My Big Mouth
Page 13
It’s like they’re awarding gold medals for breathing, she thought.
Then there was the endless belly rubbing. The humans seemed to worship that belly, like it had some kind of magical power. Madame Wigglesworth was horrified.
This is deeply embarrassing for everyone involved, she thought. Love and affection are for suckers. Highly developed individuals such as myself do not want or need them.
But of course she was jealous. She had never craved belly rubbing in her life, but now she was obsessed with it. Sometimes you don’t want something until you see somebody else getting it.
And Grub was getting it big-time.
Halloween was the final straw. The humans dressed the animals in costumes—something pet owners should never, ever, ever do. But at least they put together a super look for Grub.
Madame Wigglesworth’s getup was of the decidedly unsuper variety.
This is no accident. They’re out to get me. I mean, do I seem like the type to wear a rainbow wig, a rubber nose, and size twenty-seven shoes? Not to mention the hottest, pinkest, ugliest pants this side of Hot-Pink-Pants Uglytown?
Madame Wigglesworth couldn’t take it anymore.
She suffered a little breakdown.
Diagnosis: “stark-raving nutjob-itis.”
Second opinion: “Aggravated Wackadoodle Disorder.”
Her symptoms were clear: chattering teeth, itchy eyeballs, whisker wilt, fur fungus, tingly tail, critter cramp, tabby trauma, and kitty quakes. Not to mention irritated claw syndrome and an ingrown hair ball.
She was delirious with hurt and hate. She threw herself face-first onto the couch and meowed into the cushion for forty-five minutes. Then came lots of blubbering and sniveling. She cried approximately thirty gallons of tears.
But then a very nasty lightbulb clicked on in Madame Wigglesworth’s head. She had an idea—a very sneaky idea.
Sometimes it takes a while for a scheme to formulate, but not this time. A perfectly diabolical three-step plan had popped into her head, fully formed and beautifully, simply evil.
“Step one is Grub,” she whispered. “I hate the mutt with every fiber of my being, but I hate the humans ten times more. They are the real disease. Grub is merely a symptom, and symptoms are easily treated … like a bad rash.
“Yoo-hoo! Grub! You bad rash, you! I mean, good friend! Can I have a word?”
“Sure,” said Grub. “Which word does you want?”
“No, no,” said Madame Wigglesworth. “I mean, can we talk?”
“I kinda busy right now. I is dreaming of a meatball from the trash that’s bluish and whitish and fuzzy-ish that I saw two minutes or five years ago.” Grub had a terrible sense of time.
“Yeah,” said Honeybaked Hamster, entering the room and eyeballing the cat suspiciously. “Grub dreams a lot. That’s ’cause he is dreamy. Dream-o-licious. A total dreamsicle. A one-dog dream team.” Honeybaked had a small crush on Grub. “He’s too busy to chitchat with the likes a you.”
Madame Wigglesworth closed her eyes and counted to ten, twice. Controlling her temper was an important part of the plan. “Listen, Grub. You know when the humans laugh when you’re around? Well, they’re not laughing with you.”
Grub cracked up. “Okay, well that unpossible! If I is around, then I is with them. So the laughing isn’t someplace else. It with me! Madame W, is you feeling okay? Because you seems a tiny bit wackadoodle or even slightly nutjobby.”
“I heard them talking!” She moved in closer. “They said, ‘From now on, there will be absolutely no more belly rubs for Grub!’”
This got Grub’s attention. “You mean they means no more, like no more than, say, four or five belly rubs a day?”
“No, Grub, I mean they mean no more like no more. Ever. No rubbing, no patting, no contact of any kind, belly-wise! They despise the belly! They detest the belly! They joined Belly Haters Not-at-all Anonymous!”
“But why?!” moaned Grub. “Was it that turkey or the fancy-schmancy couch?!”
Last Thanksgiving, Grub had eaten the entire bird and half of the brand-new sofa.
“No,” said Wigglesworth, “it’s just you. Y-O-U. They simply do not like you anymore.”
“But … but … even if they don’t likes somebody they still could prolly rub somebody’s belly, right?”
Madame Wigglesworth lost it. “NO! Say good-bye to the belly-rubbing era! It’s over! Finished! Kaput! You get it?”
Grub finally got it.
He also got woozy.
Very woozy.
He collapsed in a heap.
“Somebody call an ambulance!” shrieked Honeybaked.
“Hold on, Hammy,” said Madame Wigglesworth. “We animals should stick with our own kind. We’ll take care of Grub. Besides, he’s fine. He’s just a little sensitive about the humans hating him out of the blue for no reason. Well, not for no reason. I mean, look at him.”
“I am looking at him,” said Honeybaked. “Isn’t he gorgeous with his nose all crinkled up and that teeny bit of drool on his lip?”
“Yes, yes,” said Wigglesworth, gagging slightly. “He’s an angel.” She stroked Grub’s head and talked softly into his ear. “Now, now, pup-pup, don’t you worry your pretty little echo chamber of a head about this. Auntie Wigglesworth has an idea.”
Grub opened one eye. “You has an idea?” he asked with a whimper. “Good, because I checked my brainy and it’s full of something that doesn’t seems like an idea.”
Madame Wigglesworth smiled. The very same cluelessness that once disgusted her now delighted her.
“Not to worry,” she whispered. “I have enough ideas for the both of us. And not just ideas, a plan!”
“Sounds good,” said Clowny, the depressed clown fish, watching from his aquarium. “And by ‘good’ I mean very, very bad.” He was always a little worried that Madame Wigglesworth might eat him, and he didn’t even consider that the worst thing about her.
PETER HANNAN created the Nickelodeon animated series CATDOG. He also wrote and sang the show’s theme song. He is the author/illustrator of the Super Goofballs series; Freddy! King of Flurb; and The Greatest Snowman in the World! His illustrations and cartoons have appeared in lots of magazines and newspapers. He spent his formative years scribbling in notebooks and flailing on the guitar. He is still in his formative years. Visit him online at www.PeterHannan.com.
Copyright © 2011 by Peter Hannan
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Hannan, Peter.
My big mouth : 10 songs I wrote that almost got me killed / by Peter Hannan.
p. cm.
Summary: When Davis Delaware moves to a new school after the death of his mother, he immediately gets on the wrong side of Gerald, the school bully, when he creates a band called The Amazing Dweebs along with Molly, the girl he has a crush on—who also happens to be Gerald’s girlfriend.
ISBN 978-0-545-16210-4
[1. Rock groups — Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations — Fiction. 3. Bullies — Fiction. 4. High schools — Fiction. 5. Schools — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.H1978My 2011
[Fic] — dc22
2010034426
First printing, July 2011
Cover design by Christopher Stengel
Cover illustrations © 2011 by Peter Hannan
e-ISBN 978-0-545-42287-1
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rite to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.