meanness. I mean, the part about how she was waiting to kill me. Plus, I was still worrying about the whole Lady-Serena-maybe-probably-dying part.
When I got home for lunch, though, and was hanging up my coat, Mom came into the mudroom off the garage (which is where she’d decided we kids needed to start coming into the house, now that she knew Grandma was coming to visit at the end of the month. She was hoping it would keep some of our mess contained in one place) and said, “Allie, I just got off the phone with Mrs. Hauser.”
I swear, I think my heart must have skipped two beats at this news.
“And?” I asked, hoping my prayers had been answered and I hadn’t done all that worrying for nothing.
“And this morning at the vet’s office Lady Serena gave birth to six kittens,” Mom said.
I caught my breath. Six baby kittens! “Oh!”
“But,” Mom went on, a serious look on her face, “before you get too excited, they were born way, way too early, and the doctor isn’t sure that they’re all going to make it.”
“Oh,” I said in a different tone of voice, my hopes all fading.
“On the bright side,” Mom said, “Lady Serena is going to be all right. That’s really what matters to Mrs. Hauser. She’s too small a cat to have been carrying that many kittens.”
Well, that was true. Lady Serena was a very fragile, ladylike cat.
“Do you think,” I asked, following Mom into the kitchen, where she was making our lunch of microwaved chicken noodle soup and cheese and crackers, “I could go over to the animal hospital to see the kittens? And Lady Serena, too, of course?”
“Oh, no, honey,” Mom said. “Mrs. Hauser said Lady Serena is in intensive care.”
I couldn’t help feeling more worried than ever. How was I going to be able to choose my kitten? Mrs. Hauser had promised me first pick from the litter. I know it was selfish to be thinking that when they were still so little and sick.
But when I mentioned this out loud, Mom said, “Oh, honey, the kittens are still too tiny to even have opened their eyes. Mrs. Hauser says they’re completely hairless.”
“Like newts,” Mark said cheerfully.
“Shut up,” I said. I was really, really mad at him all of a sudden. “Kittens are nothing like newts.”
“They are when they’re that little,” Mark said. “And have no hair.”
“They are not,” I insisted. “Mom, make Mark stop it.”
“Mark, stop teasing your sister,” Mom said. “Allie, you’re just going to have to be patient about your kitten. Mrs. Hauser is doing the best she can in a bad situation. Now sit down and eat. How was school today so far?”
“Allie lost the fourth-grade spelling bee,” Kevin said conversationally as he shoveled cheese and crackers into his face. “In front of everyone. And a boy named Peter talked to her.”
Fortunately, Kevin didn’t know anything about Rosemary wanting to kill me. He hadn’t overheard that part of the conversation. What little he’d said upset Mom enough. It’s important that, when they ask, you tell your parents some stuff about what happened in school that day. But not everything. Because sometimes if you tell them everything, they call your teacher and complain, and that could makeeverything even worse. This had actually happened to me one time when a kid in second grade kept trying to kiss me on the playground at recess (later I figured out it was because he liked me. Ew. Also, ew ). I told my mom and she called the kid’s mom and his mom took away his PlayStation to punish him and he was so mad about it that at recess he came up and knocked over the stick village I had made for the invisible people who lived in the dirt (I was very immature in the second grade and thought invisible people lived in the dirt on the playground).
So You have to be careful what you tell your mom. At least if she’s the kind of mom who is just going to make things worse , like my mom sometimes does.
This a rule.
Finally, Mom got
When I got home for lunch, though, and was hanging up my coat, Mom came into the mudroom off the garage (which is where she’d decided we kids needed to start coming into the house, now that she knew Grandma was coming to visit at the end of the month. She was hoping it would keep some of our mess contained in one place) and said, “Allie, I just got off the phone with Mrs. Hauser.”
I swear, I think my heart must have skipped two beats at this news.
“And?” I asked, hoping my prayers had been answered and I hadn’t done all that worrying for nothing.
“And this morning at the vet’s office Lady Serena gave birth to six kittens,” Mom said.
I caught my breath. Six baby kittens! “Oh!”
“But,” Mom went on, a serious look on her face, “before you get too excited, they were born way, way too early, and the doctor isn’t sure that they’re all going to make it.”
“Oh,” I said in a different tone of voice, my hopes all fading.
“On the bright side,” Mom said, “Lady Serena is going to be all right. That’s really what matters to Mrs. Hauser. She’s too small a cat to have been carrying that many kittens.”
Well, that was true. Lady Serena was a very fragile, ladylike cat.
“Do you think,” I asked, following Mom into the kitchen, where she was making our lunch of microwaved chicken noodle soup and cheese and crackers, “I could go over to the animal hospital to see the kittens? And Lady Serena, too, of course?”
“Oh, no, honey,” Mom said. “Mrs. Hauser said Lady Serena is in intensive care.”
I couldn’t help feeling more worried than ever. How was I going to be able to choose my kitten? Mrs. Hauser had promised me first pick from the litter. I know it was selfish to be thinking that when they were still so little and sick.
But when I mentioned this out loud, Mom said, “Oh, honey, the kittens are still too tiny to even have opened their eyes. Mrs. Hauser says they’re completely hairless.”
“Like newts,” Mark said cheerfully.
“Shut up,” I said. I was really, really mad at him all of a sudden. “Kittens are nothing like newts.”
“They are when they’re that little,” Mark said. “And have no hair.”
“They are not,” I insisted. “Mom, make Mark stop it.”
“Mark, stop teasing your sister,” Mom said. “Allie, you’re just going to have to be patient about your kitten. Mrs. Hauser is doing the best she can in a bad situation. Now sit down and eat. How was school today so far?”
“Allie lost the fourth-grade spelling bee,” Kevin said conversationally as he shoveled cheese and crackers into his face. “In front of everyone. And a boy named Peter talked to her.”
Fortunately, Kevin didn’t know anything about Rosemary wanting to kill me. He hadn’t overheard that part of the conversation. What little he’d said upset Mom enough. It’s important that, when they ask, you tell your parents some stuff about what happened in school that day. But not everything. Because sometimes if you tell them everything, they call your teacher and complain, and that could makeeverything even worse. This had actually happened to me one time when a kid in second grade kept trying to kiss me on the playground at recess (later I figured out it was because he liked me. Ew. Also, ew ). I told my mom and she called the kid’s mom and his mom took away his PlayStation to punish him and he was so mad about it that at recess he came up and knocked over the stick village I had made for the invisible people who lived in the dirt (I was very immature in the second grade and thought invisible people lived in the dirt on the playground).
So You have to be careful what you tell your mom. At least if she’s the kind of mom who is just going to make things worse , like my mom sometimes does.
This a rule.
Finally, Mom got
Similar Books
