Are We Having Fun Yet (Hmmm?) Read online

“So we need to think about Cheer Up Fee Plan No. 7,” said Dylan. “And like I said, seven is a lucky number, so it's bound to work!”

  Huh! The pot-bellied pig outside had a better chance of being asked to present the weather report on telly than we had of coming up with a plan that was bound to work…

  “I KNOW! Why don't we all think of the one thing that cheers us up when we're sad?” Soph suddenly said. “And maybe that would work for Fee too?”

  OK. That seemed like quite a cool idea.

  “You go first, then, Soph,” I told her, while I tried to think of a good answer.

  “Um…”

  Me and Dylan looked at Soph and waited patiently.

  “Errr…”

  Soph was nibbling at her lip and rolling her eyes up at the roof, as if a very good idea might be hiding up there.

  “Hmmm…”

  “I'll go first, then!” Dylan offered, when he realized we could be standing here staring at Soph all day. Or at least till someone came to lock up the cat building for the night.

  “Yeah? So what makes you happy when you're feeling sad, Dylan?”

  “Your dad offering to play PlayStation 2 with me, Indie,” he said. “And me beating him.”

  It made me goose-pimply pleased to hear that – it was great to know that my dad could make my step-brother feel good. (It made me feel goose-pimply weird too, in that slightly-jealous-but-not-really way you get when you don't live with your dad and somebody else does.)

  “That's nice…” I said. “But I don't think Fee will really want to play Play-Station 2 with my dad.”

  “Guess not,” shrugged Dylan. “So what makes you feel better, Indie?”

  I didn't think I could think of anything, when

  there was a blast of a memory from last week.

  One minute I'd been crying, and the next minute, I'd been giggling uncontrollably.

  “I was watching Newsround, and it was so SAD 'cause it was about starving children in the Sudan,” I started to tell my friends. “Next thing, Dibbles wandered into the room and licked my toes till they tickled!”

  Soph and Dylan were sniggering along with me, but they knew – just like I did – that Fee wouldn't really like it if we turned up with Dibbles and told her to get her shoes and socks off.

  “Oh, I know!” Soph finally announced.

  Hurray! Maybe Soph was about to come up with the perfect answer.

  Or maybe not.

  “When I'm miserable, my daddy picks me up and spins me till I laugh so much that I'm nearly SICK!”

  Let me think.

  If me, Dylan and Soph tried to pick Fee up and spin her around, I think she might get hysterical. And I don't mean that in a good way.

  Soph's smile sank away, as she realized her suggestion hadn't come up with anything doable.

  “Oh, Indie … how are we going to cheer up Fee?” she murmured sadly.

  It was then that I got hit by another

  (A BLAM! of an idea doesn't hurt, in case you were worried…)

  “Wait a minute – Fee doesn't need to cheer up!”

  Dylan and Soph both stared at me, unaware of the and reckoning that I'd gone mad.

  They didn't realize that my head was full of dead goldfish.

  (OK, so now anyone reading this will think I've definitely gone mad.) “She needs to be properly gloomy for a while!” I announced.

  Dylan and Soph kept right on staring.

  “Look, when the two fin-rot goldfish died, Mum, me and Caitlin gave them a really nice, sad send-off,” I tried to explain, though I guessed I sounded as muddled as Dylan sometimes did.

  “What d'you mean, a nice, sad send-off?” asked Soph.

  “Well, it's like a funeral.”

  “Yeah, but a funeral sounds really sad and not very nice, Indie,” frowned Dylan.

  “A funeral's the sad part, yes, but then you have this thing called a ‘wake', that's like a happy memories party, where you eat cake and tell funny stories about whoever or whatever's died! And that's the nice part.”

  Me and Mum, we'd done that for the two goldfish … buried them, planted some flowers, played sad music (thanks to Caitlin and her didgeridoo), then ate ice-cream and told funny stories about how goldfish seem to spend half their life pooing.

  “So, you think we should have a ‘wakey' thing for Fee?”

  “For Garfield,” I corrected Dylan. “Yes, 'cause I think Fee needs to be properly sad before she can be properly happy again.”

  So that was the start of it; not so much

  And if that didn't work, then we'd just have to force Fee to play PlayStation 2, spin her round till she was sick, and let Dibbles loose on her toes…

  Thummma-rummmmmmmmmmmmm…

  (That was Caitlin, or her didgeridoo, to be more exact.)

  Ssnnnifffff … snnnniffff…

  (That was Fee, whose nose and eyes were streaming like there was a tap somewhere in her head that couldn't be turned off.)

  Hic! Hic! Hic!

  (That was Dylan, who'd eaten a piece of strawberry shortcake too quickly and given himself the hiccups.)

  Thudda-dudda-dudda!!

  (That was Dibbles's tail, smacking happily against the ground. Like my other two dogs, he was very excited to be in Fee's garden, and didn't seem to realize it was supposed to be a sad occasion.)

  Yep, it was Thursday afternoon, and it was officially Garfield's funeral.

  When we'd caught up with Fee and Mum in the office yesterday and suggested the funeral, Fee's eyes had lit up for the first time in days.

  “We'll do it properly,” I'd said.

  “With sad music?” Fee had asked hopefully.

  “Yes, with sad music,” I'd promised her.

  “And could I read out the poem I wrote about G-Garfield?”

  “Of course. We can have sad music and lovely poems and flowers and everything!”

  Fee had smiled a wibbly smile.

  “We'll all wear something black,” Soph had added.

  “And I'll ask my mum to make something nice to eat for the wakey!” Dylan chipped in.

  Fee had looked a bit confused about the wakey bit, but her eyes had kept right on shining.

  And now here we were, standing around by the side of Fee's garden shed, where her dad had buried Garfield last week.

  The music was very sad: Fee had

  chosen “My Heart Will Go On” from the movie Titanic. Caitlin didn't really know it (she likes LOUD rock music better), but whatever she was playing sounded good and sad anyway.

  Soph had read out Fee's poem about Garfield, and how “nice” and “cuddly” he was (Fee had been too choked up to do it). Soph had her black polo-neck sleeves pulled down so you couldn't see the scratch Garfield had given her that had never quite healed. As for flowers, Mum had cut some roses off our bush in the garden for me to take along. Fee loved their purply-pink colour, but I think Garfield would have liked their sharp thorns better.

  “There…” I muttered, placing the bunch of roses on the ground, as the

  thumma-rumma-rumming didgeridoo tune came to a close.

  “Bye, Garfield,” whispered Fee, leaning over to gently drop a few chocolate cat treats on the ground.

  Uh-oh…

  “Right! Time for the wake!” I said brightly, hooking my arm into Fee's and spinning her round.

  I didn't know which one of my dogs was going to get to the chocolate cat treats first, but Fee didn't need to see that.

  “I'll pour the drinks,” said Soph, hurrying towards the green plastic garden table and the big jug of raspberry and banana smoothie that Mrs Dean had made for us.

  “The – HIC! – shortcake's really

  ace,” said Dylan, pointing to one of the three plates of goodies that Fiona had made and sent along.

  The butterscotch Rice Krispie cookies looked pretty yummy too.

  And so did the jammy cream tarts.

  Mmm … when would it be polite to get stuck in? It was hard to know, since Fee had lost he
r appetite.

  “That was really lovely…” Fee sighed, sort of wistful and happy at the same time.

  “Yes, it was the BEST cat funeral

  I've ever been to,” said Soph, wafting the plate of strawberry shortcake under Fee's nose. With her head lost in thoughts of the funeral, Fee didn't seem to notice that she'd helped herself to a biscuit. And

  yay!

  started to nibble at it.

  HURRAY NO. 1:

  Fee's appetite was coming back!

  HURRAY NO. 2:

  That meant we could all eat!!

  Strawberry shortcakes, butterscotch biscuits and jammy cream tarts quickly found their way to our mouths.

  “Pretty garden, Fee,” said Caitlin, now that she'd put her didgeridoo to one side and come to check out the nibbles.

  “Mmm,” murmured Fee. “Garfield used to love it. He liked to sit on the shed and look around.”

  For small animals to pounce on, I thought quietly to myself.

  “And he liked to balance his way along the back fence,” said Fee, blinking hard. Yeah, balance on the back fence before jumping into your neighbour's garden and eating his frogs, I thought again.

  “And see those rhododendrons over there?”

  Like I said before, Fee knows lots of big words. She's the only person in my class who would know that the huge, leafy bushes she was pointing to were called roady-wotsits.

  “Yeah, I see 'em,” nodded Caitlin, stuffing a whole butterscotch biscuit in her mouth and reaching for another two.

  “He loved crawling under there. It was like his den.”

  More like the graveyard for bits of chewed small things, I thought, but didn't dare say.

  “Cool,” said Caitlin. “I'd definitely like to live here if I was a cat. So when are you going to get another one?”

  Urgh.

  I froze.

  So did Soph and Dylan.

  We looked like we were playing Musical Statues, only with biscuits.

  Why had Caitlin said that?

  I'd told her last night about what had happened at the Paws For Thought Rescue Centre, with Fee getting all upset and everything.

  But I'd thought at the time that Caitlin had been only half-listening – she'd been too busy fishing dead fin-rot goldfish number three out of the tank at the time.

  “Um, Fee doesn't WANT another cat,” I reminded Caitlin hurriedly.

  As soon as I said it, I had a flurry of a thought.

  The one goldfish that was left, he had lacy edges and half a fin, but he was the right colour of orange to make Mum think he wasn't going to die like the others.

  And now he needed a home, especially since he was all alone, without his fishy friends.

  Maybe Fee would feel sorry enough to let her heart melt and be his new owner!

  “NO,” said Fee, suddenly staring hard at me.

  Yikes!

  Had I spoken out loud, and not in my head after all?!

  “I've changed my mind, Indie,” said

  Fee. “Y'know, I think I do want another cat. Actually, I definitely want another one. Caitlin's right – this garden needs another cat or it'll just be a waste!!”

  “Everything fine out there, kids?” Mrs Dean's voice drifted out of the French windows.

  “Yes, Mum,” said Fee, quickly stuffing the last of her strawberry shortcake into her mouth. “But I want to go to the Rescue Centre. RIGHT NOW. Is that OK?”

  “Absolutely!” smiled Mrs Dean, looking very, very happy –

  happy that Fee was happy,

  happy that Fee was eating,

  and happy that Fee seemed keen on getting herself a little kitty.

  “Dylan, you were right – seven is a lucky number!” I whispered to him, as me and Soph started hurrying after Fee.

  Cheer Up Fee Plan No. 7 was going to work after all, even if it had taken a roundabout way to happen!

  Dylan blinked for a second, then broke into a cheeky smile.

  “Yes, it is, isn't it?” he grinned, filling his pockets with one, two, three, four, five, six, seven yummy biscuits before following us inside…

  Caitlin had taken the dogs – and the didgeridoo – home.

  The rest of us were in the Paws For Thought Rescue Centre. (Here's a clue where exactly: Miaow!!)

  SOPH: she was cuddling a wriggling armful of fluff (i.e. three tabby kittens).

  DYLAN: he was holding out a butter-scotch biscuit to an uninterested Persian cat.

  ME AND MUM: we were standing by the closed door of the cat block, watching Fee stroll up and down the cages with Mrs Dean.

  “I was thinking,” I said softly to Mum, “that maybe Fee would like the last fin-rot goldfish too? If it definitely looks like it isn't going to die?”

  “Well, she might have her hands full, if she's going to be taking care of a new kitten, Indie,” Mum pointed out.

  “Yes, but one little goldfish doesn't take a lot of looking after…”

  I mean, One, Two, Three, Four and Five (and Brian the Angelfish) didn't need much more than regular food, some nice swishy fake seaweed to swim in and out of, and an occasional cleaning out.

  “Well, let's just see,” said Mum.

  “Let's just see” … that's one of those things parents come out with instead of just saying “no”.

  But the way I saw it, if Fee had a new cat AND a new goldfish to look after, she definitely wouldn't have time to miss Garfield any more.

  “I want ALL of these!” said Soph, walking carefully over with the cutesome threesome. “Which one do you think Fee will pick?”

  “She might not pick any of them,” Dylan said with a shrug, as he ambled over to join us too.

  He was nibbling at the biscuit the Persian had ignored. I hoped the cat hadn't given it a trial lick first.

  “What do you mean, Fee might not pick one of these?” hissed Soph, so that Fee and her mum didn't overhear. “All the kittens in this place are gorgeous, but these are the MOST gorgeous … est!”

  If Fee had been within listening distance, she would probably have told Soph that there was no such word as gorgeousest, but she was too far away for that.

  Dylan wasn't though.

  “There's no such word as gorgeous-est. And Fee might not choose a kitten anyway. That's what I mean.”

  “Dylan's right,” Mum jumped in, in a small, whispering voice. “Maybe Fee will choose a full-grown cat.”

  “I s'pose,” I nodded, thinking about all the loveable adult cats who were desperate for new homes.

  Yeeeeee-AAR

  RRRRRRGH!!

  The noise – it sounded like a Kung Fu warrior springing into action.

  Instead, it was the sound of a deranged fur-demon flinging himself onto the mesh of its cage door, claws bared and one fang glistening.

  A fur-demon that acted an awful lot like Garfield.

  “Oh, poor puss…” cooed Fee, frowning at the growly, finger-munching cat that had taken a chunk out of her finger yesterday. “It's trying to tell us it wants out, isn't it?”

  I thought it was more like it wanted to tell us that it fancied eating another chunk of Fee's finger, and maybe a chunk of her cheek too.

  “Y'know, I think it's maybe better not to let it out,” Mum said suddenly, zooming over to the growly cat's cage. “This one's a bit, well, feisty. It's bitten and scratched nearly every member of staff here.”

  “It won't bite me. Again, I mean,” said Fee, reaching in and pulling out a startled, grouchy, finger-munching cat.

  It was so startled, it let itself be draped over Fee's arm, and only growled a little bit.

  (Meanwhile, me, Soph, Dylan, Mum and Mrs Dean all looked on, with fingers crossed tightly behind our backs. We were crossing them tightly, wishing that the grouchy cat wouldn't bite Fee again. And I don't know about the others, but I was also crossing my fingers and hoping that Fee

  didn't seriously want to take the cat home with her.)

  “This is the one! I'm going to have this one.

&
nbsp; Please, Mrs Kidd!”

  “Are you sure, Fee?”

  Mum asked her warily.

  “Absolutely!” beamed Fee. “And I will call it Mrs Mumbles!”

  She gave Mrs Mumbles a squeeze.

  Mrs Mumbles hissed.

  I decided instantly that if Mrs Mumbles was going to be Fee's new cat, then I wasn't going to let the fin-rot goldfish anywhere near Fee's house.

  “Um, Fee – the problem is that Mrs Mumbles is actually a boy…” said Mum, frowning an apology Fee's way.

  “I don't care – it's a lovely name,”

  murmured Fee, as she kissed the top of Mrs Mumbles's head and got a low, mean growl in reply.

  Mum looked a bit worried.

  Mrs Dean looked a bit worried.

  Soph and Dylan looked a bit worried.

  But the good thing was that Fee looked

  very, very happy.

  “Mrs Mumbles is perfect!” I told her.

  It wasn't the perfect name, or the perfect cat, but it made perfect sense if this grouchy cat helped get Fee back to normal.

  “Biscuit?” asked Dylan, staring warily at Mrs Mumbles and offering me a strawberry shortcake biscuit at the same time.

  Yes, everything was just about perfect.

  My friend was HAPPY.

  My step-mum made GREAT food.

  And not ALL of the fin-rot goldfish had died.

  Which left one last problem.

  “Mum…” I muttered.

  “Yes, Indie?” said Mum, gazing down at me, with a stray piece of hay in her hair (as usual).

  “Could WE maybe keep the last fin-rot goldfish?”

  Mum broke into a smile.

  “Well, we've got one cat, three dogs, an angelfish and five goldfish. So another tiny mouth to feed shouldn't be too hard. What shall we call it: Six?”

  Mum was thinking of One, Two, Three, Four and Five, of course.