Mallory and the Ghost Cat

by Ann M. Martin

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s make a plan. We know that we want to find that cat. We’ve looked downstairs and we’ve looked upstairs, and we still haven’t found it. Right?”

  The girls nodded. They looked very serious. They were really caught up in this cat hunt.

  “So,” I continued, “we need to figure out where we haven’t looked. Can anybody remember if there’s somewhere we haven’t looked?”

  Silence.

  “In the attic,” Margaret whispered, after a short pause.

  “What?”

  “The attic. We haven’t gone up there.”

  “Well, now we’re going to,” I said, trying to sound brave. “I — I mean, are you allowed up there?”

  “As long as a grown-up is with us, we are,” answered Margaret.

  I figured I probably qualified as a grown-up in this case.

  “We need a flashlight,” said Margaret. “There are no lights up there.”

  We rounded up a flashlight and then we headed for the attic door. I turned the key that was in the lock, and door swung open. I carried Katie up the steep stairs, following Margaret and Sophie, who led the way. The attic was warm and it smelled musty. I happen to like that smell, so I closed my eyes and took a deep sniff. “Whoops!” I said, as I nearly tripped over an old trunk. I put Katie down and shone my flashlight around the little room. I saw angled walls, one tiny window, and a lot of boxes and old furniture. “Wow,” I said. “There’s a lot of stuff up here.”

  “Most of it was here when we moved to the house,” said Margaret. “Daddy keeps saying he’s going to clean it out, but he never has time.”

  I looked closer at the three-legged table that was propped against a box. “This looks really old,” I said. “Too bad its missing a —”

  Just then, I saw a streak of white fly out from under the table.

  Sophie shrieked. Katie looked surprised and sat down suddenly. Margaret’s eyes grew wide. “A cat!” she said. She took off after it. It ran around the attic twice before it spotted the stairs. Then it flew down the steps, with Margaret close on its heels. I followed, carrying Katie and holding Sophie’s hand.

  “Down here!” shouted Margaret from the first floor. “Quick!”

  I hurried down the stairs with the other two girls, and found Margaret standing outside the laundry room. The door was closed.

  “He went in here,” she said, “I caught him.”

  I opened the door a crack and peeked inside. “He looks scared,” I said. It was a small, white cat with huge round eyes that almost looked silver. He gazed at me from the corner where he’d hidden. I felt a little shiver run down my spine.

  The girls pushed near me so that they could peek, too. “Hi, ghost cat,” said Margaret. “It’s okay, we won’t hurt you.”

  “Ghost Cat,” I said. “That’a good name for him, don’t you think?” The girls nodded.

  “Maybe he’s hungry,” said Sophie.

  “Cookie!” said Katie.

  “Well, I don’t think he’d like a cookie so much,” I said. “But let’s see what else we have to give him.” I closed the door carefully. We trooped into the kitchen, and I found some cold chicken in the fridge. I shredded it into a bowl, filled another bowl with water, and headed back to the laundry room. I opened the door, shoved the bowls inside, and closed the door quickly.

  “I wonder where he was hiding up there?” I said. “And how did he get in and out?”

  “Let’s go look,” said Margaret.

  So we headed back up to the attic. I shone my flashlight around until I found an opening in the rafters that led outside. “He could have come in through there,” I said. “If he climbed that big tree by the living room window, he’d be able to reach the roof.”

  “I guess he liked our attic because it’s all warm and cozy,” said Margaret. “And because there’re no dogs or anything in here.”

  “Right,” I said. “He must have stayed alive by eating mice and things that he caught outside.”

  “Ew!” said Sophie.

  “Well, cats like mice the way you like cookies,” I said smiling. “And, speaking of cookies, why don’t we finish our baking before your mom gets home? Then you can have cookies for dessert tonight.”

  When Mrs. Craine returned, the girls were eager for her to meet Ghost Cat. “Can we keep him?” begged Margaret.

  “Please?” added Sophie.

  “Keep kitty?” asked Katie.

  “I guess it’s okay,” said Mrs. Craine, “since he already seems to live here. We should take him to the vet, and make sure he’s had all his shots. But first we should make sure he doesn’t belong to anybody else.”

  “You could put an ad in the Stoneybrook News,” I said. “That way, if nobody claims him, you’ll know he’s probably just a stray.”

  Mrs. Craine seemed to like that idea, and as I left that afternoon, she and the girls were already hard at work composing the ad.

  My parents had tickets to a concert that Friday night. Since every single one of my brothers and sisters was going to be home, Mom had hired Claudia to come over and be my co-babysitter. Claudia was interested in the “new” person in our household, so she was looking forward to the job. But, as she wrote in the club notebook, meeting Uncle Joe did not turn out to be such a pleasure.

  I think Claud’s mind was on Mimi before she even got to our house that night. Mimi was Claudia’s grandmother, and she lived with the Kishis until she died. It hasn’t been that long since Claud lost Mimi, and I think the pain is still pretty sharp. Mimi was the greatest. She had this presence that I can only describe as serene. Do you know what that means? I looked it up in the dictionary once, just because I liked the sound of the word. “Serene,” it said. “Unruffled; tranquil; dignified.” That describes Mimi, for sure. No wonder Claud loved her so much.

  Mimi did have her ups and downs though, especially after she had her stroke. She’d forget things, or act cranky, or think people were out to get her. But you know what? I hate to say it, but even at her worst, she was better than Uncle Joe.

  I could see that Claudia was a little taken aback when she first met Uncle Joe that night. She was probably expecting the warm, jovial guy my father had told us about. I’d repeated some of his stories during club meetings (before Uncle Joe came) and so far I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell everybody the truth about what he was really like.

  “Hi!” Claudia said brightly, when she found Joe sitting in the living room. “You must be Uncle Joe. I’m Claudia.” She stuck out her hand to shake his.

  I saw him wince a little. “My name is Mr. Pike,” he said, without smiling. He shook her hand gingerly, then pulled his back and examined it as if he were worried that she’d dirtied it.

  Claudia blushed. “I — I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to —”

  He waved his hand, impatient with her stammering. “Young people,” he muttered. “No respect for their elders.” He didn’t seem to be talking to Claudia — it was more like he was just talking to himself.

  Claudia looked as if she were in shock. I pulled her into the kitchen. “Don’t mind him,” I said. “He’s just —”

  “He’s just a mean old man!” she burst out. Then she covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry, Mal,” she said. “I really didn’t mean it. I was just surprised. I’m sure he’s a nice person.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” I muttered. But I let the matter drop, since my parents were on their way out the door and it was time for Claud and me to start getting dinner ready.

  “So,” said Claud, rubbing her hands together once we were alone in the kitchen, “what’s being served at the Pike residence tonight?” She gave me a mischievous grin. “Fried bologna-and-sardine sandwiches? Cheez-It omelets? Spaghetti with chocolate sauce?”

  Claudia likes to make fun of the way we eat.

  “Sorry, Claud,” I said, giving her a shrug. “Tonight’s menu is a little less exotic. How does this sound?” I ticked off the items.
“Brussels sprouts, mashed turnips, white rice with no butter, and well-done minute steaks.”

  “Ew!” said Claud. “Come on, what’s really for dinner?”

  “I’m not making it up,” I said. “That’s how we’ve been eating all week. Mom says she lies in bed at night, staring at the ceiling and trying to come up with bland menus for Uncle Joe.”

  “He likes that kind of food?” asked Claud.

  “Well, I’m not sure,” I answered. “He doesn’t say a word one way or the other. He never compliments Mom on her cooking, but he never complains, either. So who knows what he thinks?”

  “Boy,” said Claudia. “I bet I know what the rest of you think of having to eat that way!”

  I nodded. “Everybody’s really trying hard to make this visit work out,” I said. “But it hasn’t been easy.”

  We worked quietly together in the kitchen, and when dinner was ready Claud rounded everybody up. She called, “Dinner’s ready!” and the triplets slid down the banister, one after the other. They were carrying that week’s favorite toy — laser guns — and pretending to blast away at any object in their path. Nicky ran down the stairs after them, shouting at them to wait up. Vanessa and Margo had been doing their homework in the rec room, but they were glad to put it away. And Claire showed up in a pair of Mom’s old high heels and a “fur stole” Mom had made for her out of an old fuzzy bedspread.

  Uncle Joe came into the dining room last. He walked stiffly, as if he weren’t used to moving his arms and legs too much. He looked around at us and gave a small smile. “Good evening,” he said, nodding slightly at Claud. He looked as if he had no idea who she was. It was almost as if he didn’t remember meeting her just half an hour earlier. Then he pulled out his chair, sat down, and folded his hands in his lap.

  Claud looked over at me. I shrugged. Then I made up a plate of food for Uncle Joe and set it at his place. He didn’t thank me, and he didn’t wait for anyone else to be served. He just picked up his fork and began to eat, very neatly and very steadily. He took tiny bites and chewed each one thoroughly. He didn’t say a word.

  The rest of us were pretty quiet, too. Nobody looked too enthusiastic about the food. In fact, nobody was really eating it. Nicky was pushing a Brussels sprout around his plate, trying to hide it under the mashed turnips. I saw Adam look at his gray steak with a disgusted grimace. Claire was taking tiny sips of milk from her glass and ignoring her food completely.

  Suddenly Margo squealed, “Cut that out!”

  “Shhh, Margo,” I said. “We’re at the dinner table, remember?” I gave her a Look, nodding my head toward Uncle Joe. Mom and Dad had asked us to try extra-hard to keep mealtimes “civil” as long as he was visiting.

  “I know we’re at the dinner table,” she said, glaring back at me. “But Nicky keeps pinching me. And a second ago, he stole my shoe right off my foot!”

  “Nicky,” I said, focusing my Look on him, “is that true?”

  Nicky ignored the question. Instead, he whispered something to Jordan, who was sitting on his other side. Jordan gave a sudden laugh, and a few grains of rice flew out of his mouth. They landed a foot or so from Uncle Joe’s plate.

  Uncle Joe stood up. “I’ve had about as much of this tomfoolery as I can take!” he said. He turned and left the room.

  The rest of us watched him march away. We were in shock. At least I was. What Uncle Joe had just blown up at was about one one-hundredth of what normally goes on at our dinner table. Claudia looked over at me. “Wow,” she said, under her breath. “He’s a little touchy, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Touchy?” I asked with a straight face. “What in the world makes you say that?” Then I burst into giggles. And every one of my brothers and sisters followed my example. At first I tried to stifle my laughter, but after a few seconds, I gave up. It felt so good to laugh!

  Then I picked up my plate. “Anybody for sardines?” I asked. Everybody else picked up their plates and fell into line behind me as I marched into the kitchen. I threw open the refrigerator door. “Help yourselves!” I said. I put my plate on the counter. Later, I’d make sure that none of that bland, yucky food went to waste. Maybe Mom could make some kind of casserole out of the leftovers. But for now, I was dying for something with some taste to it, and I was sure everyone else was, too.

  “Are you sure this is okay?” Claudia asked me.

  “I’m sure,” I said. “I know Mom won’t blame us for anything. Now, let’s eat some real food!” I grabbed a jar of salsa, a brick of cheese, and some flour burritos from the fridge. “I’ll make you a Mallory Special,” I told Claud.

  Once everyone had found what they wanted to eat, we hung out in the kitchen, munching away and laughing together. I’d almost managed to forget about Uncle Joe when Margo spoke up.

  “Why is Uncle Joe so sad?” she asked. “I feel sorry for him. I wish we could help him feel better.”

  I couldn’t think of a thing to say. I felt ashamed that my little sister’s attitude was so much more sensitive than mine. Here I was, first feeling impatient with Uncle Joe and then practically forgetting he existed. And here was Margo, wishing she could cheer him up.

  “It’s hard being old,” explained Claudia. “Even Mimi got cranky sometimes. When you’re old, your body can feel stiff and achy. You can’t concentrate on things so well, and sometimes you get confused. You like to have things a certain way, and changes can upset you.”

  Wow. All of a sudden I saw things from Uncle Joe’s perspective. I’d been thinking about me and my family, and how hard it was to have him for a visitor. But now I realized it must be difficult for him, too. We are a pretty rowdy crew.

  “So what can we do?” I asked Claudia. Since she lived with Mimi for so long, I figured she must be an expert on having an older person in your house.

  “I think he just needs time to get used to you,” she said. “And I think you need to give him a chance to adjust. You don’t have to act like perfect children. That wouldn’t be right for you, either. But try not to take it personally when he has a hard time dealing with life in the Pike household.”

  Claire and Margo had been whispering in the corner while Claud was talking. “We have an idea!” said Claire. “We’re going to bring Uncle Joe a piece of cake for dessert, and then perform our play for him. Maybe that will cheer him up.”

  I looked at Claudia. She shrugged and nodded. “Can’t hurt,” she said.

  “Okay,” I agreed. I’d seen the “play” before, so I knew what Uncle Joe was in for. It was a mishmash of fairy tales: Little Red Riding Hood meets Snow White while walking through the woods to Hansel and Gretel’s house. Margo and Claire each played several parts.

  I cut a piece of cake and put it on a plate. I gave it to Claire to carry, and I handed Margo a glass of milk to go with it. I followed them into the living room, where Uncle Joe was once again slumped in “his” chair.

  “We brought you something,” said Claire.

  “What?” asked Uncle Joe. The girls had startled him.

  “Want some cake?” asked Margo. “And milk?” She handed him the glass, and Claire gave him the plate. He accepted them both without saying anything. He wasn’t frowning, though. I thought I saw a smile. “Now we’re going to do our play for you,” said Margo. “You’re the audience, okay?”

  Uncle Joe sighed. He looked like he just wanted to be left alone. “To be frank —” he began.

  “Okay, ready?” said Margo to Claire. They dashed downstairs to the toy chest in the rec room and got out their “costumes” (mainly kerchiefs and aprons) and props (a large picnic basket was the main one). Then the play began.

  I didn’t hold out much hope for Claire and Margo’s plan. I headed back to the kitchen, where Claudia was trying to trick the triplets, Nicky, and Vanessa into cleaning up.

  “Thanks for your advice,” I said. “I mean, about living with old people. I really do want Uncle Joe to enjoy his visit here. And I’ll work harder at being patient.”

 
; Claudia smiled at me. “I know it isn’t easy,” she said. “But I think it might be worth the effort if you can hang in there.”

  When the kitchen was clean, Claudia and I tiptoed back to the living room to check on Claire, Margo, and Uncle Joe. We peeked into the room, and then pulled back with our hands over our mouths to quiet our giggles.

  Claire and Margo were still busily involved in acting out their complicated story. They hadn’t even noticed that Uncle Joe had dozed off. He sat in the chair with his chin on his chest, sleeping peacefully, as they pranced around the room in their costumes.

  I shook my head. “Oh, well,” I said.

  Then Claudia pointed out something that made me feel that Claire and Margo had made a little progress.

  “Look,” she said, pointing to the arm of Uncle Joe’s chair. There sat an empty plate, an empty glass beside it. “At least he ate the cake!”

  I’d begun to look forward to each of my sitting jobs with the Craine girls. Margaret, Sophie, and Katie are three of the sweetest girls I’ve ever known. Also, I hate to admit it, but it was a relief to get out of the house and away from Uncle Joe and his cloud of bad feelings a few times a week. Actually, I felt a little guilty about abandoning the rest of my family so often, but Mom and Dad assured me it was okay with them. Since Uncle Joe spent an awful lot of his time just dozing or sitting quietly in his chair, it wasn’t as if he missed me when I was gone.

  Anyway, I must confess that I usually forgot about Uncle Joe the second I walked into the Craines’ house. There was always a lot going on, and the girls demanded my full attention.

  That Tuesday was no different. When I let myself in (Mrs. Craine had told me not to bother knocking, since I was expected) I heard shrieks of laughter coming from the living room. And when I popped my head around the corner and said “Hi!”, the girls mobbed me.

  “MalloryBalloryTallory!” yelled Sophie.

  “Guess what, Mallory?” shouted Margaret.

  “HiHiHiHiHi!” said Katie, with a huge grin.

  “Hi, girls,” I said, laughing. “It’s good to see you.”