Cat Mummy

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘Of course she’s had a worrying time, lately.’

  ‘Has she seemed upset at school, Miss Smith?’

  ‘Well yes, she hasn’t been her usual self at all. I agree, she’s generally a lovely cheery little girl, a total joy to teach. But of course when she’s had such a devastatingly terrible bereavement to deal with––’

  ‘Bereavement?’ said Dad. ‘We don’t know for sure that Mabel’s dead.’

  ‘We’ve done our best to advertise.’

  ‘She might come back yet. It’s a bit soon to give up hope – though she’s never run away before.’

  ‘But . . . I thought . . . Verity said . . . so her mum’s left home?’ said Miss Smith.

  ‘Her mum?’ said Gran. ‘No no, my daughter passed away long ago.’

  ‘When our little Verity was born,’ said Grandad.

  ‘Has Verity been talking about her mum at school, Miss Smith?’ said Dad. ‘I think she’s been dreaming about her. It’s been worrying me a lot. Perhaps you can help us. We’ve never been very good at talking about it––’

  ‘It’s too upsetting,’ said Gran.

  ‘Of course she didn’t ever know her mum,’ said Grandad.

  ‘I see,’ said Miss Smith, though it was clear she didn’t. ‘So . . . who is Mabel?’

  ‘Oh! That’s our cat,’ said Dad.

  I gave a moan. Gran came whipping outside into the hall.

  ‘Verity! Are you hanging about on the stairs listening to us? I told you to go and get some sensible clean clothes on!’

  ‘I can’t, Gran!’

  ‘Whatever’s the matter with you today?’ said Gran crossly. ‘Why are you showing me up in front of Miss Smith? And what have you been saying to her?’

  I hung my head, unable to explain. Gran sighed. She took hold of my arm and started pulling me up the stairs.

  ‘No, Gran! Please! Don’t!’ I whimpered, realizing where we were heading.

  Gran tugged me into the bedroom. She stopped to get her breath. She sniffed.

  ‘What is that smell?’

  ‘I . . . I’m not sure,’ I said, which was the biggest lie yet, because I was surer than sure.

  My eyes swivelled towards the wardrobe. So did Gran’s. She stepped towards it.

  ‘Don’t!’

  But she did. She flung the door open – and then reeled backwards, choking.

  ‘Oh my goodness! What on earth . . .?’ She bent down and saw the duffle bag at the back.

  ‘There’s your duffle bag! Is that where the awful smell is coming from? Don’t say you’ve left your wet swimming things in there all this time?’

  She seized the duffle bag, pulled it out into the open, undid the top . . . and tipped the contents onto my carpet.

  Then Gran screamed and screamed and screamed. Dad came running. Miss Smith came running. Grandad came hobbling.

  Gran went on screaming for a long, long time. Even after she was downstairs and trembling in her armchair and Miss Smith had poured her a cup of strong sweet tea, Gran still made little gaspy sounds.

  Dad and Grandad made loud gagging sounds as they shovelled poor Mabel and her duffle bag into a big black plastic rubbish sack and carted her outside into the garden. Then they washed and washed and washed.

  I wept until the front of my stupid fairy frock was sodden.

  Miss Smith made a fresh pot of tea when Dad and Grandad came back.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Gran gasped. ‘I should have made the tea. Whatever must you think of us?’

  ‘I reckon you got more than you bargained for when you brought our Verity’s purse back!’ said Grandad.

  ‘Verity?’ said Dad.

  They all looked at me. I wept harder.

  ‘Don’t cry so, pet. I’m not cross. I’m just . . . puzzled. Why did you hide Mabel in your duffle bag? And why did you wrap her up like that?’

  ‘It was bandages. Did you think it would make her better?’ said Grandad.

  ‘Bandages!’ said Miss Smith.

  She looked at me. I looked at her.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ said Miss Smith. ‘You tried to make Mabel into a cat mummy!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mabel R.I.P.

  IT ALL CAME out. Gran was very upset, wondering how I could have done such a silly, shameful thing. Grandad started spluttering with laughter. Dad was fussed because I hadn’t said anything the moment I’d found Mabel.

  ‘I couldn’t,’ I shouted. ‘She was dead. We don’t talk about anyone being dead because we all get upset and dead people have to be buried and I couldn’t bury Mabel because she’s frightened of outdoors and she’d hate to be buried under the dirty earth with all the worms.’

  I thought they’d all be cross with me for shouting like that. Not a bit of it! They looked shocked. Then they all started being very kind. Gran sat me on her lap and Grandad said he’d donate his special toolbox as a coffin and Mabel would stay safe inside. Miss Smith said I could maybe paint the toolbox with Egyptian signs so that it would be like a special mummy case. She said the very first Ancient Egyptians used very similar wooden boxes. If I painted big Egyptian eyes on the side of the box then this would mean Mabel could look out, and I could also paint a special door so her spirit could get in and out of the coffin.

  ‘A special little cat-flap door,’ I said, blowing my nose. ‘That’s right, Verity,’ said Miss Smith, giving me a hug. It was as if she’d stopped being my teacher and was now a member of my family.

  Dad had a little private word with her. I couldn’t hear much until right at the end. Miss Smith said I was her special favourite in her class. She really did! I wish I could tell Sophie and Laura and Aaron. I especially wish I could tell Moyra. But I know it’s a secret. And I’d hate it if Miss Smith told my secret to the whole class.

  After Miss Smith went Gran started a very, very long session with disinfectant and scrubbing brush in my wardrobe while all my clothes whirled round and round in the washing machine. Grandad took all his tools out of the toolbox and cleaned it up and sanded it down so it was smooth for me to paint on.

  Dad helped me do the painting. It was getting quite late by this time but we all knew Mabel couldn’t wait much longer to be buried. I needed to wear something more sombre than a fairy outfit and all my clothes were being washed, so I took another of Gran’s old sheets and wrapped it round and round me and secured it with a purple chocolate box ribbon. I looked almost like an Ancient Egyptian myself.

  Dad and Grandad went out into the garden with the box. They wouldn’t let me come while they were putting Mabel into her new coffin. They wouldn’t let me kiss her goodbye. So I went to the hearthrug in the living room where some of Mabel’s cat hair still lingered. I curled up very small and kissed the soft spot on the rug where Mabel always put her head.

  Then Dad and Grandad called me and I went outside. Mabel was safely entombed in the box. There was still rather a smell wafting around the garden but it couldn’t be helped. Dad had already started digging a big hole down by the apple tree at the bottom of the garden. Grandad dug too. I got my old baby spade and dug as well, though I got the sheet a bit muddy. It was getting dark so I couldn’t see if there were any worms. It was maybe just as well.

  It took ages to make the hole big enough. Gran came out and said I should go to bed and Mabel could be buried in the morning now she was safe in her box, but Dad said it was important to have the ceremony now.

  At last the hole gaped wide enough for Dad and Grandad to lower Mabel in her box down into it. Grandad let me pick a little bunch of his roses. I scattered the petals on top of Mabel.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to say something, Verity?’ said Dad.

  ‘Dear Mabel, I love you and I’m so sorry I shouted at you. Please be happy in your afterlife and fly back and see if you can visit me. You’re the best cat in the world and I wish I could have preserved you as a proper mummy . . .’ I started to cry and couldn’t carry on.

  ‘But you will always be preserved in our memory,�
�� said Dad.

  Then he trickled a handful of earth onto the petal-strewn box. Grandad did too. They looked at me.

  ‘I wish we didn’t have to cover her up,’ I said.

  ‘It’s like planting a bulb,’ said Grandad. ‘Mabel will make lots of lovely flowers grow in the Spring.’

  I fidgeted. I didn’t think Mabel was remotely like a bulb. I didn’t want her to grow into flowers. I wanted her to grow back into herself so I could cuddle her and love her and keep her for ever.

  ‘Couldn’t we just keep her in her box now?’ I said.

  ‘Not a good idea,’ said Grandad.

  ‘We have to make sure she’s safe and undisturbed,’ said Dad. ‘But I know just how you feel, Verity. When . . . when your mum died . . . the burying bit was the hardest of all.’ He reached for my hand and held it tight. ‘But we have to do it and there’s no way of making it better. You’re going to miss Mabel terribly. We all are. But gradually it stops hurting quite so badly.’

  ‘Do you still hurt about Mum, Dad?’ I whispered.

  ‘A lot of the time, yes. And Gran does. And Grandad. But although I’m sad some of the time I’m also happy too. And you will be as well, I promise. Now let’s say goodbye to Mabel.’

  ‘Goodbye Mabel,’ I said, and I took a handful of earth and carefully sprinkled it over her.

  Then I went back inside while Dad and Grandad covered Mabel up.

  Gran was putting another batch of my clothes in the washing machine.

  ‘Honestly!’ she said, shaking her head at me. But then she gave me a big hug and made me a mug of hot chocolate because I’d got cold staying out in the garden so long.

  My bedroom smelt very strongly of disinfectant when I went up to bed. I looked sadly at the empty wardrobe. I wished I could have kept Mabel as a mummy. I wished she was still alive. I wished I hadn’t been mean to her. I felt very sad . . . but I felt peaceful instead of worried.

  I didn’t tell Sophie or Laura or Aaron what I’d done when I went to school the next morning. I certainly didn’t tell Moyra. Sophie asked straight away if Mabel had come back. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Yes. I found her. But she was dead. So we buried her in the garden.’

  Sophie put her arm round me. So did Laura. Aaron looked awkward and mumbled that he was very, very sorry. Moyra started asking questions, wondering where I’d found Mabel and what she looked like. She asked if she’d started to go mouldy.

  ‘Shut up,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  Sophie and Laura and Aaron told Moyra to shut up too. So she did.

  I was tremendously relieved that Miss Smith didn’t breathe a word about Mabel at school. She didn’t single me out in any way or act like I was her special favourite. She was so just-like-any-old-teacher that I started to feel a bit disappointed, but when the bell went for going-home time she asked me to come and see her.

  ‘I wonder why Miss Smith wants you, Verity?’ said Sophie.

  ‘I hope she’s not cross with you,’ said Laura.

  ‘I hope she is,’ said Moyra.

  ‘I hope she doesn’t keep you long. You’ve got to come up to the park today, you haven’t been for ages,’ said Aaron.

  Miss Smith didn’t keep me long. She just smiled at me and asked me gently how I was.

  ‘I still feel really bad about Mabel,’ I said.

  ‘Of course you do,’ said Miss Smith. ‘Look, I’ve found you a book that tells you all about the Egyptian Book of the Dead. It’s full of magic spells and prayers for dead people.’

  ‘Is there one for dead cats?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps you can make one up. You could write it out in your best handwriting and do a special picture of Mabel. Maybe you could make your own little book about her? You could stick in photos and write about all the happy times you had with her. It could be a special way of remembering her for always.’

  ‘I like that idea!’ I said. Then I added shyly, ‘And I like you, Miss Smith. In fact you’ve always been my special favourite.’

  Miss Smith laughed and went pink and told me to run along.

  I went up to the park with Gran and Aaron and Aaron’s mum and baby Aimee and Licky.

  We passed some of the Mabel posters on the way. I hung my head and felt sad, but in the park Licky caught this little boy’s ball and wouldn’t give it back and we all had to play Chase the Dog and it was such fun that I almost forgot about Mabel.

  I remembered her when we got home though. I went back into the garden and knelt by her grave and whispered to her. The earth was packed tight so it didn’t look as if her spirit had flown out of the box yet.

  Grandad called me to come in but I didn’t want to. Grandad came out into the garden and kept me company for a bit. Then Dad got home and came and put his arm round me.

  ‘You’ve been early three days in a row, Dad!’ I said.

  ‘I’m going to try to get away early every day now,’ said Dad. ‘I think we need to spend more time with each other, Verity. You know it’s so stupid, I’ve spent such a long time feeling sad that your mummy died, and yet I should also be feeling so very glad that I’ve got you.’

  He said it as if he’d been rehearsing what to say all the way home from work, but it still sounded good.

  He asked if Miss Smith had said anything at school and I told him about doing a book about Mabel.

  ‘That’s a wonderful idea! Miss Smith is so clever. You’re very lucky to have such a lovely teacher, Verity,’ said Dad. ‘It’s Saturday tomorrow, so we’ll go shopping for a special notebook for Mabel.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Egyptian Book of the Dead Mabel

  WE ENDED UP buying two special big blank books. One for Mabel. And one for my mum.

  ‘You can do Mabel’s book all by yourself, Verity,’ said Dad. ‘And we’ll work on Mummy’s book together, just you and me. I want you to know all about her.’

  ‘Don’t you mind me talking about her now?’

  ‘I don’t mind a bit. I think we should talk. I was silly not to before.’

  ‘Can I talk about her to Gran and Grandad too?’

  ‘Maybe that’s not such a good idea. Gran still finds it too sad.’

  ‘Dad, did Miss Smith tell you to talk about my mum?’ I asked.

  Dad went a bit red.

  ‘Well . . . we did sort of . . . yes, it was really her idea,’ he said.

  ‘She has great ideas, doesn’t she?’ I said. ‘I do like her. Do you like her, Dad?’

  ‘Mmm. Yes. I like her a lot,’ said Dad, and he went even redder. He smiled. I smiled too.

  We worked on our books all weekend.

  You will never guess what! I’ve got a kitten now!

  Sophie and her mum and dad came round on Sunday and said I could choose one of their kittens. I wasn’t sure at first. I badly wanted a kitten but it felt as if I was being unfair and disloyal to Mabel.

  ‘I understand, Verity. But loving one cat a great deal doesn’t mean you can never ever love another one,’ said Dad. ‘I should say “yes, please” to a kitten if I were you.’

  So I went back to Sophie’s house and we spent a long time playing with Sporty, Scary, Baby and Posh.

  They were all so sweet. Sporty’s already started to climb the curtains! Scary is very bold and chases after the clockwork frog. Posh is probably the prettiest and seems to know it, stretching out elegantly as if she’s posing. But Baby is the cuddliest.

  ‘You can have whichever one you like,’ said Sophie. ‘Only I rather hope you won’t choose Sporty as she’s such a pickle. And Scary’s so funny. And Posh just looks so perfect.’

  It was no problem at all choosing. I desperately wanted Baby.

  So now I have my very own kitten and I love her to bits. I’m going to look after her properly and I shall never ever be cross with her. I hope she lives until long after I’m grown up. But I know one thing. I’ll never love Baby quite as much as I loved my Mabel . . .

  Abou
t the Author

  Jacqueline Wilson is an extremely well-known and hugely popular author who served as Children’s Laureate from 2005-7. She has been awarded a number of prestigious awards, including the British Children’s Book of the Year and the Guardian Children’s Fiction Award (for The Illustrated Mum), the Smarties Prize and the Children’s Book Award (for Double Act, for which she was also highly commended for the Carnegie Medal). In 2002 Jacqueline was given an OBE for services to literacy in schools and in 2008 she was appointed a Dame. She has sold over thirty-five million books and was the author most borrowed from British libraries in the last decade.

  Also by Jacqueline Wilson

  Published in Corgi Pups, for beginner readers:

  THE DINOSAUR’S PACKED LUNCH

  THE MONSTER STORY-TELLER

  Published in Young Corgi, for newly confident readers:

  LIZZIE ZIPMOUTH

  SLEEPOVERS

  Available from Doubleday/Corgi Yearling Books:

  BAD GIRLS

  THE BED & BREAKFAST STAR

  BEST FRIENDS

  BURIED ALIVE!

  CANDYFLOSS

  THE CAT MUMMY

  CLEAN BREAK

  CLIFFHANGER

  THE DARE GAME

  THE DIAMOND GIRLS

  DOUBLE ACT (PLAY EDITION)

  GLUBBSLYME

  THE ILLUSTRATED MUM

  JACKY DAYDREAM

  THE LOTTIE PROJECT

  MIDNIGHT

  THE MUM-MINDER

  MY SISTER JODIE

  SECRETS

  STARRING TRACY BEAKER

  THE STORY OF TRACY BEAKER

  THE SUITCASE KID

  VICKY ANGEL

  THE WORRY WEBSITE

  Available from Doubleday/Corgi Books, for older readers:

  DUSTBIN BABY

  GIRLS IN LOVE

  GIRLS UNDER PRESSURE

  GIRLS OUT LATE

  GIRLS IN TEARS

  KISS

  LOLA ROSE