Kid Power

“That’s right,” I said.

  “My cat has to go to the veterinarian,” the woman said. “And he’s just terrified. I’ve been chasing him around the house all day, and right now he’s hiding in the basement and I can’t get him out, and even if I did, he wouldn’t get into his carrying case and I don’t know what to do. Could you help me?”

  “I sure can,” I said. “What’s your address?”

  “Fourteen Highland Avenue,” the woman said. “Please hurry.”

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” I said. “In the meantime, stop chasing him around. You’re just overexciting him.”

  “All right,” the woman said. “Thank you.”

  I hung up. “Supper’ll be a little late,” I said to Mom. “I just got an emergency call. I have to get a cat into his carrier.”

  “Don’t get scratched,” she said, and flopped out in the chair. I kissed her good-bye, and ran down the block. Highland Avenue was a couple of blocks away, and I sprinted the distance. I would have preferred to walk to give me time to figure out a way of getting some dumb cat into his dumb carrier, but it was an emergency. I found number fourteen and rang the bell. A woman opened the door.

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Janie Golden from Kid Power.”

  “I’m Mrs. Blake,” the woman said. “My cat’s still in the basement. I’ve tried calling to him, but he won’t budge. I’ve already called the vet to say I’ll be late, but I simply have to get him there before five.”

  I looked at my watch. “That gives us plenty of time,” I said. “Where’s the carrier?”

  “On the kitchen table,” she said. “I just had him in it when he realized what was happening, and he made a run for the basement. I’d forgotten the basement door was open. There are a thousand hiding places there. I couldn’t possibly find him there unless he wants to be found.”

  “What’s the cat’s name?” I asked. Somehow that seemed a sensible question to ask.

  “Peachy,” the woman said. “I’ve had him for ten years now. He’s always hated going to the vet’s.”

  My father’s allergic to cats and dogs, which is why we’ve never had any. But Grandma’s had cats, so I know something about them. “What does your cat like to eat?” I asked.

  “Cat’s Cravings Cat Food,” she said. “Peachy just loves their tuna flavor.”

  “Does Peachy like to eat?” I asked.

  “He loves to,” Mrs. Blake said. “Why?”

  “Where’s your can opener?” I asked.

  “On the counter,” she said.

  I walked over to the counter. “Make sure the basement door is open,” I instructed her. “And if Peachy comes out, make sure you close it fast.” I pressed down on the can opener and listened while it made its whirring sound.

  Sure enough, a fat orange cat bounded up the basement steps and into the kitchen. Mrs. Blake slammed the basement door behind him, but Peachy realized he’d been tricked, and ran away from both of us up the stairs.

  “At least he’s out of the basement,” Mrs. Blake said, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “I should have thought about that can opener trick.”

  “My grandmother does it when she wants to get her cat in from outside,” I said. “Where do you think Peachy’s gone to now?”

  “Probably under a bed someplace,” Mrs. Blake said. “Should I take the carrier upstairs?”

  I looked at it. Frankly, if I’d been Peachy I wouldn’t have wanted to get into it either. It was a cardboard container with ugly cats sketched on it, and some holes for air. “I don’t suppose you have anything else you could carry Peachy in?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?” she asked and looked at the ceiling as though Peachy might fall through it and land in the carrier.

  “A box or bag,” I said. “Something he doesn’t associate with going to the vet’s.”

  “He does like playing in grocery bags,” she said. “I never thought of taking him anyplace in one though.”

  “It’s worth a try,” I said. “The vet’s isn’t very far away, is it?”

  “Just a few blocks,” she said. “Peachy should be all right in a bag for that long.”

  “Good,” I said. “Does Peachy like catnip?”

  “Janie, I think you’re a genius,” Mrs. Blake said, and walked over to her kitchen cabinets. Out of one she took a grocery bag, out of another a box of catnip. We tiptoed upstairs, trying not to alarm Peachy, but it didn’t work. He was waiting at the top of the stairs, and as soon as he saw us, he ran into one of the bedrooms. I ran after him, hoping I could catch up but I couldn’t. It didn’t seem fair somehow. My legs were longer than his.

  I found him in the second bedroom I looked in. He was hiding under a double bed, right in the middle where it was too far to reach in and grab him. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like he was grinning at me.

  “My poor kitten,” Mrs. Blake said as she came into the bedroom. “The poor darling is so terrified.”

  Peachy didn’t look the least bit terrified to me, but maybe he was the sort of cat who hid his feelings. “Let me have the catnip,” I said. “Do you mind if I spill some of it onto the floor?”

  “Anything,” she said, and handed me the box. “What should I do with the bag?”

  “Put it down by the side of the bed,” I said and got back on the floor. I stared in at Peachy. He winked at me.

  I shook a little bit of the catnip between Peachy and me. If he fell for the can opener trick, I had the feeling he wasn’t too bright and he’d probably fall for the old catnip ruse as well. He did.

  He edged over to the catnip and ate it. I sprinkled a little more, again between him and me. He slid over to it, and ate it as well.

  He was close enough to me so I could reach under the bed and grab him, but I decided to hedge my bet. First I sprinkled a lot of catnip into the shopping bag, and then I rested it on its side. Then I sprinkled some catnip right at the edge of the bed.

  Peachy thought about it, and then greed overcame him. He poked his head out and sniffed around until he located the catnip. Just as he started to eat it, I started petting his back. I could hear him purr.

  I grabbed him carefully under his belly, and before he knew what hit him, I put him in the bag and put the bag upright. Mrs. Blake rushed over and took the bag from me. She held it tightly on top, so that Peachy couldn’t climb out, but loose enough so air could get in. I don’t think he would have wanted to climb out anyway. He was purring pretty loud by then.

  “I don’t know how to thank you,” Mrs. Blake said as she carried Peachy downstairs. I could hear his purring turn into gentle snores.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “That’s what Kid Power is for.”

  We went back to her kitchen, and while she held Peachy in his bag, she fumbled with her pocketbook and took out her wallet. “Here,” she said and handed me two dollars. “Thank you for a job well done.”

  “I only charge a dollar,” I said, and tried to give her one of the bills back.

  “Keep it,” she said. “You deserve it, and besides I don’t have time to argue. Thank you, Janie.”

  “Thank you,” I said, and opened the kitchen door for her. She walked over to her car, and I started back for home. Two dollars for chasing a cat around for ten minutes. No wonder people become animal trainers.

  Chapter Five

  Mrs. Blake called me the next morning to thank me again and ask if I could come over every morning for a week to help her get five pills down Peachy’s throat. That’s what the vet had prescribed for him, and Mr. Blake wouldn’t help at all. “He gets nervous around Peachy,” Mrs. Blake said. I felt a little guilty charging a dollar a morning, but Mrs. Blake remembered that was my rate and offered to pay it, so I said sure. I made a point of stopping on my way to Mrs. Blake’s to see if Mrs. Edwards needed anything. Mrs. Edwards usually didn’t, but I could tell she was glad for the company, and I made a point of staying for a little bit and visiting. I’d always liked Mrs. Edwards, and I enjoyed talking to her. She told me sh
e was glad to have somebody checking on her daily as well.

  So I decided that when I stopped Kid Power, and I figured I probably would when school started, I’d make sure to check on Mrs. Edwards anyway. I didn’t tell anybody about my resolution, but it made me feel better when she gave me my money at the end of each week.

  With the $7.00 I’d earn from Mrs. Blake and the $2.50 from Mrs. Edwards, and $2.00 from Mrs. Marks for working on Harriet’s wardrobe (my grandmother never made me clothes that nice) and $5.00 from Mr. Townsend, that was a practically guaranteed $17.50 in a single week. Of course some of the jobs I liked more than the others. Mrs. Edwards was always fun; she was my favorite. Getting Peachy to take his pills was kind of a drag. Mrs. Blake held him down, and I shoved the pills down his throat, then rubbed his neck to make sure he’d swallow, only sometimes he wouldn’t, and I’d have to keep shoving and rubbing. It never took more than ten or fifteen minutes, but I earned my dollar. Peachy was even worse than I was about taking medicine, and I hate taking medicine.

  I didn’t much like working for Mrs. Marks. I resented all that modeling, and the more I heard about Harriet, the less I liked her. She got A’s in everything, and was a Girl Scout, and won her school spelling bee three years in a row. I complained one night to Mom about Harriet, and Mom said she was sure that when Grandma talked about me, I was every bit as perfect-sounding, but that was no comfort. Harriet didn’t have to put up with Grandma, after all.

  But it wasn’t even listening about Harriet that bothered me so much. It was a feeling of being used somehow. For fifty cents an hour, I stood around while Mrs. Marks pretended I was her granddaughter. I tried to explain how I felt at supper one night, but Dad decided I was being exploited and used it as an excuse to tell Carol and me again about the struggles of the working classes.

  Saturday morning the phone rang, and I picked it up. “Hello?” I said. I’d been adding up my money for that week, my favorite Kid Power job.

  “Is this Kid Power?” a woman asked.

  “It is,” I said and felt that little rush in my stomach I always got when someone new called.

  “Do you do dog walking?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, still feeling good about Peachy. Sure, he was a cat, but an animal was an animal.

  “Oh good,” the woman said. “I need someone to walk my dog twice a day for the next week. Ten minutes a walk. Can you manage that?”

  “Certainly,” I said. “That’ll be a dollar a day.”

  “Fine,” the woman said. “My name is Mrs. Hodges, and I’m at 22 Lincoln Drive.”

  I wrote down the address.

  “Why don’t you come over at one?” she said.

  “Fine,” I said and hung up. I spent the rest of the morning doing nothing. It felt good after all my activity.

  At 12:45 I left for Mrs. Hodges’, and I arrived there right on time. With a ten-speed bike, I’d be able to get to my different jobs much faster. That certainly was an argument for using the money I’d be earning for a new bike.

  Mrs. Hodges let me in. “Sugar is feeling a little chipper right now,” she said. “A little frisky, but you should be able to control her. She just loves people.”

  I immediately got nervous. I don’t know that much about dogs. My father’s allergic to everything except goldfish, and Gran only had cats. I’d thought Sugar was going to be one of those cute little dogs, a poodle maybe, but instead she turned out to be nearly as big as I was. She also bore a strong resemblance to a wolf.

  “Nice sized dog you have there,” I said, trying to sound unscared.

  Mrs. Hodges put the leash on Sugar and handed her over to me. “She really is very fond of people,” she said. “But she doesn’t like other dogs very much. So if you can avoid any contact with them, do.”

  “Sure,” I said, and took the leash. We went out the back door, and walked on the driveway to the sidewalk. I didn’t much care which direction we went in, so I let Sugar pick. She chose right, so I went with her. Every few feet she paused and sniffed bushes, trees, or the ground. She went to the bathroom twice and sniffed some more after that. I had just about decided it was time to turn around and go back, and was trying to figure out the best way of convincing Sugar of that, when across the street, a little Scottish terrier spotted Sugar and me.

  “It’s okay,” I said to Sugar and tried to turn her around.

  But it was too late. The scottie crossed the street barking frantically and jumped on Sugar. The two dogs started screaming and fighting.

  I pulled on Sugar’s leash, but she broke away from me. I thought she’d kill the scottie, they were fighting so hard.

  At first I just stood there not knowing what to do. I was scared to jump in and pull the dogs apart. What if one of them bit me? Or both of them? I didn’t know what dogs did when they got mad, but I was sure it wasn’t pleasant.

  So I shouted “Help!”

  Sure enough, a man came charging out of the house the scottie had been in front of. “Ginger!” he cried and ran across the street. He jumped right in and pulled the dogs apart. He grabbed Ginger and held her, then untangled Sugar from her leash, which he gave me. “You stupid dog,” he said to Ginger, while I tried to get Sugar under control.

  “Ginger jumped right on her,” I said. “Sugar was just minding her own business.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” he said. “Ginger gets very upset when she sees another dog. I shouldn’t have let her out untied.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “They both seem to be all right,” he said. “No harm done. I’m sorry if Ginger scared you.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, even though I was still trembling. I pulled on Sugar’s leash and dragged her back to Mrs. Hodges. What if Ginger had been a big dog, as big as Sugar? She could have killed her, and I wouldn’t have known what to do to stop them.

  I got back to Mrs. Hodges as fast as I could, and handed Sugar back to her. I didn’t even go in. “I can’t handle this job,” I said. “Sugar’s just too big for me.”

  “Are you sure?” Mrs. Hodges asked.

  “Positive,” I said, even though it was the first job Kid Power had turned down, and I felt perfectly miserable about giving up seven dollars.

  “Well, let me give you what I owe you,” she said.

  “No, that’s okay,” I said. I didn’t feel I deserved it anyway, since I hadn’t been able to keep Sugar out of a fight. Instead I ran home. Running made me feel better, and by the time I got home I felt almost okay. Just a little bit shaky.

  “Lisa called about fifteen minutes ago,” Mom told me when I got in. “She was very upset about something.”

  “Did she say what?” I asked.

  “She didn’t say,” Mom said. “But I’d call her if I were you.”

  So I did. “Hi, Lisa,” I said to her when she picked up the phone. “Did you have a good time at your aunt’s?”

  “Some friend you are,” she said bitterly.

  “What do you mean by that?” I asked nervously.

  “We were supposed to go to the movies today, remember?” she said.

  “We were?” I asked, and thought about it. “Oh that’s right, we were. I forgot all about it.”

  “I called you to remind you, but your mother said you were out.”

  “I was,” I said. “I was walking a dog for Kid Power.”

  “I don’t care about Kid Power. I don’t care how much stupid money you make!” Lisa said. “Isn’t it more important we were supposed to go to the movies together? Isn’t friendship more important than money?”

  I knew she’d been waiting to shout that at me. I think of great things like that to say sometimes, but I usually don’t have the chance or forget what I’m supposed to say when the chance comes. “Calm down Lisa,” I said. “I forgot. I’m sorry. How was the movie?”

  “I didn’t go,” she grumbled.

  “No? Why not?”

  “Because I would have had to take my brother,” she said. “And he would have
cried and made an idiot of himself, and I would have had to take him home right in the middle of the movie, and Mom would have blamed me for taking him to a scary movie in the first place. That’s why.”

  “I’m really sorry I forgot,” I said. “Can we go next week?”

  “You’ll probably be too busy next week,” she said. “Making more precious money.”

  “Oh, cut it out,” I said. “You’re just jealous because I’m taking care of Mrs. Townsend’s garden and you’re not.”

  “I am not jealous,” she said. “I thought you were my best friend.”

  “I am your best friend,” I said.

  “Then how come you forgot all about me?” she asked.

  “You’ve forgotten about me too sometimes,” I said.

  “I never have,” she said. “Name once when I forgot about you.”

  I thought about it for a moment. Lisa never forgot anything. When we were seven, I told her red was my favorite color, and when I was ten, she gave me a red pen for my birthday. Just because it was my favorite color. By then green was my favorite color, but I never had the heart to tell her. “So you have a better memory than I have,” I said. “That doesn’t mean I’m not your best friend.”

  “Face it, Janie,” Lisa said. “All you care about is making money. That’s all you ever talk about anymore. Money, money, money. You’re a regular old Midas.”

  “I am not,” I said.

  “You are too,” she said. “Go count your money and see how much fun that is.”

  “You’re just jealous,” I said again.

  “I’ll tell you one thing I’m not jealous of,” she said. “There’s something I think you should know.”

  “What?” I asked, more scared than mad.

  “Remember those bugs you thought were so cute?” Lisa said. “They’re Japanese beetles. They’re going to eat Mrs. Townsend’s garden until it’s nothing but holes, and then you’ll be sorry. Good-bye, Janie.”

  “Good-bye to you, too,” I said angrily, and slammed down the phone. Mom, who’d been sitting in the kitchen pretending not to be listening, stopped pretending. “You two have a fight?” she asked.

  “Shut up,” I said, and stormed out of the kitchen. I went up to my room and looked at the envelope where I’d been keeping my money. I had wanted to count it, just to see how much I’d earned, but thanks to Lisa, I was no longer in the mood. So instead I stayed in my room until suppertime and read. I didn’t enjoy it very much because every time the story got boring, I started thinking about Lisa. I almost called her again, but then I decided not to. Let her call. She was the one who insulted me. I hadn’t said anything except to apologize. If she was any kind of friend, she’d just laugh and say it was okay. Let her be the one to call.