Читать книгу The Good, the Bad and the Bossy (Best Babysitters Ever) - Caroline Cala - Страница 11

But the bonnet is so cute!” yelled Bree. “I don’t understand what your problem is!” She held a glittery blue bonnet in the air, prompting the cat to dig his claws ever deeper into Bree’s second-favourite sparkly pillow.

In the three short days Bree had owned him (the vet had informed them that Veronica was, in fact, a boy cat), Veronica had all but destroyed Bree’s lifelong dream of feline parenthood. He had also, quite literally, destroyed her duvet, her fluffy white rug, her curtains, and everything that once sat on top of her desk.

Despite what Bartholomew had said, this particular sphynx cat had no interest in being hugged. He wasn’t even a little bit cuddly. He didn’t want to socialize with Chocolate Pudding, or with Bree, or really with anyone. He did, however, have a lot of energy.

“I love you!” Bree yelled, close to tears. “Why won’t you let me love you?”

The cat stared at her menacingly, his giant yellow eyes glowing with what anyone who wasn’t Bree would likely identify as pure evil.

Bree pounced on top of him, causing the cat to scratch at her arm. “You’re supposed to want to be held!” she said. “Hugs are good for you!” Somehow, she managed to hold him for just long enough to squeeze the bonnet on to his head and secure it with the little elastic. Veronica made a sound not unlike a baby screaming.

Just then, there was a knock at her bedroom door.

“Bree, lovey?” her mom called from outside the locked door.

“Yes?” Bree called, trying to sound casual.

“I’m picking up Emma and Olivia up from dance lessons, so it’s time for you to hang out with Bailey until we get back. He needs help with his school project.”

“Okay!” Bree called as Veronica ran in manic circles around her.

Bree’s job was to babysit Bailey, especially now that the concert was approaching and she needed the extra money. But so far, it felt virtually impossible. How was Bree ever supposed to see human Veronica if she couldn’t get cat Veronica under control?

“And it’s taco night, so can you also take the stuff out of the fridge? I’ll heat everything up as soon as I’m back.”

“Uh-huh!” Bree said, her voice coloured with fake sunshine.

“Okay! Everything is good with the cat?” Her mom sounded suspicious. How did she always know everything?

“Yep! Everything is great,” Bree said as Veronica went into full-on attack mode with one of Bree’s remaining pillows, sending stuffing flying through the air.

“Okay, then! I’m heading out. Come downstairs, okay?”

“Coming!” Bree said in a singsong voice, as she scrambled to pick up the bits of discarded stuffing and bury them securely in a trash bag.

Veronica meowed, pleased with himself.

Bree sighed.

“Look, I get that you had a rough kittenhood or whatever, but I love you now. You’re safe here. You don’t have to keep acting out. You have food and litter and toys and an entire wardrobe with outfits for every occasion and even accessories.”

The cat meowed defiantly.

“I need you to, like, calm down.”

Veronica blinked one time.

“Can you stay in here and not destroy everything? I have to go downstairs for a little bit to spend time with Bailey. I’m not abandoning you. I’ll come back upstairs soon, okay?”

The cat sauntered in front of the door, daring her to open it.

“No, I need you to stay in here.”

Bree felt very exasperated. She wondered what Taylor Swift would do in this situation. She carried her cats around in the airport and stuff, and they seemed so nice.

Bree had no choice but to resort to bribery. She opened a package of fish-flavoured cat treats and threw one across the room. Veronica bounded after it, his bonnet sparkling all the way. Bree slipped out the door, closing it behind her.

Downstairs, she opened the fridge to find the ingredients she needed for taco night. Tortillas and all sorts of toppings – including her favourite: fish covered with her mom’s signature marinade – sat in foil-covered dishes. Bree took each dish out of the fridge and lined them up on the counter. Bree loved taco night. She felt thankful that it would be a happy ending to what was turning out to be a very stressful day.

Once everything was set up, Bree headed to the family room, where Bailey sat on the couch, watching cartoons, eating popcorn, and having no idea how good his life was. He didn’t have a psycho cat. He didn’t have to hold down a job or even help out around the house. He just got to be nine years old, which seemed like a pretty good deal.

“What are you watching?” Bree asked.

“Danger Duck Detective Agency,” Bailey said, never taking his eyes from the screen.

“Should you really be watching this right now? Mom said you needed help with your project.”

“Yeah, but I’m almost done,” Bailey countered. “It’s a papier-mâché model of the Eiffel Tower. Mom already helped me make the base level and I just have to put another layer of paper on top.”

“Okay, well, then maybe we should finish it together now, quickly, so we don’t have to worry about it,” Bree suggested. “You’ll feel good once it’s done.” She purposefully left out the part where she wanted to get it over with as fast as possible so she could run back to check on her . . . challenging cat.

“Okay. It’s in Marc’s study,” Bailey said with a shrug.

They headed into Bree’s stepdad’s office, where the lopsided, half-finished Eiffel Tower was on top of the desk, surrounded by decidedly less artistic things, like stacks of Marc’s legal papers. Bree spread out the supplies, and they got to work. They were just getting into a good rhythm of layering on the paper strips, when Bailey suddenly looked surprised.

“What’s that noise?” Bailey asked.

“I don’t hear anything,” Bree said.

“It sounds like a goose. Being strangled.”

At that moment, something truly horrible-smelling made its way into Bree’s nostrils.

“What is that?” said Bree, gagging. It was the worst thing Bree had ever smelled. It was even worse than nappies.

“Ewww! That is sick!” Bailey added, covering his nose and mouth with his hands.

They followed the smell out of the study, through the foyer and into the formal living room – the fanciest room in the house, where Bree and her siblings were usually not allowed to go. The scent grew stronger and stronger.

And then, she saw it.

Veronica – sparkly bonnet still on his head – was inside the grand piano. There he stood, perched on the strings of the enormous instrument, where he proceeded to puke directly into it.

“GAK! GAK! GAK!”

“Whoa,” said Bailey. “Mom is going to kill you.”

“VERONICAAAAA!” screamed Bree, sprinting to the piano and trying to grab the cat. But Veronica was too fast. He leaped out of the way and scurried out of the room, flying through the house until he was nowhere to be found.

Bree exited the living room in a stupor, following Veronica’s path of destruction. In the short amount of time she had been with Bailey, Veronica had attacked a dining-room chair and consumed all of the ingredients that were laid out for the family’s fish taco night. Now the thrown-up fish tacos were marinating inside the piano.

“How did he even get out of my room?” Bree wondered aloud.

“Meow!” Bree turned around, hoping to see Veronica. Instead, she saw Chocolate Pudding, the family’s furry orange cat. Chocolate Pudding used to annoy her, the way she was always licking her hind legs and minding her own business. Now Chocolate Pudding seemed so sane. Why, oh, why hadn’t Bree realized how good things were before?

Bree missed her old life from three days ago. She missed doing crafts and seeing her friends and eating snacks and listening to the soundtrack from Cats the Musical on endless repeat in the comfort of her own bedroom. That is, her old bedroom – before a disturbed cat had taken over and turned it from a sanctuary to a stress factory. Bree loved animals; she even loved this animal. But that didn’t change the fact that this whole cat adoption was the hardest thing she had ever done.

After doing her best to clean out the piano (which took more paper towels and more self-control than Bree had wielded before), she searched the house from top to bottom. Veronica was nowhere to be found. With a resigned sigh, she reasoned she might as well return to her other responsibility and go check on Bailey.

She entered Marc’s office to see the tower had grown impressively in size.

“That looks great!” she exclaimed. At least something was going right.

Unfortunately, as she took a closer look, Bree saw the tower had something very, very wrong with it. There were a bunch of handwritten notes and little typed words all over it. Damages . . . compensation . . . loss . . .

Bree gasped as she fully accepted the sinking realization: The topmost layer of the papier-mâché tower was constructed from Marc’s legal papers.

“Bailey! What kind of paper did you use for that?”

“I just took some of the pages from one of those big piles,” he said, motioning to one of Marc’s shelves.

“But that looks like one of Marc’s briefs! It has lawyer words all over it.”

“Don’t worry, I’m going to paint over it,” Bailey said. “No one will see them.”

“That’s not the point. The point is what if he needed that? Marc is going to be super mad!”

“Oh. Do you think that paper was, like, important?” Bailey asked.

Bree covered her face with her hands.

“Can’t he just print a new one?”

“No, it had his notes all over it!”

“Oops?” said Bailey.

Bailey seemed remarkably unfazed by this exchange. Of course, Bree thought, because he could just go back to eating popcorn and being nine and not having to take responsibility for stuff. This was all Bree’s fault, because she was supposed to be watching him. This entire day was a disaster. Before Veronica, babysitting had been the one thing she had under control. Now she suddenly felt like she was failing at everything.

Never one to hide from her problems, Bree sat in the front hallway, waiting for her mom to get home. As soon as she got back, Bree would tell her what happened. Her mom was going to be super mad. But Bree also needed her to tell her what to do.

“Why, hello there, Mom!” Bree said the moment the key turned in the lock.

Emma and Olivia ran past her, flaunting the joyful freedom of being children.

“What’s wrong?” asked her mom, making a suspicious face.

“Who says that anything’s wrong?”

“You. You’re acting very odd right now. Why are you sitting on the floor like that? What happened?”

Bree started to cry. “Veronica-ate-the-tacos-and-puked-in-the-piano-and-Bailey-used-Marc’s-brief-to-make-the-Eiffel-Tower-and-I’m-sorry!”

“Bree.” Her mom looked tired. “Remember what we talked about. Bree, I know you love Veronica, but I need you to get this cat under control! Our agreement was that the cat couldn’t interfere with your ability to help out around the house. Your job is to watch Bailey at least three days a week, and you promised this wouldn’t interfere. This is exactly the kind of situation . . .”

Bree wailed with grief.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” her mom said. “I mean, it’s not okay, but no one is hurt and that’s what’s important.”

“I’m sorry,” Bree said. “Please don’t make me give up the cat.”

She thought of the terrible things he was probably doing to her bedroom at that very moment.

“All right, but consider this a warning,” her mom told her. “We need to get this under control, otherwise the cat can’t stay.”

Bree hoped that she and Veronica could come to an understanding. She wasn’t sure exactly how, but for now, she was willing to be hopeful.