will take us!” Frankie said, flinging out her arms and almost falling over.

  “We may have to go creeping through the bushes, and hunting in dark corners!” Kenny hissed.

  “Hiding behind ancient creaking doors, while the slow, dragging footsteps pass by… ” whispered Frankie.

  “But it doesn’t get dark until quite late,” I said. “I can’t stay out until then.”

  “Nor can we,” Rosie said. “But we can imagine it—”

  Lyndz sighed. “Wouldn’t it be brilliant if Truffle really was there?”

  “Tomorrow
will reveal all!” said Frankie.

  I got up again. “I’d better take Callum home.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Rosie said. “I promised I wouldn’t be late.”

  “Me too,” Kenny said.

  “And me.” Lyndz gave the kitten a little pat. “Goodbye, kitten.”

  “What are you going to do with him?” I asked.

  Frankie groaned. “I don’t know. Maybe Mum’ll have a brain transfer in the middle of the night. I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

  We all went quiet. Poor Frankie.

  There was a small scuffling noise behind the door.

  “Ssssh!” Rosie held up her hand, and we all froze. Rosie tiptoed to the door – and flung it open.

  Who do you think was there?

  Unfortunately it was Callum, and he was grinning.

  “It’s the pest!” Frankie and Kenny wailed together, and Callum grinned even more.

  “How long have you been there?” Rosie asked him.

  “Shan’t tell you,” he said. “Are we going home now?”

  “YES!” I said, and I marched him down the stairs.

  On the way home Callum asked me again about rats.

  “Kenny says she keeps hers in the garage,” he said. “Do you think Mum would let me do that?”

  “NO,” I said.

  “Maybe Dad would let me have a rat at his house,” said Callum. “Maybe I could keep a rat in his garage.”

  “Callum,” I said, “Frankie and Kenny are right. You’re a PEST.”

  “No I’m not,” Callum said, but he didn’t sound as cross as he usually does when I call him that. “Can we go to the pet shop again after school tomorrow?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ve got things to do.”

  “Please!” Callum said. “If you do, I won’t tell Mum you’re going to spy on the lady who catches cats!”

  “What?” I said.

  Callum giggled. “I heard lots of what you said! You’re going to be a spy! You’re going to be a spy!” And he hopped up and down, singing in a silly voice.