by Sam Hay
“This’ll cheer you up,” said Mum, pulling a postcard out of the back pocket of her jeans and handing it to Joe. “It’s from Uncle Charlie.”
Joe felt a shiver of excitement. After trawling the internet and finding no information on how to reverse the wish he’d made on the Amulet of Anubis, he’d sent Uncle Charlie an email asking him for help with the undead pet problem. Maybe this was his reply! Maybe he knew a secret way of sending Pickle packing! Joe glanced at the picture on the front. It showed an old ruined city. Then he turned the card over and read the message.
And that was it. Not so much as a whisker of advice on how to get rid of the zombie animals who were haunting him.
“I don’t know why he thinks you’ve got pets,” said Mum, wiping her hands on her jeans. “He knows I’m allergic!” As if to prove the point, she wrinkled her nose and sneezed once, and then again, much louder.
Pickle froze, her eyes wide with terror at the noise.
“Have you been stroking dogs in the park?” Mum asked, rubbing her nose. “Something seems to be making me—”
And then she sneezed so loudly it was like a car had backfired!
It was too much for Pickle. She took off like a bullet, racing down the path and disappearing through Joe’s front door.
Joe sighed. Great! That’s all I need, he thought. Another undead pet that sets off Mum’s allergies!
“Pickle?” Joe whispered, peering into the dining room. “Are you in here?”
He’d already looked in the kitchen, the living room and the cupboard under the stairs.
“Pickle!” he hissed, feeling cross now. “I can’t help you unless you stop hiding.” It wasn’t as though he wanted to find her, but he knew that the longer he took to solve the cat’s problems, the longer she’d be bothering him.
Joe went upstairs to continue the search. He looked in all the bedrooms and the bathroom. He finally found her inside the airing cupboard, curled up in the laundry basket.
“Has that awful woman gone?” said Pickle miserably.
“That’s my mum you’re talking about!” said Joe. “She can’t help being allergic to you.”
“I think I’m allergic to her – or at least to the sound she makes when she sneezes.” Pickle buried her face in her paws. “I hate loud noises!”
Joe sighed. Why did undead pets have to be so difficult?
Pickle looked up at him. “Do you know what would make me feel better?”
Joe shrugged.
“A cuddle.”
“What?”
“You know, a stroke along my back and a tickle behind my ears. It always calms me down,” said Pickle.
Joe grimaced. He really didn’t want to touch her. Apart from smelling really bad, she was wrapped up in filthy bandages.
“Please, Joe,” pleaded Pickle.
Joe took a deep breath and reluctantly reached out a hand to stroke her. He shuddered. She felt cold and damp, and the closer he got, the worse she smelled!
“That’s nice,” she purred. “And don’t forget to tickle my ears.”
Joe tried not to look at the dirty bandages wrapped around Pickle’s head.
“Mmm, yes, that’s lovely,” purred Pickle as Joe rubbed her ears. “And just above my nose is nice, too.”
It was going to be a long afternoon!
But just then Pickle stopped purring and looked anxious again. “You don’t have a dog, do you?”
“No,” said Joe. “I wish I did – I love dogs. Why?”
“I’m terrified of dogs! It was a horrible mean dog that caused my death.”
Joe raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He didn’t want to ask how, but he couldn’t help himself. “So what happened?”
Pickle sighed. “I had a wonderful life. Everything was going so well…”
Joe wasn’t sure what to say. “Er … sorry. Do you want me to re-tie your bandage for you, so you don’t trip up again?”
Pickle nodded, and started to purr. “I just wish I was properly dead – that I could pass over peacefully. But I can’t do that until I make sure the same thing doesn’t happen to my sister Pebbles.” She stared at Joe. “And that’s why I need your help. I need you to go to my house and make sure Bonsai behaves better, so that Pebbles is safe.”
Joe frowned. “But I don’t know the first thing about puppy training. And anyway, I can’t just walk into your old house and start telling your family how to sort out their dog!”
Pickle climbed on to Joe’s knee. “But you must!” she said, butting his chin with her head. “Otherwise my sister might meet the same fate.”
Joe tried not to breathe. He really didn’t like being so close to Pickle. The smell was awful! He wriggled to try and get her off his knee, but she dug her claws into his legs.
“Please, Joe, please help me!” she wailed.
“OK, OK!” Joe yelped. “Just stop spiking me! Maybe I could go over there tomorrow.”
Pickle purred louder than ever. “I knew you’d find a way to fix things.”
“Mmm,” he said, grimacing as she curled up happily on his lap. He wasn’t at all sure how he was going to solve this one!
Joe was still trying to come up with a plan when Mum called him down to dinner a few hours later. Pickle had already made herself quite at home, nosing around his room.
“Stop that!” Joe reached down and retrieved his most treasured possession – a glass eye that had once belonged to a real pirate. Uncle Charlie had given it to him years ago. Normally it had pride of place on top of Joe’s chest of drawers. But the minute Pickle saw it, she’d knocked it off the chest, and had been chasing it round the room ever since.
“Stay here – and stay out of trouble!” said Joe, replacing the eyeball on the chest before heading for the door.
“But who’ll look after me?” wailed Pickle.
“You’ll be just fine on your own.” Joe raced downstairs before Pickle could start moaning again. “What’s for dinner, Mum?” he asked as he walked into the kitchen.
“Spag bol,” said Mum, who was draining the spaghetti at the sink. Thankfully, she seemed to have stopped sneezing for the moment. “Can you bring in another chair, Joe?” she added. “Sarah’s got Gabriella staying for dinner.”
Joe groaned. All Sarah’s friends were as grotty as she was, but Gabriella was the worst. Thankfully they’d been up in Sarah’s bedroom all afternoon, listening to music, so he hadn’t had to see them! But that was about to change…
He heard the giggling before he saw them.
“Hi, Joe. How’s the squirrel?” Gabriella smirked as she came into the kitchen with Sarah.
Joe glared at them both.
“Let’s not talk about squirrels,” said Dad. “I’ve had enough of them for one day!”
“How was football, Joe?” Sarah asked pointedly as she sat down and started eating her spaghetti. “Toby told me he scored a goal against you.”
Toby grinned.
Joe was just about to say something mean to his sister when he felt a sharp stab in his leg. It was Pickle! She was clawing her way up on to his lap!
“Hey!” he yelped, as she dug her claws into his knee.
Everybody jumped at the sudden outburst.
“Are you all right, Joe?” asked Mum.
“I can’t believe you left me on my own!” Pickle whined. “Anything could have happened.”
“I’m fine, thanks, Mum, just stiff from football.” He glanced down at Pickle, who was getting comfy on his lap. “Sit still!” he hissed.
Sarah rolled her eyes. “He does that sometimes,” she said to Gabriella. “Talks to his imaginary friends.”
“Sarah!” said Mum sharply. “Leave Joe alone.”
After that everyone ate in silence. Joe tried to enjoy his dinner, but Pickle was restless. She poked her nose up to take a look at everyone, then crawled on to the table.
Joe gasped. He still couldn’t get used to the fact that he was the only one who could see the undead pets! He tried to act nor
mal, but it wasn’t easy with a phantom cat sitting next to his plate.
Pickle started cleaning herself. As she did, her bandaged tail dropped in Joe’s dinner.
“Move!” Joe whispered.
“What?” said Pickle, her tail still on his plate.
“Don’t do that!” hissed Joe.
“Don’t do what?” snapped Sarah, rolling her eyes at her friend. “Who are you talking to, Joe?”
Gabriella giggled. “It’s not the squirrel, is it? Has it popped in for a bit of spaghetti?”
The girls sniggered, but Joe was too busy watching Pickle, who had started licking her bandages. He grimaced. Suddenly he didn’t feel hungry any more, and laid down his fork.
“Are you feeling OK, Joe?” Dad raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like you to leave half your dinner.”
“I’m just a bit full.” Then he heard a sniff and Mum started rubbing her eyes.
“There’s jam roly-poly for pudding,” she said, getting up to fetch a tissue.
Sarah’s eyes lit up. “My favourite!”
“I’ll clear the plates,” said Dad, stacking them up and taking them over to the sink.
Mum dished the jam roly-poly into the pudding bowls and handed them round.
Pickle, meanwhile, had stopped licking her bandages and was making strange heaving noises. Joe looked at her suspiciously. Just at that moment she coughed up a load of disgusting green hairballs all over the table. Some even landed in Joe’s bowl.
“Urrrgh!” he gasped, poking the green sludge with his spoon.
“What is it? Doesn’t it taste good?” asked Mum.
“Mine does!” snapped Sarah. “And if you’re not going to eat yours, I’ll have it!”
Before Joe could reply, she swiped his bowl and started wolfing down the jam roly-poly. Of course, Sarah couldn’t see Pickle – or the green hairballs she’d coughed up into Joe’s bowl! But Joe could. He watched his sister slurping them down and grimaced.
Mum, meanwhile, was rubbing her nose and sniffing a lot. Then, suddenly, she exploded into a series of loud sneezes!
“Heeelp!” Pickle leaped on to Joe’s shoulder, yowling, “Save me, Joe! Make the noise stop!”
“I don’t feel well,” said Joe, standing up, with Pickle still clinging on to his shoulder like a crazy parrot. “I think I’ll go and lie down.”
“Hey!” yelled Sarah. “It’s your turn to do the dishes!”
“I’ll do double tomorrow,” he promised, then fled.
“That awful noise!” wailed Pickle, still clinging to Joe’s shoulder as he ran up the stairs.
“Stop making such a fuss! It’s me that should be moaning – thanks to your disgusting table manners I didn’t get to finish my dinner. I’m starving!”
Pickle turned her head away in a huff. She leaped off Joe’s shoulder as soon as they reached his room. “It’s not my fault,” she moaned. “Your house is just too noisy!”
“Well, why don’t you go somewhere else?”
Pickle glared at him for a moment, then turned her back.
Joe ignored her for the rest of the evening. Pickle, who was still in a sulk, curled up on Joe’s bed and went to sleep, while Joe played computer games.
Pickle was still asleep as Joe got into his pyjamas. She didn’t stir as he pulled back the duvet. And even when he tried to get into bed, she didn’t move.
“Hey! Wake up and stop hogging the bed!” Joe said sternly, pushing Pickle off his pillow.
Pickle’s tail drooped and she crawled to the furthest corner of the bed. But as soon as Joe turned the light off, she crept under the covers and curled up in the hollow between Joe’s chest and the duvet.
“Get lost, Pickle!” Joe turned away and lay on his other side, but the cat didn’t care. She crept back up, nuzzling his cheek and squeezing herself in to the space between his shoulder and head.
“Cut it out!” Joe moaned, shoving Pickle away. The smell was unbearable. “Go and find your own bed!”
He rolled over and began to get comfy. But just as he was drifting off, she was back again.
And then the purring started.
Joe groaned. It was like lying next to a steam train – a stinky steam train!
“Be quiet!” He stuck his fingers in his ears, but he could still hear it.
After a while, Joe was too tired to even tell her off any more. He stuffed his head under his pillow and eventually fell asleep.
But Joe didn’t sleep for long. Whenever he dropped off, Pickle would stretch out and wake him up. Or worse still, she’d snuggle up really close with her stinky bandages right next to his nose! Then Pickle decided it was playtime. She raced round the room, climbed his curtains and knocked down his glass eye, bashing it against the skirting board. She made such a racket that Sarah came and banged on his door, telling him to shut up!
When Joe woke up the next morning he was lying on the edge of the bed with one leg dangling out. Pickle was curled up luxuriously in the middle.
“Morning, Joe,” the cat yawned as she woke. “Sleep well?”
“No!” he growled. “Thanks to you!” He had to get rid of her – and fast!
After a quick bite of breakfast, Joe decided he’d have to go and find Maya. All Joe had to do now was come up with a good excuse to get out of the house. As soon as he saw Dad dressed in his scruffiest old clothes, ready to finish painting Sarah’s room, Joe knew just what to do.
“Dad, how about I fetch the paper today, so you can get on with the decorating?”
Dad eyed Joe suspiciously. He wasn’t usually so helpful first thing on a Sunday morning. “OK. Take some money out of my wallet. And don’t blow it on sweets!”
Joe grabbed the money and made for the door, before his dad could tell him to take Toby! “Come on!” he called to Pickle, who was already outside waiting impatiently on the wall. “Show me the way to your house.”
“Are you sure this is the right way?” puffed Joe as he followed Pickle down yet another overgrown path, behind some old garages a few streets away. She flicked her tail and didn’t reply. This was the way she always went home – the cat’s way. She was taking him on a direct route through gardens, around bins, behind sheds and over fences. It wasn’t her fault that Joe only had two legs, and couldn’t keep up!
As Joe clambered over yet another fence, Pickle suddenly took off, veering left, then right, then disappearing into an old bit of piping that was poking out of the ground.
“Hey! Where are you going?” yelled Joe.
Two minutes later, Pickle reappeared, covered in dirt and cobwebs. “Sorry,” she said. “I got the scent of a mouse.”
And then, in a flash, she was off again.
By the time they got to Maya’s house, Joe was exhausted. His jeans were filthy from scrambling over fences and he had several splinters in his hands. As they approached the house, he could hear the sound of yapping.
“Bonsai!” yowled Pickle. She made a leap for Joe, clawing her way up his body until she was on his shoulder.
“Hey!” Joe yelped, as Pickle disappeared into his hood, trembling with fear. “Get off!” But she clung on, wrapping her front paws round his neck, her claws digging into his flesh.
“Ow! Watch it with those claws, Pickle!”
“Save me from that terrifying dog!” she yowled.
“What have you got to worry about? You’re already dead!” said Joe, through gritted teeth. But Pickle just dug her claws in deeper.
Just then he heard a loud meow from the garden.
“Pebbles!” wailed Pickle. “We’ve got to help her!”
As Joe got closer, he could see a little grey cat with white paws sitting halfway up a tree. And at the bottom, yapping, jumping and wriggling around, was Bonsai.
The puppy was small and stocky, with short legs and a squashed-looking face.
Pickle hid her face in Joe’s hood. “Make him stop! Make him stop!”
But before Joe could do anything, the front door opened and a girl came runnin
g out.
“Maya!” yowled Pickle.
The girl tied to shoo the pup away from the tree. But he seemed to think it was a game, and bounded around her feet excitedly. “Leave her alone, Bonsai!” she yelled, sounding close to tears.
“Do something, Joe!” Pickle howled.
Joe spotted a ball lying in the shrubbery and leaned over the wall to grab it.
“Hey, Bonsai! Good dog, over here!”
“What are you doing?” shrieked Pickle, shaking like crazy inside his hood. “Don’t call him over to me!”
But Joe ignored her. He bounced the ball a few times on the ground, then shouted to the pup, “Come on, boy, over here!”
Bonsai came running, his little pink tongue sticking out, his tiny curly tail wagging. Joe threw the ball over to the other side of the garden and Bonsai bounded after it, yapping excitedly.
It was just the distraction Maya needed. While the pup chased the ball, she climbed the lower branches of the tree, grabbed Pebbles and took her swiftly inside the house.
Moments later, Maya was back.
“Thanks very much,” she said, smiling at Joe.
“No worries. I’m Joe, by the way.” He picked up the ball that the puppy had brought him, and threw it again.
“I’m Maya,” she replied as Bonsai took off across the garden like a rocket.
“He’s full of beans,” grinned Joe.
“Yeah, he is,” said Maya with a sigh. “He’s cute, but he plays rough. My cat doesn’t like it.”
Pickle was leaning out of Joe’s hood now, peering round his neck like a meerkat. “Ask her about me!” she said. “Come on!”
“So, what’s your cat called?” Joe swatted Pickle away.
“Pebbles,” said Maya. “She used to have a sister called Pickle, but she died, and it was all Bonsai’s fault!” She glared at the pup. “He chased Pickle out into the road, and she was hit by a car.”
