by Sally Warner
Maybe even a bug.
“Perhaps we should begin dinner with our salad from now on,” Alfie’s dad said, his forehead wrinkling as he thought about it. “That way, it would be sure to be eaten.”
Her scientist-professor father was tall and thin. He wore glasses and kept his hair cut very short. He was always coming up with sensible suggestions like the one about eating salad first, Alfie thought, hiding a sigh. She rearranged the salad on her plate to make her portion look bigger.
Piece of chicken, biscuit, peas, and now—salad.
She glanced up at the ceiling, wondering what Princess was doing.
Enjoying her kitten chow dinner?
Lapping up water with her naturally curly tongue?
Climbing the curtains again? Because that was what she had been doing ever since they got home, Alfie reminded herself, frowning.
Princess showed no interest at all in the cardboard cat tower, no matter how many treats Alfie hid in its corners. Instead, the kitten headed straight for the curtains above Alfie’s desk. Then, using her tiny but very sharp claws, she pulled herself up them—like a small, gray King Kong climbing the Empire State Building.
Then the kitty just hung there—like some weird Christmas ornament.
She was always right out of Alfie’s reach, too, unless Alfie cleared off her desk and climbed up on it to unhook the wiggly gray kitty from the sagging fabric.
Then Princess did it again and again until dinner was ready.
Yeesh!
This had not been the cuddly afternoon Alfie imagined it would be.
And her mom was definitely going to notice shredded curtains if Princess kept this up, Alfie thought, peeking up at the ceiling again.
“What are you staring at?” EllRay asked from across the table. “Is there a spider up there?”
“There had better not be a spider, or it’s going to see some action from your mother,” Mr. Jakes said from the end of the table. He laughed as he cut his piece of chicken.
“If anything, it’s a fly,” Mrs. Jakes said. “Which, by the way, is what happens when you leave the back door open in the summer, children.”
“Not to mention losing all that nice cold bought air,” her husband added.
“Bought air” is what Mr. Jakes called house air that had been either air-conditioned or, in the winter, heated. “At great expense to the management,” he sometimes added.
“The management” was her mom and dad, Alfie knew from past experierience. He was talking about the gas and electric bills.
“I didn’t leave the door open,” EllRay said automatically.
“Me neither,” Alfie chimed in.
And that was when they heard the muffled crash—from Alfie’s room, of course.
Princess.
The kitten had probably knocked over the failed cat tower or pulled off some other amazing acrobatic feat. Or maybe the curtains had fallen down!
“I didn’t hear anything,” Alfie said, way too fast.
“I did. What was it?” Alfie’s mom asked, on her feet in a flash. “Is somebody in the house? Warren, you’d better go take a look.”
“No! It was me,” Alfie said before her dad could dash upstairs with a baseball bat—and discover her furry purry secret.
Because then Operation Kittycat would be over for good.
Finished.
“Done-zo,” as EllRay sometimes said.
And she needed time, Alfie reminded herself—time to be able to show her mom and dad that she was not allergic to animal fur. This was what would allow her to prove her case.
“Yeah,” EllRay said, laughing a little. “It was you, because you can be two places at the same time. Right? You’re just that amazing.”
“No,” Alfie said, trying to match his sarcasm. “It’s because I think I left my daycamp stuff on the edge of my bed. Either that, or it’s because my library books fell over. That’s probably what happened, because I had them stacked crooked on the desk chair,” she added as her mother settled back into her seat.
But Mrs. Jakes was still listening—hard.
And Alfie crossed her fingers under the table, hoping like anything that Princess would settle down.
Please, please, please, she thought.
“Yo,” EllRay said after swallowing a mouthful of honey-smeared biscuit. “It’s like having dinner in a haunted house around here.”
“Don’t say ‘yo’ at the table, sweetie,” his mother reminded him.
“Okay,” EllRay said. “But I read this book once about haunted houses,” he went on. “And if it gets really cold in here all of a sudden, or if the lights go off and there are more weird noises, we should probably do something about it.”
“Right. Like get our heads examined,” his father—Dr. Jakes the scientist—said, grimacing. “Haunted houses,” he added with a laugh. “What next? And our lights aren’t even on, son, so they can hardly go off,” he pointed out. “It’s August. If anyone has left any lights blazing away in this house during daylight hours, they’re going to hear about it from your mother and me. Eat your salad, Cricket,” he added, noticing Alfie’s plate.
And Alfie was so eager to keep dinner humming along smoothly—with no more talk about haunted house noises—that she finished every single bite of salad on her plate.
Even the mysterious parts.
13
Family Rules
“Oh, no,” Alfie groaned.
It was the next morning, Saturday. She wanted to stay home with Princess—but she had to go to the farmers’ market with her mom. It was their weekend ritual, and there was no getting out of it, Alfie knew. Asking to stay home would just make her mother suspicious.
And EllRay and their dad had already left for their morning together, so they couldn’t babysit her.
But a speedy ninety minutes later, Alfie was back from the market.
She had not lingered near the best free samples.
Or begged her mom to buy homemade cinnamon rolls from the bread lady.
Or watched the little kids dance in front of the drummer, secretly wishing she could join in.
And once Alfie had helped her mother carry in the canvas totes and net bags full of plump strawberries, silky-topped ears of corn, tomatoes, clusters of the too-hot radishes her dad loved, and the weird lettuces that would lurk in future salads, she was free to go upstairs to her room.
To Princess.
“I’m home, kitty,” Alfie announced, opening her bedroom door with caution. She squeezed into the room. At once, the sweet fragrance of strawberries lingering in her nostrils fought with the stink of the litter box.
Ew!
No Princess. Where was she this time?
Disguised among the stuffed animals lined up at the head of Alfie’s bed? Smooshed in behind her pillows?
Curled up among the clothes in the hamper?
In the two days Princess had been living at the Jakeses’ house, Alfie had found her sleeping in all three places—when she wasn’t hanging from the curtains.
“Here, kitty-kitty-kitty,” Alfie called out in a tempting way.
“Mew,” came the rusty-sounding reply from her bookcase.
“Oh, Princess-kitty,” Alfie crooned, hurrying over. “How did you climb up there? You little silly.” She plucked Princess from the bookshelf and held her tight against her chest. She tried to remember the way she felt the first time she had held her kitten—the Tuesday before last. Only eleven days ago!
How had her life gotten so complicated in just eleven days?
She hadn’t known much about kittens then, Alfie admitted now—except that she wanted one. And now she was wearing jeans instead of comfy summer shorts because of the tiny scratches that decorated her legs. Princess had taken to climbing up Alfie’s jammie bottoms as if Alfie herself were the cat tower in t
his house.
Her mom would be sure to ask questions if she saw those scratches.
Also, the litter box in the corner was pretty smelly, Alfie admitted silently. And all because of one tiny kitten! Who would have guessed? Her mom was sure to notice before long.
She would have to sneak another bag of gritty little poos downstairs again and hide it in the trash, Alfie told herself, shuddering.
Yuck on top of yuck.
The box needed more litter, too, in Alfie’s opinion. She had only been able to bring home a couple of small bags of it from the Sobels’ house.
Her fourteen dollars wouldn’t last long the way things were going, she thought gloomily.
But there were some excellent things about having a kitten in the house, Alfie reminded herself as she curled up on the bed with her treasure, her prize, her furry Princess. Operation Kittycat had been a success! She wasn’t sniffling or sneezing, for one thing—and that proved she was right about not being allergic to cats.
And Alfie loved being right.
But better than that was the cozy feeling she had whenever she snuggled with Princess—who definitely was not homesick, Alfie assured herself, in spite of the gray kitten’s lonely-sounding mews.
Well, being a little lonely was natural, she thought, reconsidering. Even she, Alfie, had been kind of homesick a couple of times last year in first grade. And at Little Acorns Daycamp this summer—and that wasn’t even a sleep-away camp.
Princess was fun, too. That was another good thing. She loved chasing the end of a feather from Alfie’s craft supplies as Alfie dragged it back and forth across her bedspread.
Also, Princess purred like anything when Alfie petted her.
And this kitten really was a good listener.
“Here’s the thing, Princess,” Alfie murmured, running a finger down her kitty’s silky white vest. “Our family has these rules, see. Only some of them don’t make very much sense. But you’re supposed to follow them anyway.”
Family rules like “No Snacking Before Dinner,” because supposedly that might make you ruin your appetite. But neither she nor EllRay ever had a problem with ruined appetites, Alfie reminded herself now. Not even at a picnic, where potato chips and dip, hard-boiled eggs, and even spicy chicken wings might be devoured before the main part of the meal.
Family rules like “Don’t Ask for Stuff in the Supermarket.” But what if you were just reminding your mom or dad to buy something—like bread? That was asking, wasn’t it?
This would be a good example to use when she got in trouble for breaking the family rule about pets, Alfie told herself. And that was sure to be pretty soon, she realized, frowning.
She petted Princess a little faster.
Some family rules just made sense, of course—rules like “No Swearing,” and “No Spitting or Hitting.” Duh. You almost didn’t even have to say them. And Alfie was absolutely counting on the “Knock Before Entering” rule to help her keep Princess a secret as long as possible.
Her Privacy, Please! doorknob sign was shedding glitter this very moment.
But what about the rule “Clean Up Your Mess”? Look at her mom’s writing desk! Its edges were covered with stacks of papers, either loose or clipped together. Looking at that desk was like staring at a year’s worth of homework jammed into a primary school cubby, Alfie told herself now. Books were piled into small towers on the floor next to her mom’s desk, too.
Alfie wasn’t allowed to leave stuff lying around this way.
So that family rule really meant “Clean Up Your Mess” when her mom was saying it, Alfie thought, getting ready for the argument that was sure to come.
But—she had just plain broken a rule, after all. There was no denying it!
And she was going to have to come clean about it sooner or later.
“Make that later,” Alfie whispered, shoving aside her small, hard lump of guilt for the moment, flopping back on her bed and lifting Princess high in the air. Princess looked like a furry gray starfish if you squinted your eyes, Alfie thought, delighted.
She loved Princess.
And that had to count for something, didn’t it?
14
Take Your Medicine
“Your room or my room?” EllRay asked Alfie the next night, Sunday. Board game night.
“Your room,” Alfie said quickly—because her room had been taken over by one small kitten. Abandoned cardboard boxes meant for the cat tower lay tumbled in the corner. She had moved Princess’s litter box from under her bed to the closet. But now it was stinking up her clothes, even the new things her mom had bought for second grade.
And Alfie did not want to become known as “the girl with the poopy-smelling clothes” when school started. That was not a mark she wanted to have on her imaginary second grade whiteboard.
Alfie’s curtains sagged, but Princess never tired of climbing them—and then hanging like a bat, just out of reach.
It was as if vandals had taken over her once-pretty room, Alfie thought. All that was missing was graffiti on the walls.
“Your room,” Alfie said again.
“I heard you the first time,” her brother told her, leading the way up the stairs. “Want to play that mystery game?”
“Nuh-uh. It kinda gives me nightmares,” Alfie admitted.
“It’s not real,” EllRay scoffed. “It’s just little cartoon guys who are the crime victims.”
“Nightmares aren’t real either,” Alfie pointed out. “I mean, they’re not real things you can touch. But they’re still scary. Let’s play that game where you drop the discs until you get a bunch of them in a row. Only I get to be red this time. What’s for snack?” she asked as EllRay rummaged in his closet for the game.
“Fruit pieces and some weird kind of dip,” her brother told her. “Mom found a recipe. She’s bringing it up in a minute.”
Alfie padded over to his bedroom door and opened it wider, so their mother would know for sure what room they were in. Her furry purry secret was going to be discovered before long, she now knew—but not tonight.
Please not tonight, Alfie thought, because she still didn’t know how she was going to explain Operation Kittycat—and her absolute need for a kitten to love—to her mom and dad.
Half an hour later, she and EllRay were well into their third game. Their fingers were sticky from the fluffy white dip their mom had brought upstairs with cut-up strawberries, bananas, and a pile of paper towels.
And then—
Bam!
The crash came from next-door.
From Alfie’s room.
EllRay jumped. “There’s that ghost again,” he said, laughing.
But only a little.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Alfie said, inspecting one of her red plastic discs as if it might suddenly have changed color.
“You keep saying that,” her brother told her. “Whenever there’s a funny noise.”
“There wasn’t a funny noise,” Alfie quickly insisted. “And anyway, it wasn’t very loud.”
EllRay shot her a look. “Okay, listen,” he said, his voice flat. “What”s going on?”
“Nothing,” Alfie said. “Except—”
Was she really about to say this?
“Except—something,” she told her brother.
Because why not spread the news—and the guilt—around a little? It might make her feel a little better about the whole rule-breaking thing, Alfie told herself.
“Something like what?” EllRay said. “What are you up to, Alf?”
“Do you really want to know?” Alfie asked, her eyes beginning to sparkle.
“Not if it’s gonna get me in trouble,” EllRay said, clapping his hands over his ears.
“Quit it,” Alfie said, tugging at one of his arms. “I know you can still hear me, EllRay.”
; “Okay. Spit it out, then,” EllRay said. “What’s going on in your room? What do you have hidden in there?”
Alfie took a deep, shaky breath. “Close your eyes and I’ll go get her,” she said.
“Her?” EllRay exclaimed. “There’s a girl in your room?”
“Shh,” Alfie said, finger to her lips. “Maybe there is, and maybe there isn’t. Go on, EllRay. Close your eyes.”
When her brother finally did as she asked, Alfie darted off—but was back in a moment with a squirming Princess held tight against her chest.
“Now open your eyes,” Alfie told her brother.
EllRay did, then he blinked a couple of times. “Yeesh,” he said quietly, seeing the gray-and-white kitten for the first time.
“But yeesh in a good way, right?” Alfie said, her heart pounding. “Don’t you just love her? Don’t you want to hold her?” she asked, trying to hand Princess to him in what she hoped was a tempting way. “Isn’t she cute?”
“All kittens are cute,” EllRay said. “That’s their business, being cute. But do Mom and Dad know anything about this?” His arms remained folded tightly against his chest as if he were determined not to touch this kitten even once.
Alfie guessed he didn’t want any kitty-guilt rubbing off on him.
“No-o-o,” she admitted slowly. “And you’re not gonna tell them, either.”
“Because you are,” he informed her.
“Yeah. Someday, I guess,” Alfie agreed. “Maybe after school starts?” She made it a question.
“That’s not for another whole week,” EllRay reminded her. “How long has that cat been living here?”
“Kind of like three days,” Alfie said. “This will be her fourth night. Her name is Princess, by the way. Kitty-kitty-kitty,” she added, rubbing noses with the kitten.
EllRay’s eyes narrowed. “That girl Hanni’s behind all this, isn’t she?” he said, like it was a fact. “She probably bossed you into sneaking this kitten home with you.”
“For free,” Alfie pointed out, hoping this would help her score a few points. “And Hanni doesn’t know I didn’t have permission. I didn’t want to sound lame, like we’re some weird family that doesn’t like pets. And—I just really needed a kitten, that’s all.”