I chose a can of King Kat Liver ’n’ Beef. I spooned a quarter of it into his bowl. Then I poured in a little milk and stirred it up. Can you believe it? Milk actually isn’t very good for cats, especially male cats, but it isn’t bad for kittens. And Tigger is so little that I need to mix the grown-up cat food with something to make it mushier.
I set his dish on his place mat, his special cat mat that says FOOD PLEASE. Then I called him again.
No Tigger.
“I know you’re hiding,” I said loudly. “Aren’t you hungry?”
No Tigger.
“All right. I’ll just have to look for you.”
In our house are a million places where a kitten could hide. There are also several where a kitten could get stuck. Twice, Tigger has been snoozing in the laundry room when the doors somehow swung closed on him. I marched to the laundry room. The doors were closed! Goody.
“Tigger!” I called.
I opened the door. No Tigger.
Sometimes he climbs onto a high place, such as the mantelpiece over the fireplace, and then can’t get down. I checked the mantelpiece. No Tigger.
Okay. It was time for a room-by-room search. In a room-by-room search, I look through each room thoroughly. If I don’t find Tigger in one room, I close the door to the room (if it has a door) and go on to the next one.
I began upstairs. I searched the bedrooms and the bathrooms. I didn’t see Tigger, so I closed the door at the head of the stairs and ran down to the first floor.
I was on my hands and knees looking under a chair when I heard my father calling me.
“I’m here, Dad!” I replied. “In the living room.”
I backed away from the chair and stood up.
“What’s going on?” asked my father. He crossed the room and gave me a kiss. “There’s water on the stove but the burner isn’t on, and there are vegetables all over the table. It looks as if you stopped in the middle of making dinner.”
“Sorry. I guess I did. I can’t find Tigger. And I’ve looked everywhere for him. Well, everywhere inside. He’s never missed dinner.”
“I guess we better search for him outside then,” said Dad.
I gave Dad a grateful look. “Right now? That would be terrific.”
“I’ll go get the torches.”
The torches are these gigantic flashlights we have. Each is bright enough to light up New York City.
I put a jacket on and Dad found the torches. He handed one to me and we went outside.
“Ti-i-i-igger! Ti-i-i-igger!” we called. We walked all around our yard. We shone the lights under bushes, up trees, in shrubbery. The longer we looked, the worse I felt. There was this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I had swallowed a pebble and it had grown into a rock. Now it was growing into a boulder.
Dad must have seen me looking discouraged, because he said brightly, “I’ve got an idea,” and ran inside. When he came out, he was carrying two of Tigger’s toys. He gave me one, and we walked around the yard again, this time shaking the toys so that the balls jingled.
“Come play! Ti-i-i-igger, come play!”
No Tigger. (The rock had just about reached boulder proportions.)
“Dad!” I called, and he came running around the side of the house. “I don’t think he’s here. I really don’t.”
My father put his arm around my shoulders. “Maybe not. Maybe he’s off on an adventure. Anyway, I don’t think there’s any point in looking for him outside now. It’s too dark. Besides, if he were around here, he would have come to us by now.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“So let’s go in.”
Dad and I went into a house. A huge lump was forming in my throat. Maybe it was that boulder.
“I suggest we go on and make ourselves a nice dinner,” my father said cheerfully. “If Tigger’s off enjoying himself, then we might as well enjoy ourselves.”
I looked at Tigger’s bowl. The food was starting to congeal and the milk was turning brown. Tigger probably wouldn’t eat it tonight. How sad.
Dad saw me looking at the dish and said, “When I was growing up, our next-door neighbors had a cat who disappeared at least once a week. He just liked to take trips.”
“But Tigger is so little,” I replied. I turned on the burner under the pot of water, while Dad began cutting up the tomatoes and cucumbers and celery and carrots for our salad. He didn’t look worried. How come I felt so worried? Because I’m a worrywart, that’s why.
We ate our dinner. Well, Dad ate his dinner. I tried to eat mine, but all I could get down were three mouthfuls of salad.
“Mary Anne,” said my father, looking at my full plate, “what time is it?”
“Seven-thirty?” I answered. (Why was he asking? He was wearing his watch.)
“And when was the last time you saw Tigger?”
“Just before five-thirty.”
“So he’s only been missing for two hours,” Dad pointed out. “He could be taking a nap somewhere, for all we know.”
“He did have a pretty exciting afternoon,” I said slowly. “Lots of visitors. And he does sleep soundly.”
“I’ll say,” said Dad. “He could sleep through a tornado.”
I felt cheered up. I felt so cheered up that I called Dawn and said, “You’ll never guess what. Tigger is off taking a nap, and he’s hidden himself so well that Dad and I can’t find him!”
Dawn giggled. She likes Tigger stories. Then she said, “Okay, my turn. You’ll never guess what. Our parents are going out again.”
“They are? Dad didn’t say anything.”
“Well, it’s no big deal. They’re just going to a parents meeting at school together. But that’s something, isn’t it?”
“Sure,” I replied. “That’s something.”
Dawn and I talked for the exact ten minutes that I’m allowed. Then we hung up. Then she called back. We talked for ten more minutes. That’s one way of getting around Dad’s telephone rule without actually breaking it.
After the second call, we hung up for good, though. I didn’t want to press my luck. I watched some TV. I read two chapters in this really great book called A Swiftly Tilting Planet, by Madeleine L’Engle. I checked over my list of weekend homework assignments. And then I looked at my watch. Ten o’clock! Not only was it almost time to go to bed, but Tigger had been missing for four and a half hours.
I marched into my father’s den, where he was doing some paperwork.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but do you think Tigger has been taking a four-and-a-half hour nap?”
“Hmm?” Dad looked bleary-eyed.
“It’s ten o’clock. Do you know where Tigger is?” I said.
Dad didn’t get the joke, but he did look vaguely surprised. “Still missing, is he? Mary Anne, he’ll turn up. He’s just gone off on a jaunt. Cats do that, you know.”
I wasn’t convinced, but I went to bed anyway. I left my window open in case he turned up outside and began mewing. Then I lay down in bed. But I couldn’t go to sleep. How could I sleep with Tigger missing? And he was missing, just like Dad had said.
He had disappeared.
At eleven-thirty, my father went to bed. I know because I was still awake. I knelt on my bed and looked out the window. I couldn’t see anything, though. The sky was still overcast, so the clouds covered the moon.
I lay down again. At last I went to sleep. I woke up at one-thirty, thinking I heard mewing.
“Tigger? Tigger?” I called softly.
Nothing. I must have dreamed it.
The same thing happened at ten minutes past three, at 4:45, at 6:20, and at seven-thirty, when I finally decided to get up.
I ran down to the kitchen. “Is Tigger back?” I asked my father. He was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper.
This time he looked more worried than surprised. “No,” said Dad. “He’s not.”
I sank into my chair. Now what?
Dad had fixed pancakes for breakfast an
d I tried to eat them, but I couldn’t. Instead, I excused myself from the table, went to my room, got dressed, then went out to search the yard. The clouds were gone and the day was sunny and bright, but I couldn’t find Tigger. I was glad there were no bodies in the road or under high trees, but … where was he?
All morning, I watched for Tigger and worried. When afternoon came, I realized I would have to leave for Logan’s to baby-sit. It was the last thing I wanted to do. But Dad would be home. He could watch for Tigger. And with any luck, by the time I got back, Tigger would be back, too.
“Ah-choo! Ah-choo! … AH-CHOO!”
Sneezing was the first sound I heard when Kerry opened the door for me at the Brunos’ house.
“Hi, Kerry,” I said. I was trying as hard as I possibly could to act normal. “Is that Hunter I hear?”
Kerry nodded. She closed the door behind me. “Poor Hunter. All he does is sneeze.”
“Where’s Logan?” I asked. I was sort of hoping to be able to tell him about Tigger before he left for practice. Until now, I hadn’t felt like talking about it with any of my friends.
“Oh, Logan’s gone already. And, boy, was he in a grouchy mood,” said Kerry, as she led me into the living room. “He hardly talked to any of us.”
“Yeah, he just growled,” added a stuffy voice. “Like this. Grrr. Grrr.”
I smiled. “Hi, Hunter.”
“Hi,” he replied.
I knew Kerry and Hunter pretty well even though I’d never baby-sat for them. I’d just spent a lot of time at their house. And I’d have been looking forward to sitting for them, but now because of Tigger, I was mostly just worrying.
Hunter dragged himself into the living room, sat down on the couch, and sneezed. Kerry handed him a tissue.
“Thack you,” he said. “There bust be sub dust id here.”
I smiled. Kerry and Hunter are a neat brother and sister. They don’t look a thing alike, but they get along great. Kerry looks like Logan. She has his eyes and nose, but unlike her big brother, her hair is very blonde, thick, and straight. Hunter, on the hand, has the same dark-blonde, curly hair as his brother — but his face is completely different. He looks more like his father, while Logan and Kerry look more like their mother.
I was thinking about that when Mr. and Mrs. Bruno came into the living room, wearing their tennis clothes.
“Hello, Mary Anne,” they greeted me.
Mrs. Bruno bent down to look at Hunter. “Oh.” She clucked her tongue. “Now your eyes look bad, too.”
“They’re rudding,” said Hunter pitifully. “They itch.”
Mrs. Bruno shook her head.
“Is there anything special I should do for Hunter?” I asked Logan’s mother.
“Nope,” she replied. “Just the usual. He better stay indoors today. His bedroom would be the best place for him, but I don’t want to coop him up in there. Don’t let him near Logan’s room, though. It’s a mess.”
“A dust factory,” added Kerry.
“And he’s got down pillows,” finished up Mrs. Bruno.
“Is there anything I should give Hunter?” I asked. “Does he have allergy pills?”
“Yes, but he just took them. He’ll be all right, won’t you, pumpkin?” said Mrs. Bruno, cupping Hunter’s chin in her hands.
“Sure,” he replied.
“And don’t forget. I’ll help,” said Kerry. “I’ll tell Mary Anne anything she needs to know. About Hunter or his allergies or —”
“Dear,” Logan’s father interrupted, tapping Mrs. Bruno on the shoulder, “we’re going to be late. We’d better go.”
“Oh, right,” she agreed, and Kerry looked frustrated.
The Brunos left then, Mrs. Bruno calling instructions over her shoulder as they grabbed their tennis rackets and dashed out the back door.
I looked at Kerry and Hunter. I was just about to suggest that the three of us go to Hunter’s room, when Hunter said, “Let’s play hide-ad-seek. That’s a good gabe. We cad all play.”
“Huntie, no!” exclaimed Kerry. “You can’t go running and hiding all over the house. Think of it. The basement.”
“Oh, the basebet,” said Hunter. “Ah-choo!”
“And hiding behind curtains.”
“Curtids. Ah-choo!”
“And lying on rugs and in back of couches.”
“Rugs. Couches. Ah-ah-ah-ah-CHOO!”
“You’d be better off outside,” said Kerry.
“Oh, doe. Dot outside. There’s grass ad leaves ad — ad pollid.”
“Pollid?” I repeated.
“He’s trying to say ‘pollen,’” Kerry whispered.
“Hunter,” I said. “Kerry. Let’s go upstairs. We can play in Hunter’s room. Hunter, you’ll be more comfortable.”
Even though he had wanted to play hide-and-seek, Hunter looked relieved at the suggestion. Poor thing. It must be terrible to be so uncomfortable for so long. The thought reminded me of Tigger. Where was he? Was he uncomfortable? Was he stuck somewhere? Or was he off having the time of his life?
“Bary Adde?” We had reached the upstairs hallway, and Hunter was pulling at my shirt. “Look at our doors,” he was saying. “At Logad’s ad bide.”
I looked. They were closed.
“We have to keep theb closed,” said Hunter thickly, because by roob is dust-free, and Logad’s is —”
“A pigsty,” supplied Kerry. Then she added hastily, “I think I’ll close mine, too. And keep it closed. My — my room doesn’t get cleaned too often.”
She opened the door to Hunter’s room. “You guys go on in,” she said. “I’ll be right there. I just have to do something in my room and then close the door.”
Kerry left. She certainly was being helpful. If all the kids I sit for were like her, my job would be a cinch.
Hunter and I went inside, closed his door — and I drew in my breath. I’d been in his room before, but I’d forgotten just how bare it is. Bare floor, bare walls, no curtains or bedspread or knickknacks. Hardly even any toys. Just a few in his closet. I’d go crazy in a room like his.
Hunter caught me looking around and said brightly, “I have bore toys, but we keep theb dowdstairs.”
“Oh, Hunter, I’m sure you have toys,” I said, a bit too cheerfully.
Hunter plopped down on his bed. “Ah-choo!”
“Bless you,” I said.
“Thack you. Do you watt to doe what I’b allergic to?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, here goes. Dust, bold, pollid, cats, dogs, horsies — well, iddy kide of fur or hair, except people hair. I’b dot allergic to byself.”
I smiled.
Kerry returned then. “What shall we do now?” she asked. “Is there anything I can help with?”
You could tell me why you’re being so helpful, I thought. This was a new Kerry. The old Kerry was perfectly nice, but this Kerry was … unnatural.
“Let’s just choose something to do,” I said.
“Chutes and Ladders?” suggested Hunter. “Cootie?”
“How about Office?” said Kerry. “This could be your office, Huntie. No, wait. Vet. You’re the vet and Mary Anne and I bring our sick pets to you.”
Oh, why did Kerry have to suggest that, of all things?
But Hunter said, “You bead I get to be the vet? Oh — ah-choo! — goody. This is a good gabe.”
“Mary Anne, you’re first,” said Kerry. “I’ll be the assistant. Is that okay with you, Doctor Hunter?”
Hunter nodded.
So I pretended to carry a cocker spaniel into Hunter’s office. “This is Duffy,” I said, giving Hunter a name he could pronounce. “I think he hurt his paw. He’s been limping.”
Hunter held up an imaginary paw. “Huh,” he said. “Just as I thought. Duffy broke his toes.”
“I wonder how that happened?” I couldn’t help saying.
Hunter paused. “He — he bust have accidentally walked idto the side of the bathtub. That’s how Daddy broke his toes.”
>
Kerry and Hunter looked at each other. They began to laugh. Even I laughed, worried as I was about Tigger.
“I’ll go fix us a snack,” Kerry volunteered.
“Well … all right,” I replied. Kerry could be trusted in the kitchen.
She dashed down the stairs. Suddenly I ran after her. “Hey, Kerry!” I called. “Does Hunter have any food allergies?”
“Just wheat. And milk. And strawberries. And seafood.” (Sheesh.) “But don’t worry. I know what he can eat.”
A few minutes later, Kerry walked slowly into Hunter’s room carrying a tray of snacks. We sat on the bare floor and ate. I tried to be extra neat. If Hunter was allergic to wheat and dust, would that make him allergic to cracker crumbs? I tried hard not to leave any around.
When we finished our snack, Kerry helpfully took the tray downstairs and tidied up the kitchen. She returned, and we continued the vet game and then played both Chutes and Ladders and Cootie. We had fun, even though Kerry kept interrupting the game to go do things in her room, but all I could think of was Tigger. Was he home yet? Was he eating from his bowl or curled up in Dad’s lap?
Where was he?
As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Bruno had returned and paid me, I jumped on my bike and made a dash for my house. Logan and I don’t exactly live in the same neighborhood, so the ride took awhile. I knew it was good exercise, but I was impatient. Was Tigger home or not?
I turned into our driveway, flew to the end of it, and tossed my bike down. Then I crashed through our back door, slamming it behind me.
“Dad! Dad!”
“I’m in the den, Mary Anne.”
I ran to the den. “Dad, is he back?” I asked, panting.
All my father had to do was look at me and I knew what the answer was.
No.
“He’s been missing for almost twenty-four hours now,” I pointed out.
Dad nodded.
“It’s time to do something,” I said. I didn’t wait to see what Dad’s reaction to that would be. I just marched into the kitchen. I’m not always great in an emergency, but right now, I knew what to do.
I called Kristy Thomas. Not only is Kristy one of my two best friends, but she’s full of ideas. Good ideas. Plus, she loves pets. She was the best person I could think of to talk to.