by Bruce Hale
“All right, then,” said Miss Wills. “Have fun with Fuzzy, and I’ll see you on Monday.”
Loading herself up with her book bag, the pet-care bag, and Fuzzy’s travel cage, Abby tottered out the doorway and into the hall. “See ya!” she called back.
The school bubbled and fizzed like a shaken-up soda. All around them percolated that special kind of enthusiasm that only comes on a Friday afternoon. Kids chattered about their weekend plans, hooted and ran about, and generally celebrated having two days off.
Slowly and steadily, Abby forged through the crowd. Just before exiting the front door, she stopped to remove a T-shirt from her book bag and drape it over the top of the carrier. Now Fuzzy couldn’t see out.
“Hey!” he cried.
“It won’t be for long,” she told him. “We just need to keep things undercover for a little while.”
Fuzzy naturally assumed the other kids would be jealous of her good fortune, so he could appreciate her wanting to keep him incognito. He settled onto the floor of his carrier and enjoyed the girl-sweat scent emanating from the T-shirt.
The carrier swayed as Abby pushed through the door and descended the steps. Would they travel by bus or by foot, Fuzzy wondered? He doubted that they’d walk home, since the girl seemed so overburdened.
Sure enough, the sharp stink of gasoline grew stronger, and the slam of car doors barked around them. Fuzzy felt the carrier being set down. A car door creaked open.
“Why so much gear, sweetie?” came a familiar female voice. Mrs. Krumpton, Fuzzy realized.
“Oh, just some school projects, Mom,” said Abby.
“That’s nice. Oh, what a day I’ve had!”
Up flew the carrier, settling onto a comfortable seat. The piney tang of air freshener mixed with the vehicle’s new-car smell. As Fuzzy took a deep whiff, he could tell that not a latte had been spilled in this car, nor a french fry dropped.
Mrs. Krumpton pulled away from the curb, yammering about house showings and other real estate business. On and on she went, barely pausing to draw breath. Not once did she ask about her daughter’s day at school. After about five minutes of this monologue, Fuzzy felt no closer to changing the PTA president’s mind. Patience, he told himself. Rome wasn’t charmed in a day.
As the ride wore on, Fuzzy realized that Abby hadn’t mentioned him. Odd. For most of his students, the first thing out of their mouths would have been, “Hey, Mom, I’m pet-sitting Fuzzy.” But not Abby.
At last, the car bumped over a dip and pulled to a stop. Doors popped open. “Here, let me take that,” said Abby’s mother. “You’re carrying too much already.”
“I’ve got it, Mom,” said the girl.
“It’s really no problem, sweetie. Let me.”
“I can carry it myself.”
Something jostled the carrier. For a few moments, it jerked this way and that, like the world’s worst carnival ride. Fuzzy braced his feet on the floor. Were Abby and her mother fighting over who would lug him around?
“I said I’ve got it,” said Abby.
“Oh-kay.” Mrs. Krumpton sounded slightly offended. “Far be it from your old mom to try to lighten your load.”
Rising off the seat, the carrier swung outside into fresh air. Fuzzy could sense the girl rearranging all her bags. Then, scrunch-scrunch-scrunch, they marched up what sounded like a gravel path, across some flagstones, and into an echoing entryway.
“I’ll make up a snack for you,” said Mrs. Krumpton. “How about that, Abs?”
“I’m not hungry,” said Abby.
Fuzzy heard the random thumps of items being set down on a table. “It won’t take me but a minute. Good nutrition is the key to healthy brain development, and we want to make sure you have every advantage. Yes, we do.” The PTA president’s voice receded as her heels clicked away, presumably toward the kitchen.
“Come on, Fuzzy,” said Abby. “We’re going to my room.”
The lemony scent of furniture polish made Fuzzy’s nose twitch as the carrier swayed its way along through several rooms. How big is this house? Fuzzy wondered.
Finally, they entered a chamber that smelled like strawberries. A door closed behind them. The carrier landed on a soft surface, and the T-shirt was whisked away. Fuzzy found himself on a wide bed at the center of a cozy bedroom. The space was decorated with oodles of pillows, posters of female astronauts and scientists, and fluffy clouds painted on robin’s-egg-blue walls.
“I still can’t believe I was top student,” said Abby, setting down the pet-care bag. “Oh, Fuzzy, we’ll have so much fun together!”
Fuzzy blinked. For someone who rarely said much during school hours, Abby was turning out to be just as chatty as her classmates. He wondered if it was a relief for her to talk to someone who only listened.
Fuzzy shook himself. Human behavior was fascinating, but it was way beyond him. He needed to stretch his legs and explore. Fuzzy scratched at his carrier walls.
“Want to see my room?” asked Abby. “Hang on.” Opening the top of the portable cage, she lifted him out and set him on the bed.
Much better. Fuzzy scampered about, testing pillows and sniffing the oversized panda-bear toy. Abby laughed in delight. “Fuzzy, this is Chi Chi. He’s so pleased to meet you.”
Suddenly, the door swung open. “Here we go,” chirped Mrs. Krumpton. “Some cucumber sandwiches and apple slices with—aaugh!” she cried, catching sight of Fuzzy. “What the heck is that?”
Abby sprang to her feet, stepping between her mother and the bed. “This is Fuzzy, our class pet.”
The woman’s mouth dropped open in a perfect O. “The same one that almost gave a concussion to Shondra’s boy? What in the world is it doing here?”
In her shock, Mrs. Krumpton let the plate tilt, threatening to dump the cucumber sandwiches on the floor. Though keenly aware of the threat that Abby’s mom posed, Fuzzy couldn’t help thinking that he’d be happy to clean up any cucumber slices that fell.
“I was the top student in class this week,” said Abby. “So I got to take him home.”
“This awful creature that caused so much trouble?” said Mrs. Krumpton. “Honestly, I can’t believe you’d be so insensitive.”
“But it’s—”
“This thing is a menace. How could you even think of …” Belatedly, Abby’s mother realized that her daughter had done well academically. “Of course I’m proud that you got a good grade, sweetie. But really, after all the fuss I’ve been making over Malik’s accident? After my campaign to protect you kids from pets? How could you do this to me?”
Abby’s lower lip trembled, but she stood her ground. “You’re always on me to get better grades.”
“Yes, because—”
“Well, I finally did. Why won’t you let me enjoy this?”
Mrs. Krumpton opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and then set the plate on the bed. Fuzzy eyed the sandwiches.
“Abs, I’m glad that you did well,” said the woman, her voice softening. “I’ve always said you’re smart enough to get top grades if you just apply yourself.”
Abby rolled her eyes.
“But there are better ways to celebrate your success,” said her mother. “Now, call up your teacher and ask her to take this … thing away.”
The girl ducked her head, and her lips thinned to a tight line. “I can’t,” she squeaked.
“I’ll call her for you, then. What’s her number?”
“Miss Wills is, um, away for the weekend,” said Abby. Fuzzy shot her a glance. This was the first he’d heard of it. “She’s gone, and I promised to take care of Fuzzy.”
“Oh, come now. There must be someone else you could leave it with,” said Mrs. Krumpton. “Let’s call them right now.”
Let’s not, thought Fuzzy. It wouldn’t help his plans at all.
“No,” said Abby, lifting her chin. “Fuzzy’s my responsibility, and I have to take care of him.”
The little muscles in Mrs. Krumpton’s chee
ks jumped as she ground her teeth together. “You agreed to this without even consulting me?”
“Please, Mom? You never let me have a dog or a cat, not even a hamster.”
“That’s for your own good, sweetie,” said Abby’s mother. “You know that. We’ve been over this before.”
Abby’s face formed an expression that Fuzzy thought might be the human version of Bambi Eyes. “Pleeease, Mom? It’s just for two days.”
The PTA president drew in a long breath and pursed her lips. She tilted her head, looking from her daughter to Fuzzy. And then she exhaled.
“Oh, all right,” said Mrs. Krumpton grudgingly.
“Yay!” squealed Abby.
Her mother held up a warning finger. “But just for this weekend, and only in certain parts of the house. I want that thing closely supervised. No repeats of what happened to Malik.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Abby gave her mother a quick hug.
“And you’ve got to feed it and clean up its messes,” said her mother.
With a hand on her heart, Abby said, “Of course. That’s exactly what I promised Miss Wills, anyway.”
Folding her arms, Mrs. Krumpton sent Fuzzy a dubious look. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t,” Abby vowed.
Eyes narrowed, Mrs. Krumpton turned and swept from the room. Watching her go, Fuzzy thought, Getting in was easy. Charming Ms. Personality will be a whole other ball of wax.
* * *
Fuzzy didn’t see much of Mrs. Krumpton that afternoon. The woman’s voice droned from a nearby room as she made phone call after work-related phone call. Meanwhile, Abby let Fuzzy explore her bedroom. He was glad she didn’t have other pets for him to contend with, but he wondered when he’d get the chance to curry favor with her mother.
It didn’t come that night. Or the next day. On Sunday, Abby and her mother left the house for a long stretch, and when they returned, the girl was limping and in tears.
She flopped on the bed, hugging a pillow. Lying there in her electric-yellow shirt, teal shorts, and high socks, Abby looked like some kind of athlete. But her eyes leaked like a faucet fixed by a cut-rate plumber.
Fuzzy’s heart went out to her. From his carrier on the table, he whined sympathetically.
Abby raised her head. Wiping her eyes, she got up, fetched Fuzzy, and carried him back to the bed. He nuzzled her under the chin.
That set off a fresh round of waterworks. “Oh, Fuzzy,” she moaned. “I just hate soccer so much.”
Climbing from her embrace up onto her shoulder, Fuzzy licked her cheek. Abby giggled through her tears. She took him in her arms again and cuddled him.
“Sometimes it feels like you’re the only one who gets me,” she said.
“That’s my job,” he chirped, snuggling closer.
Eventually, the tears dried up, and Fuzzy was able to guide her into a healthy round of play to take her mind off things. By dinnertime, she was acting much more chipper.
Fuzzy still wasn’t allowed to eat with the family. Left alone in his carrier, he munched his hay and fresh veggies, wondering when he’d get his opportunity with Mrs. Krumpton. All afternoon, he’d done his best to comfort Abby, but unless her mother witnessed their closeness, it wouldn’t help his mission.
Finally, his chance came. After dinner, Abby and her mother retired to the TV room, and the girl brought Fuzzy along. Like the rest of the house, this chamber was immaculate. A champagne-colored couch and armchairs faced a widescreen TV playing some silly detective show.
Abby plopped down on the sofa with Fuzzy, while her mother sat in the chair with her computer tablet. Right away, Fuzzy assumed a snuggling position on Abby’s lap. The girl stroked his fur absently while watching the show. He purred.
From time to time, Mrs. Krumpton looked up from her tablet to the TV. She completely ignored Fuzzy.
He frowned. This wouldn’t do. Time to crank things up a notch.
Leaving Abby’s lap, Fuzzy scrambled up the sofa arm and along the top of the cushions. Stepping down onto the girl’s shoulder, he nuzzled into her neck.
“Hee-hee, that tickles!” Abby said.
From the corner of his eye, Fuzzy noticed Mrs. Krumpton glancing their way. He gave the girl an extra-affectionate snuggle and a lick.
Abby broke into giggles. “Aw, you’re sweet.”
“Don’t let that thing lick you,” said Mrs. Krumpton. “Who knows what diseases you might catch?”
“Mr. Wong just checked him out,” said Abby. “Fuzzy’s fine.”
Her mother made a face like she’d bitten into a toffee and found it full of earwax. “They’re all riddled with disease; it’s a well-known fact,” she said. Then Mrs. Krumpton returned her attention to her tablet.
Fuzzy grimaced. Was this woman’s heart made of stone? What would it take to win her over?
Treating Abby’s arm like a slide, Fuzzy skidded down onto her lap again, crying wheee! He offered up his belly for a rub—Cinnabun’s Cuteness Lesson Number Three. With another giggle, Abby obliged.
“You’re the sweetest,” she cooed.
Fuzzy raced around and repeated his actions. This time, the girl said “Whee!” right along with him as he slid down.
Mrs. Krumpton sent them a look. “Sweetie, could you keep it down? I’m trying to work.”
Taking advantage of her attention, Fuzzy swiveled around in Abby’s lap and gave her mother the full force of his Bambi Eyes. That should do it, he thought.
Frowning, Mrs. Krumpton asked, “Is something wrong with that creature? It’s staring at me very strangely.”
Fuzzy sighed.
As she bent over to watch him, Abby’s pigtails swung back and forth. “Fuzzy’s so adorable,” she said. “Don’t you just love him?”
From the expression on Mrs. Krumpton’s face, love was the last thing she was feeling. Fuzzy himself hadn’t looked that crabby since he’d mistaken a green chili for a cucumber and had to face the consequences.
With a sniff, the woman returned to her work. Fuzzy collapsed on Abby’s lap. It would take some kind of miracle to win her mother’s heart, and he was fresh out of miracles.
* * *
Late that night, Fuzzy jolted awake. Abby’s room was dark but for a blue nightlight. Had something jostled his cage?
A whiff of flowers assaulted his nostrils, and a shadowy shape bent over the top of the carrier.
“Whoa!”
Suddenly, the portable cage lifted into the air. Fuzzy found his temporary home swaying through one room and another, finally ending up in the brightly lit kitchen. The carrier plunked down on a table.
Mrs. Krumpton’s grumpy, late-night face loomed over the cage’s opening. “Now then, Mr. Piggie,” said Abby’s mom. “You and I are going to settle things once and for all.”
Fuzzy peered up at the PTA president. She glared down at him. In the harsh kitchen light, he noticed the flecks of leftover lipstick clinging to her lips, the faint lines bracketing her mouth, the blue eyes icier than an Arctic river.
He did his best to look friendly. Taking a chance, Fuzzy busted out one of Cinnabun’s other cuteness moves, the Adorable Yawn.
“Pets.” Mrs. Krumpton sniffed. “You’re nothing but trouble.”
Fuzzy frowned. He’d already tried Bambi Eyes, the Belly Roll, and the yawn. He was running out of charming tricks.
“You worm your way into little kids’ lives, and when you die, you leave them brokenhearted,” said the PTA president. “But does anyone consider that before getting a pet? Never.”
Fuzzy shook himself. How’d they get on the subject of death? Humans were a mystery. He gazed up at the woman with his sweetest expression, hoping she’d keep talking and give him something he could use to convince her.
Planting her elbows on the table, Mrs. Krumpton rested her chin on her fists. “It’s irresponsible to let kids bond with pets. If we were meant to have animals around us, we’d still be living in the forest.”
Having never lived in a
forest himself, Fuzzy had no comment. He scratched himself vigorously with a hind leg.
The woman leaned closer, and her nostrils flared like twin train tunnels. Fuzzy shied away. “Don’t you dare let my daughter get attached to you,” said Mrs. Krumpton. “I won’t have her getting her heart broken because of you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” huffed Fuzzy, even though he knew she couldn’t understand him. Forming a bond with students was the whole purpose of being a class pet. Sure, it was bittersweet when his kids eventually moved on to the next grade, but pets don’t live in the future, they live in the here and now.
Mrs. Krumpton’s eyes narrowed. “I’m wise to your game, mister. And I won’t let that happen to my Abby.”
“What game?” Fuzzy occasionally played hopscotch with the other pets, but he couldn’t understand why the woman wouldn’t want Abby to enjoy it.
“In fact …” Mrs. Krumpton’s face took on a sly expression.
Uh-oh. That didn’t look promising.
Two hands dove down into the carrier and grabbed him. This wasn’t a gentle grip—no, Mrs. Krumpton held him like she was squeezing a toothpaste tube.
Urk! Suddenly, it was hard to breathe.
Up, up Fuzzy rose, until he and Abby’s mother were eye to eye.
“Why didn’t I think of this sooner?” The woman inspected him as if Fuzzy were something the dog had horked up on the rug. “Of course. Eliminate the pet, eliminate the problem.”
Fuzzy’s eyes went wide. Holy haystacks! Was Mrs. Krumpton planning what he thought she was planning?
As she carried him across the room, Fuzzy began to wriggle. A little shriek escaped his lips, and Mrs. Krumpton’s hands tightened around him. In three strides, they had reached the back door.
The woman shifted one hand off Fuzzy to open it. A cold gust of air chilled him like standing over an open grave.
“Help!” he squealed. But so tightly did she grip him that his cry could barely be heard.
Mrs. Krumpton leered down at Fuzzy. “She’ll think you escaped,” she said. “She’ll be sad, but she’ll get over it quickly. Not nearly as bad as if you’d stuck around.”
