“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” asked Dot. “I mean, did you do any research?”
“Research? On what?” Bree asked, perplexed. “They’re cats. I love them all.”
“But don’t they have, like, different temperaments or whatever?” Dot asked.
Was there any truth to this? Bree just shrugged. A cat was a cat. And a cat was wonderful.
Looking at face after feline face, Bree wondered how she would ever make a decision. How could she choose just one? It was like being asked to wear only purple or eat only gummy frogs for the rest of her life.
But then, she saw it.
All the way in the corner, a very creepy creature was huddled in the back of a hollow scratching tower. It didn’t have any fur, and its skin was pink and wrinkly. It had huge yellow eyes and enormous ears that stood tall on top of its head, like a vampire bat.
Was it even a cat?
All around her, the other cats were busy romping, playing, and being petted by visitors. But the vampire cat-bat was all alone. At once, Bree’s heart broke. She knew how it felt to be ignored, when all around you everyone else was doing cute or impressive things and you seemed invisible. She often felt overlooked in her giant family, and it was a sad sort of feeling.
She and the cat locked eyes. Bree loved it immediately.
“Hi, little friend!” said Bree, by way of greeting.
She approached the scratching tower.
“Ew,” said Dot.
“I think there’s something wrong with that one,” said Malia.
“There is nothing wrong with her!” said Bree. She felt insulted on the maybe-cat’s behalf.
Dot crouched down so she was close enough to read the tag around the cat’s neck. “McDuffin. What kind of name is that?”
“It sounds like fast food,” said Malia.
“You know I love fast food, but that sounds like a mistake,” said Dot.
“I’m in love with her!” said Bree, clasping her hands together.
“You’re in love . . . with that?” asked Malia, wrinkling her face up like she smelled a fart. “Are you sure?”
“We’re not even sure what that is,” said Dot. “Is it a cat?”
“It is the most beautiful cat,” said Bree. The cat visibly brightened. Watching this cat, Bree suddenly understood how Malia felt about Connor Kelly. It was like seeing a unicorn in a forest, and then having all your friends insist it was just a regular horse. Why couldn’t they see the magic?
Bree’s mom, who had lingered silently a few feet away from the girls, finally spoke up. “Oh,” she said. “That’s, um, that’s interesting.”
Bree sighed. “Everything about her is perfect.”
“I beg to disagree,” said Dot. She began counting off the reasons on her fingers. “For one, it doesn’t have any fur. Two, do we need to be concerned that it’s standing like that? Like it wants to maybe kill us? Three, its expression is . . . highly concerning.”
“No! Her face is sweet,” argued Bree. “So sweet and wrinkly. She just needs lots of hugs.”
“And a sweater,” said Malia.
“Oh my goodness, yes! Or a hoodie!” Bree was already planning her extensive wardrobe, mentally putting aside some of her former dolls’ clothes that might be a good fit. Bree had dreamed about dressing up her cat, but this hairless cat would actually require it!
“Excuse me, um, Bartholomeow?” Bree called to the nearest volunteer. “Can you tell me more about this one?”
The volunteer shuffled over to the scratching tower. He looked to be a college student, and his name tag read BARTHOLOMEW. (Though Bree had clearly misread it as “Bartholo-meow,” which only added to her excitement.)
“This here is a sphynx cat,” he said, “a very special breed.”
“You can say that again,” said Dot, prompting a giggle from Malia.
“Sphynx cats are highly social cats that enjoy more attention than your typical housecat,” Bartholomew explained. “They tend to get along well with other animals, and they have LOTS of energy. They love to be held and snuggled, almost like dogs!”
Attention? Snuggling? Bree was sold.
“I’ll take her!” said Bree, with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for people on game shows or reality shows or home makeover shows or really any kind of show where people win stuff.
“Um, perhaps he can tell us some more facts about this specific cat before we sign on the dotted line,” Bree’s mom cut in.
“Yes, it’s best to be absolutely sure of your decision.” Bartholomew nodded somberly. “We’re looking to find each of these animals forever homes, and we wouldn’t want to cause the cat any undue stress.”
“Where did this particular animal come from?” Bree’s mom asked.
“McDuffin was an owner surrender.” Bartholomew frowned. “McDuffin is quite young, you see, but the original owner had change-in-life circumstances and could no longer handle pet ownership.”
This prompted an “Aww” from Bree.
Bartholomew paused before adding, “And neither could either of the families who adopted him since.”
“I’m sorry, did you say this cat has been returned three times?” Dot asked.
Malia and Dot elbowed each other.
“Now, not exactly. I mean, technically yes, but not for any real reason!” Bartholomew added quickly. “No, no, there’s nothing wrong with McDuffin. McDuffin just has the worst luck.”
“And the worst name,” Malia added.
“And the craziest eyes,” Dot continued.
“And the sweetest face!” Bree concluded. “I LOVE YOU, HONEY MUFFIN!” she whispered at the cat’s face.
The cat hissed softly.
“Anyway, it’s best to make sure you and the cat have good feelings about each other,” Bartholomew insisted.
Bree turned her attention back to Bartholomew, and then to her mom. “Yes, I’m absolutely sure. This is the cat for me.”
Bree’s mom hesitated, then nodded.
“All right, let’s make it official!” Bartholomew clapped his hands and led Bree’s mom over to the front counter so she could fill out the adoption paperwork.
While her mom took care of the boring stuff, Bree picked out a rhinestone collar and a trio of sparkly toy mice. She got a little choked up, imagining her new best friend romping joyfully around her room with the new toys. Bree couldn’t wait for McDuffin to discover her wonderful new life. Just a few moments later, McDuffin was in a cat carrier, bound for the Robinson house.
“So you have a new baby,” Malia said, eyeing the feline cargo. “How does it feel?”
“I can’t believe it!” Bree said. “This is the best day of my life.”
“What are you going to name her?” asked Dot. “I mean, clearly you can’t keep calling her McDuffin.”
“I shall name her . . .” Bree paused for effect. “Veronica.”
“I’m sensing a theme here,” said Dot.
It was only fitting. For years, Bree had tried to change the family cat Chocolate Pudding’s name to Taylor Swift and had been met with much resistance. But now she could name her own cat whatever she wanted. From this moment forward, Veronica would forever be known as Veronica.
“I suppose this Veronica doesn’t have a last name, either?” Malia asked.
“MEOW,” Veronica said, somewhat aggressively.
“Okay, then,” said Malia. “No last name necessary.”
“You guys, thank you so much for being part of my big day!” Bree said, getting a little choked up. “You’re going to be the best cat aunts ever.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” Dot smiled. “Although I’m not sure I’m cut out to be a cat aunt. But I’ll certainly try my best.”
“We should celebrate,” said Malia.
“Ooh, yes! Do you guys want to hit up the food court?” Dot asked.
“Yeah!” Malia visibly brightened at the mention of food.
“We should probably get
going,” Bree said, tilting her head toward Veronica, who was now rubbing her bald, wrinkly head against the inside of the carrier door. “You know, introduce her to her new home and all.”
“Oh, right,” Malia said.
“Yeah. But you guys go on without me!” Bree said.
She gave each of her friends a one-armed hug with her right arm, with the cat case cradled in her left. There was something bittersweet about this moment. Of course she was sad to miss out on the food court, but she was embarking on a much bigger journey—the path of pet parenthood.
* * *
The entire car ride home, Bree whispered into the cat carrier, sharing her hopes and dreams. She told Veronica about all the beautiful toys waiting back at home, and how they would wear matching outfits and sleep in Bree’s big, fluffy bed. She told her about all the songs she would sing and the musical numbers Veronica could participate in. There was even talk of a sequined hoodie the perfect size for a cat.
At last, they arrived home. Bree could hardly believe this was it: the beautiful moment when they started their new life, together.
“And this,” Bree said, opening the door to her bedroom, “is your new home. What do you think?”
The cat did not answer.
Bree placed the cat carrier in the center of her room and opened the tiny door.
“Welcome home, Veronica!”
The cat made no move to exit. She just sat there, scowling.
“Veronica! This is where you live now.”
More scowling.
Bree sat on her bed, waiting for the cat to emerge. But she showed no sign of movement. Bree tried to think of what she would do if a new babysitting charge was being shy. Maybe a game of show-and-tell would liven things up. She started wandering around the room, holding up objects.
She grabbed a stuffed giraffe off of a shelf. “This is Wallace,” she said. “I met him at a carnival when I was seven. He’s kind of a secret. I’ve slept next to him every night since I was in kindergarten and I’m not about to stop now. But now that you live here, if you want to cuddle with me instead, well, we can talk about that.”
Veronica blinked.
Bree grabbed a book from her desk. “This is my chemistry textbook. I’m not sure what it’s doing out on my desk right now, because I hate it.” She slipped it into her backpack, where she could no longer see it. “That’s better.”
Next, Bree wandered back over to the bed. “This is my favorite pillow.” She held up a pillow that her seventeen-year-old stepsister, Ariana, had given her for her last birthday. It was navy blue, with lots of very shiny silver sequins sewed all over it, like tiny little mirrors. “Isn’t it pretty?” The pillow sparkled in the light.
“MEOW-MEOW!” Veronica came bounding out of the case. “MEEEEEEEEEROW!” The cat headed straight toward her, a look of pure fury in her giant yellow eyes. Bree had never seen anything move so fast in her life. She was so shocked, she dropped the pillow.
“MEEEEEEEEEW!” Veronica landed on top of the pillow, where she began attacking it with her very sharp claws. Mirrored sequins flew into the air, along with clouds of stuffing. It was the most destructive thing Bree had ever seen. She stood there, stunned.
Bree had loved that pillow for as long as she’d had it, and she’d loved cats for, well, her entire life. She had pictured a very different homecoming. Instead, she stood helplessly, watching as her perfect day was destroyed in seconds.
She had expected to spend this day petting Veronica, dressing her in various dolls’ clothes while softly singing her songs from Cats the Musical. Veronica, clearly, had a different idea.
Chapter Three
Dot
Dot stared into her beaker with the same intensity her mother (a practicing clairvoyant) used to gaze into her crystal ball. Most likely, it was growing up in a home surrounded by crystals and candles and charts about meridians and chakras that had pushed Dot toward her love of hard data and irrefutable facts. While she excelled in all subjects, from literature to algebra to Latin, science was her thing. Dot preferred the school’s science lab to all other places. To her, there was nothing more satisfying than being surrounded by test tubes and chemicals and scales, conducting experiments that would ultimately lead to only one right answer.
Today, her chemistry class was working on a very simple assignment, the distillation of wood. Dot already knew the outcome: after the wood was heated, it would decompose, forming charcoal and vapors. Still, she completed every step, charting her progress along the way.
Dot was glad that today’s assignment was such a simple one because she was tired. She had spent the previous night babysitting for the Gomez family, new clients they had taken on to help drum up money for Veronica concert tickets. Dot didn’t like to take jobs on school nights, especially two nights in a row like she had this week, but she supposed it was worth it until the concert.
To be very clear, Dot did not care about Veronica. She hardly ever listened to her music, except sometimes ironically. Okay, fine, Dot could admit that some of the songs were catchy, and even that they had the ability to put her in a sort of infectiously good mood. There was a time and place for Veronica music, like when attempting to exercise or perform a mindless task. But Dot was most excited about the concert itself, because the venue had excellent junk food—popcorn, funnel cakes, and the best chicken fingers you could imagine. Her mom hadn’t made any progress on her rules against allowing gluten or animal products or processed sugar into the house, so Dot needed to seize every opportunity she had.
“Looking good,” said Mr. Frang, nodding as he passed Dot’s lab table. The head of the science department, Mr. Frang was a tall man with a gray beard that reminded Dot of an elf. It was obvious that Dot was his favorite student, though she knew he tried to act impartial.
Dot squinted her eyes, concentrating with laser focus, but her mind wasn’t on today’s experiment. In truth, it was somewhere else entirely: thinking about the upcoming science fair.
The middle school science fair was a very big deal, as it was the gateway to everything important in the science community. The winner of the school fair would go on to compete at the regional level, followed by the state level and, eventually, against the entire nation. Students who competed at the national level were scouted for special programs and awards, and were often the ones who were awarded scholarships when the time came to apply for college.
Dot knew she was only in middle school, but still, she liked to plan ahead. Despite her mom’s psychic abilities, it would be hard for her to afford college tuition, and Dot was determined to work it out on her own. This was just one of many factors that made it particularly troubling that she hadn’t yet come up with a winning idea.
Luckily, the other students at Playa del Mar weren’t particularly competitive. She could already predict what everyone else would do. All the usual suspects would be covered: a homemade radio, a chart of the various types of fingerprints, an exploration of how a blindfold changes the relationship to taste and smell. That was all fine and good. But she needed to innovate. She needed something that would trump them all.
This was game time. Crunch time. Go time. All of the times. This was it.
Just as Dot was getting lost in a daydream in which she won the national science fair and was receiving a medal of honor at the White House, the door to the science lab creaked open.
Principal Davies set one foot inside the room.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet a new student here at Playa del Mar.” She stepped aside to allow said student to enter. “This is Pigeon de Palma.”
Dot looked up to see a very pretty girl. She had super-long, wavy brown hair, almost like a darker version of Dot’s hair. She wore a black T-shirt emblazoned with a faded golden lightning bolt, black skinny jeans, and the coolest ankle boots Dot had ever seen. They were black leather, with teeny tiny gold studs snaking all around them, in complicated designs. Around the ankles, they had three thin straps, each ending with a delicate gold
buckle. Dot had seen shoes like that in magazines but never in person.
“Hi, everyone,” Pigeon said, offering the classroom a little wave. Her voice was sort of low and gravely, but very cute. “I’m so excited to be here.”
“Welcome, Pigeon!” said Mr. Frang.
Dot wasn’t sure what to make of this Pigeon person. It was very rare for Playa del Mar to welcome new students after the start of the school year. It was even weirder for them to look . . . cool.
“Pigeon just moved here from New York City,” added Principal Davies, which was pretty much the only thing she could have said to push Dot over the edge. It was Dot’s dream to live in NYC someday—heck, at this point it was her dream even just to visit—and Pigeon had spent her formative years there? This was so unfair. No wonder she seemed so sophisticated. No wonder her boots were so cool. “I’m sure you’ll all do your best to make her feel welcome,” the principal concluded, leaving Pigeon to fend for herself.
Pigeon circled the lab tables, looking for a place to sit. Dot turned her attention back to the distillation of wood. There would be plenty of time to analyze the new girl, but for now, there was work to do.
“Do you mind if I join you?” said a gravelly voice.
Dot looked up. Pigeon was speaking to her.
“Um, I don’t really do group assignments,” Dot said. She wasn’t trying to be rude; it was true. Unless the experiment absolutely called for lab partners, Dot always preferred to work alone.
“It’s all right, we already did this experiment at my old school,” Pigeon said, casually tossing her long, wavy hair. A spicy fragrance wafted through the air. Dot immediately recognized it as a designer perfume her own hippie mother wouldn’t let her buy.
“Well, the experiment is basically completed, so there’d be nothing left for you to do anyway,” Dot said.
“I can just observe,” Pigeon said as she pulled up a chair.
Dot inhaled, trying not to let her newfound audience faze her.
The Good, the Bad, and the Bossy Page 2
