Читать книгу ‘Stop in the name of pants!’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 50

And I mean that quite literally because my cat Angus (also known as a killing machine) is pretending my foot is a rabbit. In a sock. If I even move it slightly, he leaps on it and starts biting it.

Also, ouch and double ouch. I can’t get into a comfy position to take the pressure off my bum-oley. I think I may have actually broken something in my bottom. I don’t know what there is to break, but I may have broken it. I wonder if it is swollen up?

Then I heard the phut phut of the mighty throbbing engine that is my vati’s crap car. Carefully easing my broken bottom off the bed and slapping at Angus, I went downstairs. Angus was still clinging to my sock-rabbit-foot even though his head was bonking against the stairs.

As I got to the hall I heard the front door being kicked. Oh good, it was my delightful little sister.

“Gingey, Gingey, let me in!!! Let me in, poo sister.”

Then there was squealing, like a pig was being pushed through the letter box.