Byron grinned at Jessi and me. “Neat, huh?” he said.
“Neat” was not exactly the word that came to my mind.
“We’re going to have an obstable course!” shouted Claire.
“Obstacle,” corrected Jordan. “Obstacle course. And it’s not for you, Claire. That event’s only for older kids.”
Claire pouted.
“But you get to do the hopping race!” said Vanessa, trying to cheer Claire up. “And you’re a really, really good hopper. I bet you’ll win.”
Claire looked a little happier.
“Why are those pillows all piled up?” asked Jessi.
“That’s for the leapfrogging event,” explained Adam.
Jessi nodded. “I see,” she said. She looked around the room. “Maybe we ought to move this lamp out of the way,” she said, picking up a ceramic lamp.
“Good idea,” I replied. I scouted the room for other breakable items, and ended up putting a mirror and two framed pictures into the closet along with the lamp. I turned the TV to the wall. You might think I was being a little overcareful, but you never know with my brothers and sisters.
“Let the games begin!” I said, as soon as the room seemed Pike-proof.
What a scene. This was no orderly Olympics. At least three events were going on at any given moment, and at least four kids were yelling, “Mallory, Jessi! Look at me!” My head was spinning. I watched Jordan leapfrog neatly over a huge pile of sofa cushions. Nicky followed behind him, but Nicky’s leap wasn’t quite so neat. He sprawled on the floor, surrounded by the pillows.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m great,” he answered. “That was totally cool. I want to do it again.” He piled up the cushions again and took another running leap.
Claire and Margo were hopping around the room. They were supposed to be hopping on one foot, but neither of them was all that great at it. They kept switching feet, and occasionally hopping on both feet. Vanessa was the judge for that event. “Good, Claire,” she called. “Nice hopping. Okay, Margo, one more time over the course and you’re done. Whoops! That’s all right. We can pick up those magazines later.”
The room was full of noise and activity, and I was totally caught up in it. Suddenly I felt Jessi’s elbow in my ribs. “What?” I asked. I looked around frantically. Then I saw him.
Uncle Joe was standing in the doorway.
“Uncle Joe!” I said. “Did we disturb you? I’m sorry. I —”
But Uncle Joe just held up a hand and shook his head slightly. He was watching Adam go through the obstacle course. And I saw — or at least, I thought I saw — a tiny smile on his lips. But before I could get a better look, he’d turned and left the room.
“We better cool it,” I said to Jessi. “I mean, he didn’t yell at us or anything, but —”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she said. “This is a pretty noisy activity. And it’s his last day. We should make it a nice quiet one for him.”
“Okay, kids,” I shouted. “Olympics are over for today.”
Big groans.
“You can do it again tomorrow, but right now we’re going to do something a little quieter,” I said, thinking quickly. “We’re going to — we’re going to have a coloring contest!”
“Yay!” shouted Margo. She loves to color.
Vanessa looked at me skeptically. “A coloring contest?” she asked.
“Right,” I said. “Everybody has to draw a picture of our family, and we’ll give the winning picture to Uncle Joe. He can put it in his room at Stoneybrook Manor.”
I don’t know where I got that idea, but it worked. The room quieted down right away as everybody rummaged around for paper and crayons and markers. Once the kids were busy drawing, Jessi and I put the couch back together and sat down to talk. I filled her in on the latest news about Ghost Cat, and she told me about the production her ballet school was rehearsing for. It was great to catch up.
“All done!” said Claire, bringing her picture over to me. “That’s Mommy,” she said, pointing at a figure with wild, curly hair, “and Daddy, and you, and Vanessa —”
“Beautiful picture,” I said, before she had a chance to run down the whole list of names. She beamed. Then, one after another, Vanessa, Margo, Jordan, Adam, and Byron brought us their pictures. They were all terrific.
“Where’s Nicky?” I asked, suddenly realizing he was gone.
“I don’t know,” said Adam, “but here’s his picture.” He picked up a drawing that had been left on the floor. “Look,” he said. “This one has Uncle Joe in it.”
Sure enough, Nicky’s picture included a blue-suited, spectacles-wearing figure. “That’s great,” I said. I made up my mind right away to tell Nicky he’d won the contest. But where was he? “I wonder where he went?” I said out loud. “Let’s look,” I added to Jessi. “You guys can stay here and draw some more if you want.” Jessi and I walked down the hall and checked the kitchen and the dining room. No Nicky. Then I heard giggles from the living room. I gestured to Jessi, and she followed me to the doorway. We peeked inside.
There was Nicky — sitting on Uncle Joe’s lap! Uncle Joe was holding a white handkerchief that was folded to look like a mouse. “Nice little mousie,” he said, stroking it. Then he made it run up his arm, just like a real mouse. Nicky laughed.
“Do it again, Uncle Joe!” he said.
Jessi and I looked at each other wide-eyed. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Then Uncle Joe glanced up and saw us. “Young Nick here reminded me about this old trick,” he said. “I’d forgotten all about it.”
Nick! He’d actually remembered somebody’s name!
I was speechless.
“I see that you’re shocked to see me doing this,” said Uncle Joe. “I know I’ve been rather quiet for the past weeks, and I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m quite set in my ways, and it’s difficult for me to be around so many people.”
“That — that’s okay,” I said. “I understand.”
“I’m sorry that I must be leaving you just as I’m beginning to become accustomed to your family’s ways,” he said.
I was amazed. Claudia had been right! It was just a matter of the Pikes getting used to Uncle Joe, and of him getting used to us.
The rest of the day flew by. I can’t say that Uncle Joe turned into some jolly Santa-like person, but he did show us another side of him. He pulled a nickel out of Margo’s ear. He did string tricks for the triplets. He let Claire try on his glasses. He even read several of Vanessa’s poems. He was much more comfortable dealing with us one or two at a time.
We were sad to see him leave that afternoon, but as Mom and Dad explained to us, Stoneybrook Manor really was the right place for him. “One good day doesn’t mean the disease is gone,” said Dad. “He’ll need plenty of care in the days to come.”
“I’m so glad he did have this good day,” said Mom. “The doctor told us that Alzheimer’s doesn’t usually change people’s personalities, and now I can see that he was right.” She looked at Dad. “The Uncle Joe you remember still exists, but he’s much older now and he takes longer to feel comfortable with new people.”
I smiled, remembering my first glimpse of Uncle Joe with Nicky on his lap. They certainly had looked comfortable together. “I’m just glad he finally did,” I said.
“Mine!”
“No, mine!”
Katie and Sophie were standing in the living room, their faces pushed together. They were each holding one arm of a teddy bear I’d never seen before, they were yelling at the top of their lungs.
“Girls,” I said helplessly. “How about taking turns?” I had no idea which one of them might be the real owner.
“It’s mine,” confided Margaret, coming up behind me. “I mean, it was mine when I was a baby. I just found it at the bottom of my toy box. They think it’s a new toy, and they both want it.”
“Mine!” said Sophie.
“Mine!” shrieked Katie.
I sighed. “
I think it’s time to put Teddy away for a while,” I said, as I gently pried it loose from their fingers. Sometimes that’s the only solution in cases like these. At least, it’s Step One of the solution.
Sophie’s jaw dropped. “Hey —” she said.
Katie’s eyes grew round. She opened her mouth wide, as if she were getting ready to scream. It was time for Step Two of the solution I was using. Guess what Step Two is. Right. Distraction.
“Hey, let’s go visit Ghost Cat, okay?” I said. I started off in the direction of the laundry room, hoping the girls would follow me. I turned to check. Katie was still standing there, trying to decide whether or not to have a tantrum.
“It’s his last day here, you know,” I added. Katie closed her mouth and started to trot after me.
“Dost tat!” she said.
“His name’s Rasputin,” said Margaret. “That’s what the man said, right?” she asked me.
“Right,” I said. “Funny name for a cat, isn’t it?”
“I guess. But we really couldn’t have called him Ghost Cat anymore anyway. Dawn proved that he isn’t a ghost.”
“That’s true,” I said. And it was true. Dawn’s tests had been pretty foolproof. But something funny was still going on at the Craines’, something that made me feel that the Ghost Cat mystery wasn’t over quite yet.
“Hi, Rasputin,” said Margaret, opening the laundry room door. “Hi, kitty!”
The white cat jumped down from the dryer and rubbed himself against Margaret’s legs.
“Wow,” I said. “He’s gotten friendlier, hasn’t he?”
“He started doing that as soon as I called him by his right name,” said Margaret. “Isn’t that funny?”
“Hi, tat,” said Katie, bending to pat him.
“Mine!” said Sophie. She seemed to be in a very possessive mood that day.
“No, Sophie,” I said. “He’s not yours, or Katie’s, or Margaret’s. He belongs to someone else, and he’s coming to get him today.”
Sophie looked like she was about to cry. “I want Rasputin to stay,” she said.
“I know,” I replied. “But his owner loves him and he wants him back.” I wished I could tell Sophie what I had found out the day before when Mrs. Craine called during our meeting. She told me that Mr. Craine would be coming home in time to be there when the man showed up at five-thirty to pick up his cat. But she’d also told me that, since the girls seemed to love the cat so much, she and Mr. Craine were thinking about getting them their very own cat.
If only I could have told Sophie! I knew the news would cheer her up. But Mrs. Craine had asked me not to tell, not until she and Mr. Craine were sure about their decision.
“That was fun, doing those ghost tests with Dawn,” said Margaret, as she patted the cat.
“I know,” I said. “Hey! Let’s do some other tests on the cat, okay?” I wanted to make the girls forget that the cat would be gone by the end of the day. “Let’s see,” I said. “How about a cat I.Q. test?”
“What’s an I.Q. test?” asked Sophie. I’d caught her interest.
“It measures how smart you are,” I said. “Usually it’s for people, but we can make up one for a cat. What kinds of things do smart cats do?”
“Catch mice!” shouted Margaret.
“Come when you call them,” said Sophie.
“Tat!” yelled Katie.
“Okay,” I said. “So let’s make a test. Where’s that toy mouse your father brought home for the cat?”
Margaret ran to find it. “Here it is!” she said.
“All right, now, we’ll put the mouse behind this closet door,” I went on, “and time how long it takes the cat to find it. We’ll give him three chances.”
I hid the mouse, making sure the cat saw me do it, and then checked my watch. It only took him twenty seconds to “catch” the mouse! I hid it two more times. He had no trouble finding it.
“He’s fast!” said Sophie. “That means he has a lot of I.Q., right?”
I laughed. “Right. But let’s try the next test. We’ll go outside the door and call him by different names, to find out which one he answers to.”
Leaving the door open, I herded the girls outside the room. Then I started to call out all kinds of made-up names. “Um … Snowflake!” I called. “Chalky!” I was trying to think of names for white cats. “Pearl!”
I peeked around the door to look at the cat. The girls looked over my shoulder. He was just sitting there, washing his face with his paw.
“Let me try!” said Margaret. “Milky!” she cried. The cat didn’t move.
Sophie pushed her way to the front of our little crowd. “Ghost Cat?” she called cautiously. I wondered if he’d respond to that, but he didn’t.
Then it was Katie’s turn. “Jennifer!” she said, decisively.
We all cracked up. What a name for a cat! Especially a male cat. Of course, the cat didn’t answer to that one, either. It was time for the final test.
I said the name quietly. “Rasputin?”
He was out of that room like a shot, and he rubbed himself around my ankles, purring, until I bent to pick him up. “Boy, I guess you do know your name, don’t you?” I asked him. “You’re a pretty smart cat.”
“He’d have to be smart,” said Margaret, “to find his way into our attic the way he did.”
I agreed. “I wonder why he ran away from his owner in the first place?” I mused. “And why he came to your house?”
“Yeah,” said Margaret. “And why didn’t his owner come to get him right away?”
“Maybe the man doesn’t really want him,” said Sophie. “Then we can keep him.”
Uh-oh. “No, he definitely wants him back,” I said. “Your mom told me that he has called two more times. He didn’t say any more about who he was or where he lived, but he said he was coming to get the cat. Today.”
Sophie stuck her lower lip out.
“How about if we give the cat one last meal while he’s living here?” I asked quickly. “We’ll give him something special, so he’ll remember us.” I led the way into the kitchen.
Margaret burrowed into one of the cabinets and came up with a jar of olives. “These are a special kind,” she said. “My dad loves them.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think the cat would appreciate them,” I said.
Sophie pulled out a box of Alpha-Bits cereal. “My favorite,” she said. “Let’s give him a bowlful.”
“Well, he might like the milk we put on them, but I don’t really think he’d eat those little ABC’s,” I said. “You should save them for yourself.”
I pulled the milk out of the fridge and poured some in a small bowl. I also found a half-empty can of tuna, and somehow didn’t think Mrs. Craine would mind if I gave it to the cat. I put the food down on the floor in the spot where he always ate, and called the cat. “Rasputin!” I called. “Come, kittykittykitty!”
Rasputin trotted in, heading straight for the tuna. As soon as he’d finished it, he turned to the milk and lapped that up.
“He really loves it,” said Margaret. “I wonder what his owner usually feeds him.”
“Well, probably nothing this special all the time,” I said. “But I hope he gets a treat once in a while.”
“I would give him milk every single day if he lived with us,” said Sophie wistfully. She gazed at the cat. “Look! It’s on his whiskers, and he’s licking it off.”
Rasputin finished off the milk, shook himself, and sat down to wash his face. The girls watched his every move. The kitchen was silent — and then I heard it. A meowing noise! It was coming from upstairs. I almost jumped out of my seat, but the girls didn’t seem to notice the sound. I held my breath and listened. Maybe I’d been thinking about this Ghost Cat business too much.
Then I heard the noise again. This time I got up and walked toward the stairs, trying to pin down exactly where the noise was coming from. The girls, engrossed in watching Rasputin wash himself, ignored me completely. I listene
d again. The sound was coming from the attic.
I went back to the kitchen and sat down to think. How could I hear meowing from the attic when Rasputin was sitting right in front of me? It didn’t seem likely that another cat had found its way up there, and anyway, we’d looked around up there so many times we would have seen it if it had. I thought about lonely old Kennedy Graham. I thought about his little white cat named Tinker. The cat that died and left him all alone. Could the ghost of Tinker be here, looking for its master?
I was really getting spooked.
Luckily, Mr. Craine came home before the girls noticed anything. “Hi, Mallory,” he said, tossing his coat onto a chair. “I hope I’m on time.”
“Daddy!” yelled all three girls at once. They scrambled to be the first on his lap.
“You’re right on time,” I said. “Rasputin’s owner is due any minute.” I glanced at the clock over the stove. It said five twenty-five.
“Guess what? We tested Rasputin’s Q.I.!” said Sophie. “And he has a lot of it, too.”
Mr. Craine looked confused.
“She means I.Q.,” explained Margaret. “We gave him a cat I.Q. test, and he did really well.”
“He did, did he?” asked Mr. Craine, raising his eyebrows at me and trying to hide his smile. “I always knew he was an especially smart cat.”
“Muk!” cried Katie.
“Milk?” asked Mr. Craine. “You want some milk?” He started to get up.
“No,” said Katie. “Tat!”
“She’s trying to tell you we gave the cat some milk,” I explained. “For his last meal. I hope that was okay.”
“Oh, sure,” said Mr. Craine. “We want him to remember us, don’t we?”
“That’s what Mallory said,” said Margaret.
Just then, the doorbell rang. “That must be him,” I said. “Rasputin’s owner.”
Mr. Craine answered the door, and the girls and I followed him. I guess I should have left as soon as Mr. Craine came home, but I was dying to see what this mystery man looked like.
Mallory and the Ghost Cat Page 9