Kitabı oxu: «Pet Detectives»

When Truffle disappeared, Lyndz was really upset. She was late arriving at school, and her eyes were red. Mrs Weaver – our teacher – told her that cats often wander off on their own for a bit, but Lyndz said Truffle always comes in at six o’clock for her kitty crunchies.

“When did you last see her?” Frankie asked.

“Yesterday morning,” Lyndz said, and she sniffed loudly. “She was licking the butter and I shouted at her. Maybe she’s run away because I was so horrible.”

“Yeah!” The M&Ms grinned at each other. “Cruel – that’s what you are! Poor little pussy. She’s run away to live with people who will be kind to her!”

Have I told you about the M&Ms? Their real names are Emma Hughes and Emily Berryman, and they hate us and we hate them. They’re always trying to get one up on us – sometimes they are just so mean.

This time it looked as if they’d been really successful. Lyndz turned her back on them, but I could see her shoulders were shaking. She was blowing her nose really hard. I glared at the M&Ms, and so did Kenny.

“If you think it’s funny making jokes about someone’s lost cat you’re even more lame than we thought you were!” Kenny said.

The M&Ms tried not to grin, but they couldn’t quite stop. Lyndz went on worrying. “It was so cold last night, too,” she wailed. “Truffle never stays out all night. She sleeps on the end of my bed, and keeps my toes warm.”

Frankie put her arm round Lyndz’s shoulders just as one of the M&Ms whispered to the other, and they fell about shrieking with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Frankie asked them.

They didn’t answer, but went on giggling.

Frankie went right up to them, and Kenny went with her.

“Tell us what the joke is!” Frankie said, and she sounded terribly fierce.

Emma stopped laughing. “We were only fooling around,” she said. “I’m sorry if you’re worried.”

They didn’t look sorry at all. “Cats are always going off,” Emily said. “Our cat goes out every night.” She began to snigger again. “We were wondering if your mum thought your cat was a hot water bottle and hung it up in a cupboard!” And then they both laughed all over again.

I wanted to tell Mrs Weaver, but Lyndz said it wasn’t worth it. She said we’d always known the M&Ms were totally pathetic, and the way they were cackling just proved it.

“Take no notice of them,” Rosie said. “If we do it’ll only make them worse.”

I think Rosie was right. She knows quite a lot about how to treat people; I think it might be because sometimes stupid people call her brother names.

The bell went then, and we had to go back into lessons. Mrs Weaver was very nice to Lyndz, which was just as well as Lyndz got all her spellings wrong.

Halfway through the afternoon I saw Frankie pass Lyndz a note.

Lyndz read it while Mrs Weaver was writing something on the board and then she passed it on to me. It said:

Hey! I’ve HAD An IDeA! IF TRUFFLe Isn’T AT Home TonIGHT someone musT HAVe STOLen HeR? so We’LL Be THe sLeepoveR DeTecTIves AnD TRAcK HeR Down!!!!

I looked at Lyndz, and she was sitting up much straighter and smiling at Frankie. I passed the note on to Rosie, and she read it too. Then Kenny got it, and she said “YES!” so loudly that Mrs Weaver turned round.

“Am I missing something?” she asked.

We all tried to look as if we had been working extra specially hard. Of course the M&Ms had to blurt.

“They were passing notes, Mrs Weaver,” Emma said, and she gave us a huge fat horrible smile.

“That’s right, Mrs Weaver,” Emily said. “We both saw them.”

Now, Mrs Weaver usually hates us passing notes more than anything else. She says it’s underhand, and that if we have something to say we should stand up and say it. She says it is really rude, and means we don’t respect her at all. This time, though, she gave Emma and Emily a funny look.

“Thank you,” she said. “If ever I want a report on the private activities in my class I’ll remember to ask you two. In the meantime, however, I suggest you all get on with what you’re doing.”

That squashed the M&Ms! We could hardly believe our luck. We put our heads down and worked really hard until the end of the lesson – which was also going-home time.

When we’d cleared up and put our chairs on the tables, Frankie went straight up to Mrs Weaver. She was holding the note in her hand. She walked right past the M&Ms, and I saw them staring.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Weaver,” Frankie said, “but I did pass Lyndz a note. It wasn’t a bad one, though. You can read it – I just wanted to cheer her up.”

Mrs Weaver smiled at Frankie, and dropped the note in the wastepaper basket.

“I had a feeling it was something like that,” she said. “Don’t do it again, though.” And she went on clearing up, still smiling.

The M&Ms looked as sick as parrots!!!

When we got outside the school gate Frankie let out a loud “WHOOPEE!!!” and we all joined in. Then Kenny said we should give three cheers for Mrs Weaver, so we did that too. (I think it was a little bit louder than it might have been because the M&Ms were walking past exactly at that moment!)

Then Frankie grabbed Lyndz’s arm. “Can you ring us if Truffle’s still missing?” she asked her. “And if she is we’ll make a Grand Plan!”

“Sleepover Pet Detectives!” Rosie said, and she whacked Lyndz on the back in an encouraging sort of way.

Kenny giggled. “We can’t catnap if we’re looking for a catnapper,” she said.

“But we’ll catch the catnapper who’s napping with the cat!” Frankie said.

“We can pore over her paw prints and follow the trail to her tail!” Rosie chipped in.

We all laughed then, even Lyndz.

“I’ll ring as soon as I get home,” she promised.

I’d been thinking while the others were telling jokes. (I’m not very good at being funny.) I wasn’t sure what we could do if we were detectives; I was worrying that we didn’t have things like magnifying glasses and cameras, and all the other things detectives need.

“What exactly will we do?” I asked. “I mean, if she hasn’t come home? Where will we look first?”

Frankie stopped grinning and rubbed her nose. “Maybe we should check out the pet shop. Maybe someone might have found her and thought she was a stray.”

“Wouldn’t they take her to a cats’ home?” Kenny said. “Or the RSPCA?”

“She’s got our phone number on her collar,” Lyndz said, and she began to look unhappy again. “If someone had found her they’d have rung up.”

“Could she have lost her collar?” I asked. Rosie nodded.

“Our cat wriggles out of his quite often. It’s because you mustn’t put their collars on too tight.”