Kid Power (5 page)

“Fine,” she said. “I'll go alone. Just as soon as the swelling goes down.”

“You wouldn't really, would you?” I asked. Somehow I couldn't picture Mom enjoying herself looking at the Rockies all by herself, but I'd never seen her unemployed before. Let alone unemployed with swollen feet.

Mom sighed. “I don't really feel like going anyplace right now except maybe the shower,” she said. “I'm sorry to be so crotchety, but there's only so much rejection I can take in a single day.”

“I understand,” I said, and kissed her on the cheek. “Want me to make supper?”

“Would you, honey?” she asked. “I thought we might have tuna salad tonight.”

“Sure,” I said. Tuna salad was my specialty. “You go up and take a shower, and by the time you come down, supper'll be ready.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said. “You are a magnificent daughter.”

I smiled at her and got up. Just as I did, the phone rang.

“It couldn't possibly be for me,” Mom said. “Answer it, hon.”

So I did. “Hello?”

“Is this Kid Power?” a woman asked. She sounded kind of frenzied.

“Yes, it is,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“This might sound sort of strange,” the woman said. “But your sign said ‘No job too big or small.'”

“That's right,” I said.

“My cat has to go to the veterinarian,” the woman said. “And he's just terrified. I've been chasing him around the house all day, and right now he's hiding in the basement and I can't get him out, and even if I did, he wouldn't get into his carrying case and I don't know what to do. Could you help me?”

“I sure can,” I said. “What's your address?”

“Fourteen Highland Avenue,” the woman said. “Please hurry.”

“I'll be there in a minute,” I said. “In the meantime, stop chasing him around. You're just overexciting him.”

“All right,” the woman said. “Thank you.”

I hung up. “Supper'll be a little late,” I said to Mom. “I just got an emergency call. I have to get a cat into his carrier.”

“Don't get scratched,” she said, and flopped out in the chair. I kissed her good-bye, and ran down the block. Highland Avenue was a couple of blocks away, and I sprinted the distance. I would have preferred to walk to give me time to figure out a way of getting some dumb cat into his dumb carrier, but it was an emergency. I found number fourteen and rang the bell. A woman opened the door.

“Hi,” I said. “I'm Janie Golden from Kid Power.”

“I'm Mrs. Blake,” the woman said. “My cat's still in the basement. I've tried calling to him, but he won't budge. I've already called the vet to say I'll be late, but I simply have to get him there before five.”

I looked at my watch. “That gives us plenty of time,” I said. “Where's the carrier?”

“On the kitchen table,” she said. “I just had him in it when he realized what was happening, and he made a run for the basement. I'd forgotten the basement door was open. There are a thousand hiding places there. I couldn't possibly find him there unless he wants to be found.”

“What's the cat's name?” I asked. Somehow that seemed a sensible question to ask.

“Peachy,” the woman said. “I've had him for ten years now. He's always hated going to the vet's.”

My father's allergic to cats and dogs, which is why we've never had any. But Grandma's had cats, so I know something about them. “What does your cat like to eat?” I asked.

“Cat's Cravings Cat Food,” she said. “Peachy just loves their tuna flavor.”

“Does Peachy like to eat?” I asked.

“He loves to,” Mrs. Blake said. “Why?”

“Where's your can opener?” I asked.

“On the counter,” she said.

I walked over to the counter. “Make sure the basement door is open,” I instructed her. “And if Peachy comes out, make sure you close it fast.” I pressed down on the can opener and listened while it made its whirring sound.

Sure enough, a fat orange cat bounded up the basement steps and into the kitchen. Mrs. Blake slammed the basement door behind him, but Peachy realized he'd been tricked, and ran away from both of us up the stairs.

“At least he's out of the basement,” Mrs. Blake said, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “I should have thought about that can opener trick.”

“My grandmother does it when she wants to get her cat in from outside,” I said. “Where do you think Peachy's gone to now?”

“Probably under a bed someplace,” Mrs. Blake said. “Should I take the carrier upstairs?”

I looked at it. Frankly, if I'd been Peachy I wouldn't have wanted to get into it either. It was a cardboard container with ugly cats sketched on it, and some holes for air. “I don't suppose you have anything else you could carry Peachy in?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” she asked and looked at the ceiling as though Peachy might fall through it and land in the carrier.

“A box or bag,” I said. “Something he doesn't associate with going to the vet's.”

“He does like playing in grocery bags,” she said. “I never thought of taking him anyplace in one though.”

“It's worth a try,” I said. “The vet's isn't very far away, is it?”

“Just a few blocks,” she said. “Peachy should be all right in a bag for that long.”

“Good,” I said. “Does Peachy like catnip?”

“Janie, I think you're a genius,” Mrs. Blake said, and walked over to her kitchen cabinets. Out of one she took a grocery bag, out of another a box of catnip. We tiptoed upstairs, trying not to alarm Peachy, but it didn't work. He was waiting at the top of the stairs, and as soon as he saw us, he ran into one of the bedrooms. I ran after him, hoping I could catch up but I couldn't. It didn't seem fair somehow. My legs were longer than his.

I found him in the second bedroom I looked in. He was hiding under a double bed, right in the middle where it was too far to reach in and grab him. I couldn't be sure, but it looked like he was grinning at me.

“My poor kitten,” Mrs. Blake said as she came into the bedroom. “The poor darling is so terrified.”

Peachy didn't look the least bit terrified to me, but maybe he was the sort of cat who hid his feelings. “Let me have the catnip,” I said. “Do you mind if I spill some of it onto the floor?”

“Anything,” she said, and handed me the box. “What should I do with the bag?”

“Put it down by the side of the bed,” I said and got back on the floor. I stared in at Peachy. He winked at me.

I shook a little bit of the catnip between Peachy and me. If he fell for the can opener trick, I had the feeling he wasn't too bright and he'd probably fall for the old catnip ruse as well. He did.

He edged over to the catnip and ate it. I sprinkled a little more, again between him and me. He slid over to it, and ate it as well.

He was close enough to me so I could reach under the bed and grab him, but I decided to hedge my bet. First I sprinkled a lot of catnip into the shopping bag, and then I rested it on its side. Then I sprinkled some catnip right at the edge of the bed.

Peachy thought about it, and then greed overcame him. He poked his head out and sniffed around until he located the catnip. Just as he started to eat it, I started petting his back. I could hear him purr.

I grabbed him carefully under his belly, and before he knew what hit him, I put him in the bag and put the bag upright. Mrs. Blake rushed over and took the bag from me. She held it tightly on top, so that Peachy couldn't climb out, but loose enough so air could get in. I don't think he would have wanted to climb out anyway. He was purring pretty loud by then.

“I don't know how to thank you,” Mrs. Blake said as she carried Peachy downstairs. I could hear his purring turn into gentle snores.

“It's okay,” I said. “That's what Kid Power is for.”

We went back to her kitchen, and while she held Peachy in his bag, she fumbled with her pocketbook and took out her wallet. “Here,” she said and handed me two dollars. “Thank you for a job well done.”

“I only charge a dollar,” I said, and tried to give her one of the bills back.

“Keep it,” she said. “You deserve it, and besides I don't have time to argue. Thank you, Janie.”

“Thank you,” I said, and opened the kitchen door for her. She walked over to her car, and I started back for home. Two dollars for chasing a cat around for ten minutes. No wonder people become animal trainers.

Chapter Five

Mrs. Blake called me the next morning to thank me again and ask if I could come over every morning for a week to help her get five pills down Peachy's throat. That's what the vet had prescribed for him, and Mr. Blake wouldn't help at all. “He gets nervous around Peachy,” Mrs. Blake said. I felt a little guilty charging a dollar a morning, but Mrs. Blake remembered that was my rate and offered to pay it, so I said sure. I made a point of stopping on my way to Mrs. Blake's to see if Mrs. Edwards needed anything. Mrs. Edwards usually didn't, but I could tell she was glad for the company, and I made a point of staying for a little bit and visiting. I'd always liked Mrs. Edwards, and I enjoyed talking to her. She told me she was glad to have somebody checking on her daily as well.

So I decided that when I stopped Kid Power, and I figured I probably would when school started, I'd make sure to check on Mrs. Edwards anyway. I didn't tell anybody about my resolution, but it made me feel better when she gave me my money at the end of each week.

With the $7.00 I'd earn from Mrs. Blake and the $2.50 from Mrs. Edwards, and $2.00 from Mrs. Marks for working on Harriet's wardrobe (my grandmother never made me clothes that nice) and $5.00 from Mr. Townsend, that was a practically guaranteed $17.50 in a single week. Of course some of the jobs I liked more than the others. Mrs. Edwards was always fun; she was my favorite. Getting Peachy to take his pills was kind of a drag. Mrs. Blake held him down, and I shoved the pills down his throat, then rubbed his neck to make sure he'd swallow, only sometimes he wouldn't, and I'd have to keep shoving and rubbing. It never took more than ten or fifteen minutes, but I earned my dollar. Peachy was even worse than I was about taking medicine, and I hate taking medicine.

I didn't much like working for Mrs. Marks. I resented all that modeling, and the more I heard about Harriet, the less I liked her. She got A's in everything, and was a Girl Scout, and won her school spelling bee three years in a row. I complained one night to Mom about Harriet, and Mom said she was sure that when Grandma talked about me, I was every bit as perfect-sounding, but that was no comfort. Harriet didn't have to put up with Grandma, after all.

But it wasn't even listening about Harriet that bothered me so much. It was a feeling of being used somehow. For fifty cents an hour, I stood around while Mrs. Marks pretended I was her granddaughter. I tried to explain how I felt at supper one night, but Dad decided I was being exploited and used it as an excuse to tell Carol and me again about the struggles of the working classes.

Saturday morning the phone rang, and I picked it up. “Hello?” I said. I'd been adding up my money for that week, my favorite Kid Power job.

“Is this Kid Power?” a woman asked.

“It is,” I said and felt that little rush in my stomach I always got when someone new called.

“Do you do dog walking?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said, still feeling good about Peachy. Sure, he was a cat, but an animal was an animal.

“Oh good,” the woman said. “I need someone to walk my dog twice a day for the next week. Ten minutes a walk. Can you manage that?”

“Certainly,” I said. “That'll be a dollar a day.”

“Fine,” the woman said. “My name is Mrs. Hodges, and I'm at 22 Lincoln Drive.”

I wrote down the address.

“Why don't you come over at one?” she said.

“Fine,” I said and hung up. I spent the rest of the morning doing nothing. It felt good after all my activity.

At 12:45 I left for Mrs. Hodges', and I arrived there right on time. With a ten-speed bike, I'd be able to get to my different jobs much faster. That certainly was an argument for using the money I'd be earning for a new bike.

Mrs. Hodges let me in. “Sugar is feeling a little chipper right now,” she said. “A little frisky, but you should be able to control her. She just loves people.”

I immediately got nervous. I don't know that much about dogs. My father's allergic to everything except goldfish, and Gran only had cats. I'd thought Sugar was going to be one of those cute little dogs, a poodle maybe, but instead she turned out to be nearly as big as I was. She also bore a strong resemblance to a wolf.

“Nice sized dog you have there,” I said, trying to sound unscared.

Mrs. Hodges put the leash on Sugar and handed her over to me. “She really is very fond of people,” she said. “But she doesn't like other dogs very much. So if you can avoid any contact with them, do.”

“Sure,” I said, and took the leash. We went out the back door, and walked on the driveway to the sidewalk. I didn't much care which direction we went in, so I let Sugar pick. She chose right, so I went with her. Every few feet she paused and sniffed bushes, trees, or the ground. She went to the bathroom twice and sniffed some more after that. I had just about decided it was time to turn around and go back, and was trying to figure out the best way of convincing Sugar of that, when across the street, a little Scottish terrier spotted Sugar and me.

“It's okay,” I said to Sugar and tried to turn her around.

But it was too late. The scottie crossed the street barking frantically and jumped on Sugar. The two dogs started screaming and fighting.

I pulled on Sugar's leash, but she broke away from me. I thought she'd kill the scottie, they were fighting so hard.