But instead of a number, I thought of a fuzzy caterpillar.
Then I thought of a fuzzy panda bear.
Then I thought of a fuzzy—
Something was tickling my hand!
“Look, Roscoe!” Hazel said. “I found this kitty in the pop-up books!”
I opened my eyes. Hazel was holding a tiny kitten.
A real one.
A real, live BLACK CAT!
7
Hello, Kitty!
I jumped back.
WAY back.
“Hazel!” I cried. “That’s a black cat!”
“Well, duh,” she said.
“Black cats are bad luck!”
“Roscoe,” said Mom, “that’s silly.”
“Uncle Ed says if a black cat walks in front of you, it’s bad luck forever,” I said.
“Sweetie, Uncle Ed is my brother and I love him dearly,” Mom said. “But he can be a little nutty sometimes. He’s the only person I know who owns a pair of lucky underwear.”
“We call this kitty No-name,” said Dan.
He scratched the kitten behind her ears.
You could hear her purring.
It was an awfully nice sound to be coming from such an unlucky animal.
“We found her outside the front door yesterday morning,” Dan said. “We’re hoping someone will want to give her a good home.”
Hazel held out the kitty. No-name rubbed her head on my arm.
“Somebody stop that thing!” I yelled.
I hid behind my mom.
That’s what moms are for, after all.
“Please calm down,” Mom said.
I peeked around Mom. “Why was she rubbing on me?” I asked.
“She wanted to see what you’d taste like,” said Max.
“She was putting her scent on you,” Mom explained.
I sniffed my hand. “I don’t smell anything. Except my peanut-butter-and-banana sandwich from lunch.”
“You can’t smell anything, but she can,” said Mom. “And so can other cats. She’s trying to say, ‘Roscoe belongs to me.’”
“Mom, can we take her home, please?” Hazel begged. “Pleasepleasepleaseplease?”
“I’m not sure if Goofy would like that idea,” said Mom.
Goofy is our big white silly dog.
I do not actually know what his opinion is on cats.
“But Mom, she’s so fuzzy and cute!” Hazel cried.
“I’ll think about it,” Mom said.
Hazel kissed the kitty’s face.
“Hazel,” I warned, “you’re going to have bad-luck germs all over you.”
“It’s time for us to go, Roscoe,” said Mom. “Did you make your guess about the pumpkin’s weight?”
The kitten made a little squeaky mewsound.
“What was that?” I demanded.
“She’s putting a curse on you,” Max said. But he said it too quietly for Mom to hear him.
I grabbed Mom’s arm. “Mom, I really think we should get out of here,” I said.
I didn’t care about the books for the school anymore.
Or even the candy for my stomach.
Not with that bad-luck kitty around.
8
Guesstimating
The next day at school, we learned more about weighing things.
We learned about Greater Than and Less Than.
We learned that a little pumpkin’s weight is greater than a quarter.
We even learned that a medium pumpkin weighs less than Ms. Diz.
The more I thought about weighing stuff, the more I wished I’d taken a guess about the giant pumpkin’s weight.
It didn’t seem fair that a fuzzy, mewing, purring animal with bad-luck germs was ruining my chance at winning.
All day long I thought about that giant pumpkin.
All day long I thought about that black cat.
Heading home on the school bus, I finally came up with the perfect plan.
I could guess that pumpkin’s weight AND keep away from the black cat and her bad luck.
All I had to do was send someone else into the bookstore to write down my guess!
That way, I wouldn’t have to go anywhere near that cat.
I knew just the guy to help me out.
I ran into the house. Dad was doing work stuff in the kitchen.
“How was school, Roscoe?” he asked. He kissed me on top of my head.
I plopped my backpack onto the kitchen table. “We learned all about how to guesstimate weight today.”
“Estimate,” Dad said. “Cool. How much do you figure I weigh?”
I thought for a minute. “Greater than a mouse. But less than a monster truck.”
“Not bad,” Dad said.
“I could get a chance for extra practice if you took me back to the bookstore,” I said.
Dad raised his eyebrow. “Not the giant pumpkin again?”
“I didn’t get to guess last time,” I said. “Cause of the bad-luck kitty.”
Dad checked his watch. “Hazel and your mom are at Mommy and Me Music, so you and I have to pick up Max after his softball practice. I suppose we could stop at the bookstore on the way.”
“You’re the best dad in the whole entire metropolitan area,” I said.
They say that on TV a lot.
“Why, thank you,” said Dad.
“Dad, do you believe in superstitions?” I asked.
“Well, I’ve been known to knock on wood when I’m wishing for good luck. But I know it doesn’t really bring me luck.”
“Do you have lucky underwear?”
“No. That’s your Uncle Ed’s department.”
“Do you think black cats make you eat green beetles?”
Dad scratched his head. “I’m not sure I’m following you, Roscoe.”
“It’s like this, Dad,” I said. “Would you mind writing down my pumpkin guess while I wait outside the bookstore?”
Dad got an oh-I-get-it face. “Roscoe, your mom told me all about the black cat. If you want to go back to the store, you’re going to have to go inside, kitty or no kitty. Black cats do not cause bad luck.”
“Not unless they cross your path,” I said.
“Roscoe,” said Dad firmly, “that’s just not true. And the only way you’re going to believe it is if you go into that bookstore and see for yourself.”
I hate it when parents give you hard choices.
I like my choices nice and easy.
“Okay,” I finally said. “I guess I can do that. Probably she won’t even be there.”
Just to be on the safe side, though, I knocked on a wooden chair extra hard.
9
The Bad-Luck Magnet
“Wow!” Dad exclaimed when he saw the pumpkin in the window. “You weren’t kidding. That is one big pumpkin!”
“Hello, there!” said Dan. “Back again?”
“My school really needs books,” I said.
“And he really likes candy,” said Dad with a smile. “Matter of fact, so do I.”
“Is No-name around?” I asked.
“I just got here a few minutes ago,” said Dan. “But I haven’t seen her. Maybe someone decided to take her home.”
“My daughter will be disappointed if they did,” said Dad. “She spent all of our dinner begging us to add No-name to our family.”
No No-name was good news. Finally I could concentrate on more important things.
I thought about the world’s biggest pumpkin.
Mr. Page had said it was over one thousand six hundred pounds. He’d shown us a picture of it too.
The bookstore pumpkin was smaller than that. But it was still pretty big.
I thought about the medium-sized pumpkin at school Ms. Diz had weighed.
It was seventeen pounds.
The bookstore pumpkin weighed a lot more than that one.
Finally I felt ready to take a guess.
I wrote down my number:
964
I put
ROSCOE RILEY on my paper. And also my telephone number.
Then I folded up the paper and put it into the plastic pumpkin that held the other guesses. There were a lot of other guesses.
“Good luck,” said Dan. “We’ll be announcing the winner on Saturday morning during the Fall Festival.”
Dad looked at his watch. “We’ve got a few minutes before we have to pick up Max,” he said. “Let’s go check out the kids’ books section.”
That’s where Hazel had run into No-name!
“We should probably go get Max,” I said quickly.
“We’ve got plenty of time,” Dad said.
I followed him very closely down the aisle.
So far, so good.
No No-name.
We passed the picture book part.
And the pop-up book part.
And the books that have a lot of big words and not enough pictures part.
Just as we passed a tall stack of wizard books, I tripped.
My shoelace was untied.
That happens about twenty times a day.
I bent down to tie my shoe.
But somebody else wanted to help.
No-name!
She leaped out of a bookshelf and grabbed my shoelace.
“It’s her, Dad!” I cried.
I could feel the bad luck rubbing off on me.
“Just relax,” said Dad. “She’s only playing. Kittens love string.”
I stood statue still.
“Dad,” I said in a trembly voice, “I will have to burn this shoe. It is totally covered with unluckiness.”
No-name rubbed on me. Right on my lucky red sock.
“Great,” I said. “Now I have bad-luck cat stink all over my red sock.”
Dad grinned. “I think she likes you.”
“Dad,” I said. “We have to get out of here. If she walks in front of us, we are cursed forever. Or for seven years. I’m not exactly sure which.”
Gently Dad pulled the shoelace from No-name’s little claws. Then he picked her up.
“Dad!” I cried. “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m just holding her,” he said. “It’s not like she’s crossing my path.”
No-name made that rumbly purring noise again.
She sounded like she’d swallowed a little toy engine.
It was a good sound. But I knew it was just a sneaky cat trick.
She wanted me to think she was cute so she could cross my path and ruin my life.
“Please can we go now? She’s already unlucked my lucky sock.”
“All right,” Dad said.
I dashed ahead of him down the aisle.
I guess No-name thought I wanted to play catch-the-boy.
She jumped right out of Dad’s arms.
And she ran right after me and my shoelace.
“Help!” I cried. “I’m being chased by bad luck!”
10
Leaves Dropping
I spun around and ran toward the back of the bookstore.
I saw an open doorway and flew inside.
I was in a tiny office. A lady sat at a desk, talking on the phone.
She had a tissue in her hand and a red nose.
She looked very surprised to see me.
“Sweetie, you’re not supposed to be in here,” she said. “This is the office. Are you lost?”
“No, I’m just looking,” I said, because that’s what my mom always says to store helpers.
“Well, just let me finish up this call, and I’ll see if I can help you,” she said.
I peeked out the door.
No-name was waiting for me.
Her tail swished back and forth like windshield wipers.
She was plotting how to cross my path.
I could see it in her shiny green eyes.
The office lady sneezed.
“Yes, I know,” she said into the phone. “She’s a darling kitten, but I’m so allergic. I’m sure someone will take her home on Saturday.”
I heard footsteps. Dad poked his head in the door.
“Roscoe,” he said. “That cat is not going to give you bad luck. But Iwill, if you don’t start listening to reason.”
“Can I help you, sir?” the lady asked.
“Just collecting my son,” Dad said.
He took my hand and pulled me out of the office.
No-name sat in the aisle, swishing her tail and waiting for her chance to curse me.
“Run, Dad,” I yelled.
I rushed toward the exit as fast as I could.
No-name rushed after me.
Just as I reached the front door, it swung open.
A boy carrying a strawberry milkshake came in.
I crashed into him.
He crashed into me.
The strawberry milkshake crashed into my T-shirt.
No-name took one look at the mess and ran the other way.
I was pink. And milky.
But I’d outsmarted that bad-luck kitty.
“Roscoe, what happened to your white T-shirt?” Mom asked when we got home.
“A strawberry milkshake ran into me,” I said.
“We stopped by the bookstore so Roscoe could take a guess on the megapumpkin,” Dad said. “I met No-name, by the way, Hazel. She is a very cute kitty. Although Roscoe might not agree with me.”
“Can we have her, Dad? Can we, please?” Hazel begged. “I could dress her in my doll clothes and name her Bitsy Boo.”
“Bitsy Boo? You’ve got to be kidding!” Max laughed. “How about Rocky?”
Hazel shook her head. “Nope. She’s a girl and she needs a girl name.”
“Well, call her what you want. But you can’t dress her in doll clothes,” Max said. “Right, Mom?”
“Right,” said Mom. “Cats generally aren’t in favor of playing dress-up.”
“Everybody,” I said loudly, “we can’t get No-name.”
“We’re just considering the idea,” Dad said. “We haven’t made a final decision.”
“But you can’t get her,” I said.
“Roscoe, I told you that black cats are not bad luck,” Mom said.
I took a big breath. “We can’t get her because I heard the lady in the bookstore office say someone was for sure already taking her home on Saturday. I was sort of eavesdropping.”
Hazel’s eyes got wide. “Mommy, what’s leaves dropping?” she asked.
“Listening to a conversation you’re not supposed to be listening to,” said Mom.
“Are you sure about this, Roscoe?” Dad asked.
“Positive,” I said.
At least I was pretty sure that’s what the lady said.
Maybe not exactly sure.
But kind of sure.
And besides, I didn’t want my family to have bad luck move in with them.
Shoelace-grabbing, cute-purring, big-eye-blinking bad luck.
Hazel’s eyes got wet with tears.
“But I wanted her to be my kitty!” she sobbed.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” said Mom. “If we decide to get a kitty, there are lots of sweet cats at the animal shelter.”
Goofy trotted over to Hazel. He tried to lick her tears.
She blew her nose on Mom’s shirt.
She looked so sad.
“Hazel,” I said. “Maybe…”
“Maybe what?” Hazel asked, sniffling loudly.
“Um, never mind,” I said.
I was not exactly sure what I was going to say.
Maybe I was going to say that maybe I wasn’t really sure about No-name being taken already.
Maybe.
But I guess I’ll never know, because I didn’t say it.
11
And the Winner Is…
Saturday morning the town square was full of people.
Main Street was closed for the Fall Festival. No cars could go there, but people could.
I saw dunking for apples. And carved pumpkins. There was even a scarecrow competition.
&
nbsp; But the giant pumpkin was the big attraction.
Somehow those bookstore guys had managed to put it on a big wooden cart. Like a pumpkin wagon.
It sat in the middle of the street at the very top of the hill.
Next to the pumpkin were two giant sacks.
“Look at all that, Hazel,” I said. “Probably one is full of books for the school. And one is full of candy for us!”
But she didn’t answer.
She was still sad about No-name, I guess.
She hadn’t even eaten her pancakes this morning.
Even though Dad had made them in the shape of an H.
A huge crowd had gathered for the pumpkin-winner announcement. We stood behind lots of other people.
I couldn’t see much.
Just the top of Dan the bookstore guy’s head. And half of the giant pumpkin.
Dan picked up a microphone.
It made a screechy sound.
“Folks,” he said, “Hilltop Bookstore is proud to announce the winner of our Guess the Weight of the Giant Pumpkin Contest!”
“Mom, can I go see the pumpkin close-up?” I asked.
“Sure,” Mom said. “Take Hazel with you.”
Hazel and I made our way to the front of the crowd.
Near Dan’s feet, I noticed a cardboard box.
It had holes in it.
Someone had drawn orange and yellow leaves on the sides of the box.
On the front of the box was a sign that said:
Please FALL for me!
No-name the kitten
needs a loving home.
Uh-oh, I thought.
“The winner of our contest will win books for their school library,” said Dan. “Enough to fill this giant pumpkin!”
The box moved, just a little.
“Roscoe, what’s in that box?” Hazel asked. “It keeps wiggling.”
“Today’s winner guessed exactly the right weight,” Dan said.
The box jiggled again.
Hazel yanked on my shirt. “What’s that sign on the box say, Roscoe?” she asked.
Dan opened up a piece of paper.
“With the only correct guess of nine hundred sixty-four pounds, the winner is…ROSCOE RILEY!” Dan yelled.