Jinny & Cooper

by Tania Ingram

  Contents

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Jinny & Cooper Quiz

  To Lilly and Stuart, with love

  I’d wanted a guinea pig for as long as I could remember – a golden guinea pig with soft, shiny fur and a pink nose. For years I’d begged Mum and Dad for one (and after Dad left to live overseas, I kept hounding Mum).

  ‘I’m sorry, Jinny,’ Mum would say. ‘I just don’t think you’re old enough for such a big responsibility. Guinea pigs need a lot of care and attention.’

  I should probably point out that Jinny is short for Jinnifer. A bit like Jennifer but with an ‘i’ instead of an ‘e’. It was the name of Mum’s great-grandmother. I prefer just to be called Jinny. My little brother Tyrone sometimes calls me Jiffer but that’s usually when he’s scared or he’s being sweet. He isn’t sweet very often, but because he’s only eight, he still gets scared a fair bit.

  Now, as I was saying, I’d wanted a guinea pig for as long as I could remember. So I was really surprised when Mum said that perhaps I could get one for my tenth birthday.

  ‘No promises,’ she said. ‘But we will go and see how much they are and what owning one involves.’

  ‘Can I get a goldfish?’ Tyrone asked. ‘I want a goldfish. I’ll call him Killer and I’ll train him to jump through hoops.’

  ‘We are just going to look at guinea pigs for now,’ Mum said again.

  Tyrone grunted and went back to picking at his bellybutton. Most little brothers are gross but Tyrone was the worst. He was always poking about in his bellybutton for fluff. He’d once read about a man who held the record for collecting bellybutton fluff and Tyrone had decided he would start his own collection.

  As I said, totally gross.

  Anyway, two days before my tenth birthday, we went to the biggest pet shop in Miller Springs. The owner was a strange, nervous-looking little man with a thin, patchy moustache. He wore a badge with ‘Gary is pleased to help you’ on it.

  When Mum told him that we’d come to look at guinea pigs he seemed really excited. Too excited even.

  I should have known then that something was up.

  I went over to the guinea pig enclosure while Mum quizzed the owner about everything from the prices of cages and guinea pig care to what their poo smells like.

  There were six guinea pigs the colour of warm honey with deep pink eyes and pale pink noses. I imagined myself holding one of them close and feeling its soft fur against my cheek.

  ‘Please! Please! Please!’ I prayed quietly under my breath.

  I looked over at Mum who had gone behind the counter with the pet shop owner. They were looking at something under the counter. I couldn’t see what it was but Gary was clapping his hands together and Mum was nodding thoughtfully. Tyrone was looking at goldfish with his nose pressed against the glass.

  ‘I’ll even throw in a bonus bag of food,’ I heard Gary say. ‘And a large bag of bedding. That’ll set you up for at least three months.’

  ‘That is a wonderful deal,’ Mum said hesitantly, looking over at me. ‘I’ll just ask Jinny what she thinks.’

  Gary let out an annoyed sigh. ‘Sure,’ he mumbled through gritted teeth.

  Mum waved for me to come behind the counter. Under the counter there was a cage. One side of the cage was surrounded with thick wire and contained two bowls; one with water and one with pellets. On the other side of the cage was a raised night box with a ramp leading to a hole in the side and a lid that opened at the top. The lid was closed.

  ‘Gary has a guinea pig here that he needs to find a home for,’ Mum began. ‘He has offered us a generous discount on the cage and the first bags of food and bedding free if we take it.’

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ I asked, suddenly feeling suspicious.

  ‘Nothing is wrong with him,’ Gary said nervously. ‘It is just that he’s a bit . . . unique and doesn’t really get on with the other guinea pigs.’

  ‘He’s not a biter is he?’ asked Mum. ‘I don’t want a pet that bites.’

  ‘No, nothing like that,’ assured Gary. ‘He is just a bit stubborn. I’m sure with a bit of handling and care he will make a perfect pet.’

  ‘Can I take a look?’ I asked.

  Gary cautiously lifted the lid and gestured for me to come forward.

  I peered into the box.

  At first all I could see was straw and what looked like small pieces of biscuit.

  Then something moved and I saw two black eyes staring out at me.

  I reached in and pushed the straw aside. Underneath was the scruffiest, dirtiest guinea pig I had ever seen. Its brown and black fur was a tangled mess of knots and it was covered in crumbs of food.

  I stepped away from the cage and shut the lid.

  ‘He may not be the prettiest guinea pig,’ said Gary ‘but he just needs a good bath and a brush. In fact, I’ll even throw in the guinea pig shampoo and brush for free.’

  I looked over at the sweet golden guinea pigs in the other enclosure.

  ‘Can’t I have one of those, Mum?’ I asked.

  ‘Those ones are already sold,’ Garry said quickly.

  ‘All of them?’ I asked suspiciously. ‘There’s no sold tag on them.’

  ‘I just haven’t put the tag on yet,’ Garry said defensively. ‘But they’re all sold. Every one.’

  Mum looked at my disappointed face. ‘Gary’s offered us a good deal on this guinea pig,’ she said. ‘But if you’d rather wait we can save up and come back some other time.’

  Gary slipped his arm around my mother’s shoulder. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said. ‘You seem like a nice family and this guinea pig needs a good home so I’ll throw the cage in for free as well.’

  Mum always liked a bargain and raised her eyebrows in delight. ‘Why, that’s an extremely generous deal, Garry. What do you think, Jinny?’

  I was torn.

  I wanted a guinea pig so badly but I didn’t want this scruffy, tatty thing.

  Then again, if I didn’t take this one, who knows when I’d get another chance.

  ‘I suppose with a bath and a brush it might look better,’ I said to Mum.

  She smiled and nodded.

  ‘So we have a deal then?’ Gary asked my mother enthusiastically.

  ‘Yes, it’s a deal,’ said Mum. She put her arms around me and kissed me on the head. ‘Happy birthday, sweetheart,’ she said.

  When we got the guinea pig home, Tyrone and I laid fresh bedding into the bottom of the cage, while Mum gave my new pet a bath and clipped the knots out of his fur with scissors.

  ‘He’s still ugly,’ Tyrone said, as I dried the guinea pig off. ‘We should have bought a goldfish instead.’

  ‘What are you going to call him, Jinny?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Zombie,’ shouted Tyrone. ‘Or Snot-Ball.’

  Mum frowned at Tyrone.

  ‘I was thinking about Fuzzy,’ I said.

  ‘Double yuck!’ said Tyrone and pretended to be sick.

  ‘He certainly is Fuzzy,’ Mum said to me. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say he had grown a bunch of fur since I bathed him. You can barely see where I cut the knots out.’

  Mum was right.

  It was as though his wiry fur had magically grown back. Fuzzy lay still on my lap as I gently brushed him. I placed him into the straw-filled night box and carefully closed the lid.

  ‘Goodnight, Fuzzy,’ I wh
ispered.

  I heard a scuffle as he snuggled into the clean straw.

  Then I heard another noise, almost like a soft grunt. But the grunt sounded like cooper.

  First thing the next morning I checked on Fuzzy. I could see he hadn’t touched any of the fresh carrots or spinach I’d put down for him. I lifted the lid to his night box but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the wire part of the cage either. The cage door was locked so there was no way Fuzzy could have climbed out of the cage on his own.

  ‘Tyrone!’ I shouted. ‘Where is Fuzzy?’

  Tyrone stuck his head in the doorway.

  ‘I haven’t touched him.’

  I ran to the kitchen where Mum was making pancakes for breakfast.

  ‘Have you seen Fuzzy?’ I asked in a panic.

  Mum put the spatula down and took the frying pan off of the heat.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Isn’t he in his cage?’

  I had tears in my eyes. ‘No, he’s not there. He’s escaped.’

  ‘Let’s go and take a look,’ said Mum calmly. ‘He is probably hiding under the straw or something.’

  ‘He’s not,’ said Tyrone as he grabbed a pancake from the plate. ‘I just looked.’

  We went back to my bedroom and searched the cage. Fuzzy was nowhere to be seen. I checked under my bed and Mum looked behind the dresser.

  ‘Are you sure the cage door was locked and the lid down all night?’ Mum asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘All right, I’ll take a look around today while you’re at school. He couldn’t have gone very far.’

  ‘I’ll stay home and help you look for him,’ Tyrone said.

  Mum shook her head. ‘You’ll go to school as normal,’ she said firmly. She turned to me. ‘Don’t worry, Jinny. I’m sure he’s just hiding somewhere.’

  Despite Mum’s confidence, I did worry about Fuzzy all day at school. The time seemed to drag on forever. After school, Tyrone and I ran home as fast as we could.

  Mum was in the living room looking under the couch. Furniture had been pulled away from the walls and the curtains were lifted onto chairs.

  Mum looked at me sadly. ‘I haven’t been able to find Fuzzy. I’ve been looking all day. I’m so sorry, Jinny.’

  I ran up to my bedroom and threw myself down onto my bed. It was so unfair.

  Mum came in and rubbed my back.

  ‘It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Maybe we can buy another guinea pig when Gary gets some more in. A prettier one even.’

  Tyrone appeared and sat on the end of the bed holding his rocket-shaped piggy bank. He shook the change out onto my bed.

  ‘I’ve only got four dollars and seventy-five cents,’ he said. ‘But you can have it to put towards a new guinea pig, Jiffer.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I sniffed, giving him a hug. He really wasn’t such a bad little brother.

  Suddenly a movement caught my eye. I sat up and looked towards Fuzzy’s cage.

  There, standing on the ramp was Fuzzy, watching us intently.

  ‘Fuzzy!’ I squealed and jumped off the bed.

  Mum looked over and shook her head in astonishment. ‘Well, I’ll be!’ she exclaimed. ‘How did he get back in the cage?’

  ‘Perhaps Fuzzy can walk through wire,’ Tyrone offered.

  ‘I doubt that,’ Mum said. ‘He must have been in there all along. Hiding somewhere I suppose.’

  But I knew better. I had checked every inch of the cage that morning. I looked closely at Fuzzy. He looked just as scruffy and tattered as he did when we bought him yesterday. He wriggled his dirty brown nose at me and with a grunt, walked back up the plank and into his night box.

  The next day I woke early and checked on Fuzzy immediately. He was still curled up asleep in his box. He looked up at me as I raised the lid, then pushed his head into the straw and went back to sleep. It was Saturday and more importantly, it was my birthday!

  I ran to Mum’s room where she was sitting in bed drinking tea. I knew I’d already been given Fuzzy as a birthday present but I secretly hoped there might have been something else as well. Mum put her tea down and opened her arms.

  I jumped into bed next to Mum and snuggled into her.

  ‘Happy birthday, my darling!’ she said with a big smile. ‘I can’t believe you’re ten.’

  Every year on our birthdays, Mum tells us about the day we were born. Apparently I was born two weeks early. Mum was at the supermarket when she went into labour. She always tells the story the same way each time, waving her arms dramatically as she describes the panicked shop attendant trying to get her to the office so she could call Dad. And the ending is always: ‘. . . then I held you in my arms for the first time and I knew I’d love you forever.’

  Even though I had heard the same story every year for as long as I could remember, I never got tired of hearing it.

  Just as Mum finished her story, Tyrone came into the room rubbing sleep from his eyes. He climbed into bed next to me and yawned as he sang the birthday song. Mum reached into her drawer and pulled out a small wrapped box.

  ‘This one’s from your dad,’ she said handing it to me.

  Dad had sent a gold bracelet with small red stones studded into a heart shape.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I said as I slipped it over my wrist.

  Mum nodded and reached back into her drawer. She pulled out a flat, rectangular package.

  ‘I know I’ve already given you a gift but this is something extra,’ she said.

  ‘No fair!’ whined Tyrone. ‘Why does Jinny get extra presents?’

  ‘Because ten is a special age,’ said Mum. ‘When you are ten, you’ll get extra presents as well.’

  I tore the wrapping paper from the gift. Inside was a book on caring for guinea pigs. It was broken into chapters and covered everything from diet to training.

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said. ‘This is great.’

  Mum squeezed me tightly. ‘Now, what does the birthday girl want for breakfast?’

  ‘Ice cream!’ shouted Tyrone.

  ‘Just toast, please,’ I said to Mum. I wanted to get back to my room as quickly as possible so I could spend some time with Fuzzy. I had a strange feeling that he wasn’t like ordinary guinea pigs.

  After breakfast Tyrone and I went up to my bedroom. I laid a towel over my bed covers and placed Fuzzy onto it with a piece of carrot.

  ‘It says in my book that guinea pigs love carrots,’ I told Tyrone as I flicked through the page on guinea pig diet. ‘But Fuzzy doesn’t seem to be interested.’

  Tyrone picked up the carrot and held it by my new pet’s nose. ‘Here, Fuzzy,’ he said. ‘Eat the carrot.’

  Fuzzy turned away and walked to the edge of the bed. He seemed to be measuring the distance to the floor.

  ‘No, no,’ Tyrone said crossly. He pushed Fuzzy back to the centre of the bed and placed the carrot in front of Fuzzy’s nose again. ‘Eat the carrot, Fuzzy.’

  The scruffy ball of fur gave a little cough as though clearing his throat. Then he looked directly at Tyrone and in a clear voice said, ‘My name is NOT Fuzzy, it’s Cooper. I don’t like carrots and if you keep poking one in my face I may be forced to do something that you will regret!’

  Tyrone fell off the edge of the bed with a scream.

  ‘He talks!’ Tyrone yelled. He jumped to his feet and ran to the door. ‘I’m telling Mum!’

  Cooper just sighed as he watched Tyrone run from the room.

  ‘I can’t see what the big deal is,’ he said crossly. ‘Do you see me screaming about how he can talk?’

  I sat there with my mouth open, unable to speak. My book slid off my lap and hit the floor with a thump.

  ‘You dropped your book,’ Cooper said cheerfully.

  I sat and stared at him.

  Was this some kind of joke? Was I being filmed for a television prank show?

  Cooper sat patiently on the bed, watching me.

  I jumped up and checked around my room for any cameras or mic
rophones but found none. I sank back down on the bed and Cooper gave me a little smile.

  ‘Feeling better?’ he asked. ‘You went a bit white for a moment there. I thought you were going to faint or something.’

  ‘You’re a guinea pig . . . and you talk,’ I said slowly.

  Cooper nodded. ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘A talking guinea pig,’ I muttered, still in disbelief.

  ‘You know, I truly expected a better conversation from you,’ Cooper said. He sniffed haughtily. ‘Disappointing really.’

  ‘But guinea pigs don’t talk,’ I replied.

  ‘Most guinea pigs don’t talk,’ Cooper corrected. ‘But then again, most guinea pigs are boring. Do you know, I tried talking to those guinea pigs at the pet shop but not one of them had anything interesting to say? It was squeak this and squeak-squeak that. Utterly dreary stuff.’

  ‘So how can you talk?’ I asked him.

  ‘How can you?’

  ‘I don’t know. It is just something I do.’

  Cooper looked at the doorway.

  ‘Me too,’ he said. ‘But only when I want to.’

  Tyrone burst through the bedroom door, dragging Mum behind him.

  ‘It’s totally amazing!’ he was telling Mum. ‘He actually talks!’

  Tyrone squatted in front of Cooper.

  ‘Okay, Cooper, say something,’ he commanded.

  The guinea pig just looked at him.

  ‘Talk, Cooper,’ Tyrone said sharply.

  Cooper let out two little squeaks.

  Mum laughed. ‘Oh, that is adorable!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ve taught him to talk on command.’

  ‘No,’ wailed Tyrone. ‘He really does talk. Tell her, Jinny.’

  I looked at Cooper who had turned to face me. His small black eyes were watching me carefully.

  ‘It’s a work in progress,’ I said to Mum. ‘I’m hoping to train Cooper to do all kinds of things.’

  Tyrone scowled at me and stomped out of the room. Mum sighed and shook her head. ‘He has such a big imagination,’ she said.

  She scratched Cooper on the back of the head. ‘So you decided not to call him Fuzzy then?’ she asked.

  ‘Yeah, Cooper just seemed to suit him more,’ I replied.