Kitten Kaboodle (12 page)

‘No!’ Kaboodle cut in swiftly. ‘No, no, that wouldn’t be a good idea at all,’ he said. ‘Now, why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to this
morning while you go and fetch me some breakfast?’

I had the distinct impression that Kaboodle had managed to bamboozle me somehow.

Confused, I shook my head and said, ‘OK – but let me go home and get the keys. I don’t like the idea of trying to break in to Ms P’s, whatever you say.’

Kaboodle was on his own doorstep, having a thorough wash, when I emerged from my house.

‘Mffffuggggle?’ he said.

‘Pur-leeese!’ I protested. ‘You could at least stop washing your – er – private parts before you start speaking!’

Kaboodle removed his head from his tail region and looked at me coolly. ‘Have you never seen a cat wash before? We cats are extremely clean creatures, you know. Cleanliness is next to
godliness. We always think before we act, and we
never
think before we wash—’

‘All right, all right, I get the picture,’ I interrupted. I was not keen to be seen hanging around outside chatting like this. I fumbled with the key and nearly tripped over the
doormat in my hurry to get into the house.

Kaboodle padded softly behind me as I went through to the kitchen and quickly read through Pinkella’s notes again. He jumped and landed neatly on the work surface next to where I had put
my notebook.

‘So, are you going to tell me what you and your irritating friend were up to this morning?’ he purred.

I decided to ignore his comment about Jazz and said, ‘We went to number two – you know, Mr Smythe’s?’

‘Ah, yes, Rodent Man,’ sneered Kaboodle. ‘Half man, half mouse. Shame he’s too big for me to sink my teeth into, really.’

‘Ye-es,’ I said. ‘Although I’d say he was more like half hamster, myself.’

Kaboodle gave a funny snort, midway between a laugh and a sneeze. ‘Yes, I heard you droning on about hamsters yesterday. What on earth
is
a hamster?’

I giggled. ‘Don’t you know?’

‘No, that’s why I asked,’ he replied sniffily. ‘I’m only six months old, you know. I haven’t exactly seen the world in its magnificent entirety.’

‘You wouldn’t know it, the way you carry on,’ I said under my breath.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. I was just wondering how I could describe a hamster to you,’ I said hurriedly. ‘It’s, er, sort of like a mouse, but it doesn’t have a tail – well,
only a very tiny stubby one. People keep them as pets and put them in cages.’

‘And then eat them?’ asked Kaboodle hopefully.

‘NO!’ I exclaimed. ‘Yuck! Who’d want to
eat
a hamster? Urgh! No, they just keep them to cuddle and play with.’

‘What a waste,’ said Kaboodle, obviously unimpressed. ‘So, you went to Hamster Man’s house, and then what?’

‘Funnily enough, we went to see his hamsters,’ I said sarcastically. ‘He has two: Mr Nibbles and Houdini. He wants us to look after them for a couple of days – like
I’m looking after you.’

Kaboodle paused, then did the sneezy laugh again. ‘Mr Nibbles and Houdini – what pathetic names!’ he said.

‘Hmmm. That’s what Jazz said. I’m beginning to think they’re quite cute, actually.’

‘Oh, really?’ said Kaboodle, sounding cooler. ‘So what were these un-tailed rodents like?’

‘Oh, you know – furry,’ I said vaguely, suddenly realizing that Kaboodle might be feeling jealous. ‘And quiet. They didn’t talk to me or anything.’

‘Well, of course they didn’t TALK to you,’ sneered the kitten, narrowing his yellow eyes at me. ‘What on earth do you suppose they would have to say for
themselves?’ He twitched his nose and bared his teeth and squeaked: ‘“I like carrot”, “I have big teeth”, “Does my bum look big without a
tail?”’ His features returned to normal. ‘Talk to you! What utter nonsense,’ he scowled.

I frowned. ‘But surely cats aren’t the only animals who can talk?’

Kaboodle preened his whiskers. ‘Obviously,’ he agreed. ‘But cats are the only animals on this planet who have anything worth saying. Take dogs for instance – the poor
foolish brutes only have three thoughts going around their brain at any one time. “Walkies! Food! Sleep!”’

I laughed. ‘How do you know? A dog wouldn’t want to talk to you anyway – he’d only be interested in chasing you.’

‘Precisely,’ said Kaboodle, blinking slowly. ‘He would want “walkies”, which would involve chasing me, followed by “food” – not that I’d
ever give him the satisfaction – followed by “sleep” to recover from the whole riveting adventure.’

I shook my head. ‘You are a funny little thing,’ I said. ‘Sometimes you sound like Jazz!’

Kaboodle shuddered. ‘
Please
! Do
not
compare me with that creature,’ he said and then swiftly changed the subject. ‘Tell me more about these silent, stubby-tailed
rodents.’

I wondered vaguely why Kaboodle was so curious about my other pet-sitting job, but it was quite nice to have someone show an interest in what I was up to, rather than mouthing off at me and
running away in a huff.

So I told Kaboodle about our meeting with Mr Smythe and what I was going to be doing with the hamsters. ‘But don’t worry,’ I assured him. ‘It won’t take up too much
of my time. I’ll be there for you first and foremost.’

‘I should think so too,’ purred Kaboodle. ‘Talking of which, where’s my breakfast?’

I grinned. ‘OK, OK. I can take a hint.’

I went to the cupboard where the gourmet kitten food was stored and came back with a couple of sachets. ‘Salmon in jelly or turkey and chicken?’ I asked, reading out the labels.

‘Ahem,’ said Kaboodle.

I bristled. ‘Listen, I know you don’t like them very much. But if Ms P comes home and finds they’re all still in the cupboard—’

‘Throw them away,’ he cut in. ‘Just tip them straight into the wheelie bin outside. Go on.’

I put my hands on my hips, the sachets flapping at my sides like a pair of fins. This was ridiculous, being ordered about by a tiny kitten. ‘No,’ I said firmly.

‘Why ever not?’

‘Well, for a start it’s a waste, and secondly I don’t have enough money of my own to buy you all those sardines and things you asked for.’

‘Hmm,’ purred Kaboodle. ‘I don’t really care about the first reason, and as for the second – you’re getting paid to look after me, aren’t you? And
presumably for those
hamsters
as well. You must be raking it in.’

‘What a cheek!’ I exclaimed. ‘I’ve already got to pay Jazz half of what we earn! I’m not spending the rest on you when Ms P’s bought you tons of food
already.’

Kaboodle sniffed loudly. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Well, if that’s how you feel, I suppose I shall have to put up with this muck.’ He sat back on his haunches and flicked
his tail irritably. ‘Get on with it then,’ he commanded.

I left Kaboodle tucking into his gourmet kitten food with more enthusiasm than I would have thought possible after the fuss he’d made. I was furious with him for being so rude. What with
Jazz flouncing off in a mood again as well, I’d had enough.

T
hat afternoon I was completely down in the dumps. Dad wasn’t much use He kept saying, ‘Just let me finish this and then we’ll go
out and do something.’ But he obviously never did finish ‘this’, which seemed to involve him staring at his laptop screen and muttering to himself.

So I mooched in my room for most of the day, counting the minutes until I could make up an excuse for going to feed the hamsters. I wished Kaboodle would come and visit. Even if he was rude
again, it was better than being cooped up like that on my own. I hoped he might find his way in through the window again and curl up on my bed. But he was mysteriously and disappointingly
absent.

At last it was five o’clock and time to feed the hamsters.

‘I’m going to Jazz’s,’ I announced.

‘What?
Again?
’ Dad exclaimed, barely tearing his eyes away from the oh-so-riveting screen. ‘You two are inseparable!’

I wish.

I let myself into Mr Smythe’s place and tiptoed in. It felt strange going into his home on my own like that. The house was so quiet, it was as if I could actually hear the silence. I know
that sounds weird, but it was like the stillness in the grown-ups’ section of the library, or in the doctor’s waiting room, where everyone is sitting so still and no one feels they can
talk out loud in case they disturb someone else.

I crept down the hall towards the room where the hamsters were and jumped when my foot hit a creaky floorboard. My chest was banging and a lump had caught in my throat. I wished Jazz were there
to keep me company.

As I opened the door, I heard a scuffling sound. I walked softly over to the cage and caught the tail-end (or rather, bottom-end) of Mr Nibbles burying himself in a pile of sawdust.

‘Hey, little fellas,’ I cooed, as I peered through the sides of the hamsters’ home. ‘It’s only me, Bertie. I’m going to look after you while your – er
– dad? – is away.’

A little pink nose peeped out from the mound of sawdust and twitched at me, then Mr Nibbles came into full view and sat up on his hind legs. He was so cute! He looked as though he were taking as
good a look at me as I was at him.

I carefully picked him up and sat him in the palm of my hand and brought him close to my face. He snuffled and wriggled a bit and then sat staring back at me.

‘What are you thinking, little guy?’ I whispered. ‘I bet you could tell me a thing or two about Mr Smythe for starters. He’s one weird cookie.’

Mr Nibbles put his head on one side and chomped his chubby little cheek pouches.

‘I bet you think he’s totally freakoid too, dontcha?’ I crooned.

I imagined the hamster saying, ‘You bet! He’s a one-hundred-per-cent fruitcake with cherries on the top.’

I stroked him gently and let him scurry up and down my sleeve for a while, and then sighing, said, ‘I guess I ought to put you back while I get you some food. Are you hungry?’

Mr Nibbles sat back on his haunches again and tipped his little head on one side, examining me quizzically. I laughed and went to put him back in the cage.

That’s when I panicked. I had forgotten to close the cage properly while I was playing with Mr Nibbles. And now, even after I’d rummaged through all the sawdust, there was no sign of
Houdini.

Suddenly his name made a whole lot of sense.

The escapologist had escapologized – well and truly escaped. Va nished. Gone. Va moosh.

I slammed the cage shut on Mr Nibbles and then dropped to my hands and knees.

He can’t have gone far, I thought, frantically scanning the floor. M aybe if I stay really, really quiet I’ll hear him scrabbling around somewhere.

I closed my eyes and held my breath, all the better to concentrate . . .

Scuttle, scuttle.

There! I saw something move under the floor-length curtains that framed the French windows.

I crept as slowly and quietly as I could towards the noise and gingerly lifted the edge of the curtain. Nothing. I must have imagined it.

Then I heard another scuffle from behind me this time. I spun round on my knees and came face to face with—

‘Kaboodle!’

The kitten looked at me sheepishly and mumbled something unintelligible. T hat’s when I noticed something in his mouth.