Page 88 of Hold the Pickle
I open my bleary eyes. The sun is up. I slept all night.
Mom is looking down at me, a coffee cup in her hand. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I got worried. You came home without calling?”
I slowly pick myself up from the floor, stuffed animals scattered all around.
“Why are you sleeping down here?”
That’s when I notice the open bedroom door.
Now I’m awake. I leap to my feet. “The kittens!” I race across the room and slam it closed. “Where are they?”
“Your big cat is right there,” Mom says, pointing to Cattarina.
Cattarina sits on my pillows, but there are no other cats.
“The kittens! There are four! Plus their mother!” I frantically lunge for the bathroom. Mama Cat is there, licking the empty bowl. She looks at me accusingly, like I forgot to feed her this morning.
I peek in the litter box. No kittens. The shower curtain zips open with a jerk of my hand. Nothing.
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
I re-enter the bedroom. “Did you see them sneak by you when you came in?”
“I don’t think so. You brought kittens with you?”
“Yes, that’s why I’m here. I got kicked out of my apartment after I rescued them.”
“You had an apartment? I thought you were staying with Max.”
Uncle Sherman obviously hadn’t squealed. I kneel to look under the bed. “Yes, for a while. Then I found these kittens. But the complex wouldn’t allow me six cats.”
“You signed a lease?” She’s still confused, but I don’t have time to tell her anything.
“I think they escaped. This house is too big!” I check beneath the dresser and under the edges of the curtains. The closet has been closed the whole time, but I open it anyway.
Mama Cat comes out to yowl at me for her breakfast. I snatch up the bag of dry and pour wildly into several bowls in the bathroom, then resume my search.
“What do they look like?”
“They’re all different. One is white. Another mostly black. Pumpkin is orange. The fourth is gray.”
“Let’s go look then.” She opens the door.
I follow her out, closing it behind me in case they are still inside somewhere.
In the hall, all the doors are open. Court’s room. Rhett’s. Axel’s. The bathroom. Then there are the stairs.
“I’ll take the upstairs, you go down,” I tell Mom.
“Okay, Nadia. Don’t worry. We’ll find them. I’ll tell your father not to go outside until we’ve located them all.”
“Thanks.” I race into Axel’s room, next to mine. It’s plain, as he was almost graduated by the time we moved here, all navy blue and forest green. Only some track trophies and a few nature posters show his personality at all.
I zip through the room, peer under the bed, and listen for any sounds. Nothing.
The bathroom is easy to check. Empty.
Court’s room is even plainer than Axel’s, practically a guest room. He only ever stayed here during college breaks. It’s gray and blue and empty of cats.
