"I just took four sixty-one from the treasury," Dawn replied. "If we add it to the money we're donating, our reward will be an even thirty bucks. Won't that look nice on the poster?" Five heads nodded. And I began to cry.
"Mary Anne? What's wrong?" asked Dawn. "Don't worry. There's still plenty of money in the treasury. I just took out enough to make thirty." "Oh, it's not that," I said, sniffling. (Claudia handed me a tissue.) "It's all of you. Donating the money you worked so hard for. I know you're saving for things. And now, you're giving up your money for Tigger." "And," added Dawn, "for you." Well, that started a fresh flood of tears. I was crying for me, for Tigger, but mostly because my friends were being so wonderful.
I cried until Dawn slid off of Claud's bed, crossed the room, and put her arms around me. Slowly, my tears subsided.
Just as I was getting under control again, I heard Mal say, " 'What shall we do about poor little Tigger?' " "Huh?" said Kristy.
"It's from The House at Pooh Corner," she replied. "Our family's been reading it aloud. That line is the beginning of one of Pooh's hums. You know, his poemy-songs. The rest of it is about getting Tigger the tiger to eat. But that first line makes me think of Mary Anne's Tigger." "Yeah," I said, nodding slowly. "What shall we do about poor little Tigger?" I almost started to cry again, but Kristy said, "Come on, we have work to do. If we can get a sample poster finished, my mom could go to her office tonight and run off copies. Then we - " "She'll go to the office on a Saturday night?" interrupted Claud.
"Maybe," replied Kristy. "For something this important. How many copies do you think I should ask her to make?" We decided on a number. Then we got to work on the poster. When we were finished, this is what the top part looked like: Underneath this information, Claud drew a picture of Tigger that really looked like him. She kept sending me home for photos of him so that she could work from them, but I didn't mind. I'd do anything that would help find him.
And at the bottom of the poster in huge letters we wrote: $30 Reward for the safe return of Tigger.
We laid the poster on the bed, and the six of us leaned over to look at it. Mimi came in at that moment. "What is picture?" she asked. (Mimi had a stroke last summer and it affected her speech.) "If s Tigger," Claudia told her grandmother. "He's missing, and we're going to help find him." Mimi looked puzzled. "Eggplants," was all she said. Then she left.
A moment of silence followed.
"I think the poster looks perfect," I said.
"I just hope it works," added Dawn.
"It will. It has to," Jessi said vehemently.
"Where will we put the posters?" asked Claud. I could tell she was trying not to think about Mimi. I hoped she knew the rest of us didn't mind the funny little things that happened.
"Oh, we'll put them on phone poles, in people's mailboxes. We'll go all over our neighborhood. I mean, your neighborhood," replied Kristy. "Well, I better call Charlie for a ride. Let's meet back here at noon tomorrow." We agreed to the plan and I ran home, hoping to find Tigger.
No Tigger.
I called Logan instead and gave him the news.
"Gee, that's too bad," he said vaguely.
That was it? Tigger was missing and Logan said, "Too bad"? Where was his brain?
"Logan, he's been missing for twenty-four hours." "I'm really sorry. . . . Oh! Darn. Now I see." "See what?" "What went wrong in practice today. I'm watching tapes of our games." I couldn't believe it. But I just calmly said good-bye and hung up.
Chapter 7.
I could tell, just from reading this notebook entry, how close Jessi and Becca and Squirt are. That is so nice. Boy, do I wish for a brother and sister. Or for just one of them.
Or for Tigger.
Anyway, as soon as Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey left, Becca said to her big sister, "Jessi, I'm hungry." "I know," replied Jessi. "Me, too. But I want to give Squirt his supper first. I think that'll be easier. Then you and I can eat together when he's finished." "Okay," said Becca reluctantly. She didn't want to wait - but she did want to eat dinner with Jessi.
Jessi fixed Squirt a cheese sandwich and some grapes. She cut the sandwich into small pieces, since Squirt is learning to feed himself. Then she put the food in Squirt's airplane dish, set the dish and a bottle of milk on the kitchen table, sat Squirt in his high chair, and placed his dinner in front of him.
Squirt smiled.
He picked up a piece of sandwich. He opened it. He put the cheese in his mouth and let the bread fall to the floor. Then he mashed a grape in his hands. And laughed.
"Der-bliss!" he cried.
He took another grape, tried to bite it in half, and sent it sailing across the room. More laughter.
Half an hour later, Squirt's bottle was empty. So was his airplane tray. But cheese was squished in his hair, his hands were covered with mashed grapes, and the kitchen was littered with bread, cheese, and grapes.
"You know what?" said Jessi to her sister. "I don't think he ate anything. He drank his milk. Well, he did eat that one piece of cheese, but everything else is somewhere in the kitchen." Becca giggled. "The best part was when he shot that grape at me. Right out of his mouth. And right at my nose. I know he did it on purpose." Becca helped Jessi clean the kitchen. Then Jessi cleaned up Squirt. And then she and her sister sat down to their own supper while Squirt watched them from his playpen.
"We get toasted cheese sandwiches," said Becca happily.
"Yes," replied Jessi, "because we're older and know how to eat. But if you spit anything across the table at me - I'll make you sit in the high chair." Becca giggled.
They began to eat.
"What shall we do about poor little Tigger?" murmured Jessi a few moments later.
"What do you mean?" asked Becca.
Jessi told her about Pooh's hum, and about the missing Tigger.
"Gosh, that's awful," said Becca. "You know who's going to be really upset? I mean, besides Mary Anne?" "Who?" "Charlotte. She loves Tigger. She wishes Tigger were hers." "I can understand that. Tigger's pretty cute. And Charlotte doesn't have a pet." "I'm sure glad Misty lives in his cage," said Becca. "He can't run away." Misty is the Ramseys' hamster. He's their first pet ever. Jessi and Becca think he's so adorable they could practically eat him up. He is cute. Because he's young, he's very small. Everything about him is tiny and adorable. (Kind of like Tigger). He's got itty-bitty feet with claws on them you can barely see. And by his nose, which is pink, are pale, pale whiskers. They're almost transparent. Misty is also pretty. His fur is patches of golden brown and white, and his eyes are shiny and black.
Guess how Jessi got Misty. She didn't go to a pet store and buy him. He came from some of her neighbors, the Mancusis. They were going away on vacation and needed a pet-sitter. So they called the Baby-sitters Club! Ordinarily, Kristy doesn't like for us club members to pet-sit, but Jessi had a free week, so she took the job - and found herself caring for cats, dogs, hamsters, rabbits, a disgusting snake that got loose one afternoon, some fish, and I don't remember what else. Anyway, while she was on the job, she discovered that one of the hamsters was going to have babies. Misty is one of those babies, of course, and the Mancusis were delighted to let Jessi have him. (By the way, Mal's family also took a hamster baby.) "I'm glad Misty lives in a cage, too," said Jessi. "Being cooped up might seem cruel, but at least it's safe." "Hey!" cried Becca. "I just got an idea. Maybe the Mancusis have a kitten they could give to Mary Anne. I mean, if Tigger doesn't come back." "Maybe . . ." Jessi replied slowly. "Two of their cats are going to have kittens." "One of the kittens might look like Tigger!" exclaimed Becca.
"Maybe," Jessi said again. Then, "I'm just wondering about one thing. Would Mary Anne want another kitten? I mean, let's say something happened to Misty - " "What would happen to Misty?" cried Becca.
"Nothing. I'm just saying if something happened - " "If what happened?" Becca had put her sandwich down on her plate. She looked worriedly at her sister.
Jessi sighed. "Nothing. But think of it this way: If you
didn't have Misty, would you want a different hamster? Sort of as a replacement?" "No way!" "Okay. That's what I'm thinking about with Mary Anne and Tigger. I'm not sure she'd want a replacement kitten. Not right away." "But it's nice to know the Mancusis are here," said Becca.
"Yeah," agreed Jessi. "It's nice to know they're here." "Ah-choo! Ah-choo!" called Squirt from his playpen. He was standing up, his arms hanging over the sides, looking at his big sisters.
Jessi and Becca began to giggle. Squirt's newest trick is pretending to sneeze. Only his sneezes don't sound real. He just yells, "Ah-choo!" which sometimes comes out "Ah-shoo!" or even "Ah-too!" "Hey, Squirt," said Becca, "if you eat all your vegetables, will you get" (she lowered her voice dramatically) big. . .and. . .strong?" Squirt's face broke into a dimply smile. Then he squeezed his hands into fists, and posed his arms like a strongman.
Jessi and Becca were now giggling so hard they could barely eat. But they calmed down. As they finished their dinners, Becca said, "Jessi, can I help Squirt walk later?" "Sure," answered Jessi, wondering why her sister had even asked. Squirt was a new and unsteady walker, but Becca had helped him toddle around plenty of times.
"Oh, goody," replied Becca. She was quick to help Jessi with the dishes. Then she ran to Squirt's playpen and lifted him out.
Squirt squealed with happiness.
"Jessi, Jessi, come watch Squirt!" called Becca.
Jessi was sponging off the table. "Becca, I've seen him walk." "Well, you haven't seen this. Please come here." "Okay." Jessi abandoned the sponge and crossed the room to her brother and sister.
Becca had set Squirt on the carpeted floor of the rec room and he stood there unsteadily. She backed away. "Okay, Squirtles," she said. "Come here!" She held out her hands. "Come here!" Squirt lurched toward Becca. As he walked, he cheered himself on. "Yea! Yea! Yea!" So that was what Becca had wanted Jessi to see. Jessi began to laugh. "Who taught him that?" "He did. I kept cheering for him when he was walking. Now he cheers for himself." "Group hug!" announced Jessi. She and Becca and Squirt moved together for a three-person hug.
After that, it was Squirt's bedtime. Jessi read him some nursery rhymes before he went to sleep. Squirt is too little to understand them, but Jessi thinks reading is important at any age. Then she let Becca read to her from Baby Island, and finally, when Becca was asleep, too, Jessi brought her copy of Sounder downstairs and curled up with it on the living room couch. Sounder is about a dog, but Jessi found herself thinking of Tigger the cat, wondering the same things I was wondering. What had happened to him? Was he safe? Was he hurt? If he was hurt somewhere, would we find him? And . . . where was he?
Chapter 8.
"Mary Anne, Mary Anne! My mom did it!" "Did what?" It was Sunday morning and I hadn't been awake very long. My brain was barely working. All I knew was that Kristy was on the other end of the line and she was very excited.
"She copied the posters!" said Kristy. "I've got the whole stack right here in my lap. So I'm on my way over. We can paper the neighborhood." I wanted to find Tigger more than anyone else did. But it was only eight-thirty in the morning. I wasn't dressed. And I had a pretty good idea that Claudia and Dawn weren't even awake. All I said, though, was "Paper the neighborhood? What does that mean?" "You know, put up the posters. Distribute them. Cover the neighborhood with them." "Oh. . . . Wow, Kristy, it was awfully nice of your mom to go to her office last night. She had to go all the way into Stamford, just for the posters." "Well, Tigger is important." "Thank you," I said, "and listen, I can't wait to start, um, papering the neighborhood. But don't you think it's a little early in the day? I'm still in my nightgown. And . . . and . . . okay, I'm walking across Dad's room, now I'm looking out the window . . . Yup, Claud's shades are down. I'm sure she's still asleep. I bet Dawn is asleep, too. And I'd kind of like to call Logan. Maybe he'll come help us. Can we meet at noon?" "Noon?" repeated Kristy. She sounded slightly disappointed. "Well, okay. And how's this? I'll phone Jessi, Mal, and Claud, if you'll phone Dawn and Logan. Tell them to meet in your yard at twelve o'clock." "Deal." At noon that day, I was standing in my yard. Well, I wasn't just standing in it, I was calling for Tigger. It was impossible for me to be almost anywhere without calling or looking for him.
"Ti-i-i-igger! Here, Tiggy, Tiggy!" I called. I whistled. I shook his toys. I set out cat food. No Tigger.
So I was relieved when the Thomases' old station wagon pulled up in front of our house. Kristy hopped out and Charlie waved to me.
I waved back.
In Kristy's hands was a stack of papers.
"Oh, let me see," I cried, running to her. Kristy handed me the paper on the top of the stack. "Great. This is great, Kristy. How can I thank you?" "You're my best friend. We don't have to thank each other for things. But it would be nice if the posters brought Tigger back." "I'll say." As we stood looking at the LOST OR STRAYED heading, Claudia showed up. Then Dawn and Mallory. And soon, everyone was gathered in my yard.
Kristy, holding the posters, was in her element. She was in charge.
"Now," she began, "the idea is to paper the neighborhood. By tonight, there shouldn't be a single person in this area who doesn't know that Tigger is missing. I've got boxes of thumbtacks, and I want you to make sure you put a poster on every phone pole. Maybe two posters - front and back. Then stuff mailboxes. There are plenty of streets around here." The seven of us set out. Logan and I went as a team.
"Mary Anne?" said Logan, as we pushed thumbtacks into opposite sides of a phone pole. "I'm really sorry about Tigger." Well, that was a relief. "You are?" I asked.
"Sure." "I think," I said slowly, "that this is the worst thing that's ever happened to me." Logan smiled. "Oh, come on. Don't be so dramatic, Mary Anne. A lost kitten is sad, but aren't you overreacting a little?" I had nothing to say to that.
Across the street, Mallory stuck a poster in a mailbox, closed the box, ran to the next one, and expertly tossed another poster in.
"Hey!" I called. "Are you training for the Poster Olympics?" Mal grinned. "I just figure that the faster we get the posters out, the faster we'll find Tigger." She ran ahead.
Logan and I were putting posters in mailboxes when my dad drove by. He waved as he slowed to a stop..
"These are the posters, Dad!" I said, handing him one.
My father nodded. "Very profes - Thirty dollars reward! That's impressive. Where did the money come from?" "A little came from the club treasury, but most of it's our own. We chipped in." "It certainly ought to get people looking." "You think so? Great!" "I'm on my way to the grocery store," said Dad. "We ran out of a few things. How would you like me to take along some of the posters? I could put one on the bulletin board in the grocery store, and one on the board by the newsstand. Maybe some other stores will be open. They might let me tape a poster in their windows." I gaped. This was my father? He hates doing things like that - asking for favors and stuff. "That would be terrific, Dad," I said, "but are you sure you want to?" "For Tigger, anything." "Okay." I handed Dad a bunch of posters and thanked him six times. He drove off.
Logan and I continued. When we reached an intersection, he turned left and I turned right. I was on my own. I walked quickly, so quickly that after a couple of blocks, my legs ached. But it was worth it for Tigger.
Oh, Tiggy, where are you? I thought. That question had been worrying me since Friday. Where are you? But there was another question that was even worse. It had been worrying me since Friday, too. It was so bad, I could hardly bear to think of it. The question was, Tigger, are you alive? What if Tigger had wandered away? What if he'd been hit by a car? The driver wouldn't know whom Tigger belonged to. So he'd take my kitten to a vet and explain what had happened, and the vet would say, "I'm sorry, there's nothing we can do," and then they'd get rid of Tigger. They'd have to. He doesn't wear a collar with tags.
Dead, I said to myself as I walked along. Dead, dead, dead.
I stuck a poster in a mailbox.
Dead, dead, dead.
I came to
a phone pole. Time for the thumbtacks. I pulled the box from my pocket and stuck a poster to the street side of the pole. I was putting one on the opposite side when a voice said, "Who's Tigger?" I jumped a mile. When I turned around, I found a boy who looked as if he were about ten years old. He was peering around me at the poster.
"Tigger's my kitten," I told him, trying to calm down.
The boy nodded seriously.
"Have you seen him?" I asked.
"Maybe. I guess you want him back pretty badly, don't you?" "Oh, yes," I said.
"Is there really a reward?" "Yup." "Well then, okay. Yester- um, no, let's see. The day before yesterday 1 saw a - a gray kitten with tiger stripes." "That's just like Tigger!" I cried.
"And he had short hair - I'm sure it was a he, not a she - and he was, oh, about fifteen inches long - I mean, including his tail. And, um, he answered to the name of Tigger." I looked suspiciously at the poster I'd just put up. "How did you know to call him Tigger?" I asked the boy.
"Because his name was on his collar?" he suggested.
I shook my head. "Sorry. He doesn't wear a collar." The boy didn't look a bit uncomfortable about having told a whopping lie. "What's the reward for?" he wanted to know. "For information leading to finding this cat or something?" "No," I replied crossly. "For finding him. For putting him in my hands." I stuffed the thumbtacks back in my pocket. Then I just walked off. Sheesh. What was wrong with people? Was money the only thing they could think of?
I walked and walked. I papered our neighborhood until I ran out of posters. Then I went home. I found Mal, Jessi, and Dawn sitting on my front lawn.
"We're done!" Jessi announced.
"I was done first," Mal added proudly.
I sat down with them, but as soon as I'd done so, Dawn jumped up.
"We shouldn't be just sitting here," she said. "We should be looking for Tigger." "But I've looked and looked." "Then we should look some more. He's just a baby. He's so little. Maybe he got stuck somewhere." The search for Tigger started out with just the four of us. We grew to seven as Logan, Claudia, and Kristy returned. Then Charlotte Johanssen came by and she joined us. Jamie, Myriah, and Gabbie were about to start a game of Superman Tag (whatever that is), and Nicky Pike was out for a bike ride with his friend Matt Braddock, but all of them stopped their fun and helped us look for Tigger. I was just telling Logan about the boy I'd met while I was putting up posters, when Jamie pulled on my sleeve.
Baby-Sitters Club 027 Page 4