Jessi Ramsey, Pet-Sitter Read online

  “Order, order!” Kristy was saying.

  I had just settled myself on the floor.

  “Wait a sec,” Claudia interrupted. “Doesn’t anyone want something to eat?”

  Remember I said Claudia likes junk food? Well, that may have been an understatement. Claud loves junk food. She loves it so much that her parents have told her to stop eating so much of it. But Claud can’t. She buys it anyway and then hides it in her room. At the moment, she’s got a bag of potato chips under her bed, a package of licorice sticks in a drawer of her jewelry box, and a bag of M&M’s in the pencil case in her notebook. She’s very generous with it. She offers it around at the beginning of each meeting since we’re starved by this time of day. And we eat up. (Well, sometimes Dawn doesn’t since she’s so into health food, but she will eat crackers or pretzels.)

  “Ahem,” said Kristy.

  “Oh, come on. You know you’ll eat something if I get it out,” Claudia told her. Claudia usually stands up to Kristy.

  “All right.” Kristy sounded as cross as a bear, but this didn’t prevent her from eating a handful of M&M’s.

  When the candy had been passed around, Kristy said, “Now are we ready?”

  (She sure can be bossy.)

  “Ready, Ms. Thomas,” Claudia replied in a high, squeaky voice.

  Everyone laughed, even Kristy.

  We talked about some club business, and then the phone began to ring. The first call was from Mrs. Newton. She’s the mother of Jamie and Lucy, two of the club’s favorite sitting charges. Mary Anne scheduled Dawn for the job. Then the phone rang twice more. Jobs for Mal and Mary Anne. I was sort of relieved that so far, none of the jobs had been for next week. I was still looking forward to my week off.

  Ring, ring.

  Another call.

  Claudia answered the phone. She listened for a moment and then began to look confused. “Mrs. Mancusi?” she said.

  Kristy glanced up from the notebook, which she’d been reading. “Mrs. Mancusi?” she whispered to the rest of us. “She doesn’t have any kids.”

  We listened to Claud’s end of the conversation, but all she would say were things like, “Mm-hmm,” and “Oh, I see,” and “Yes, that’s too bad.” Then, after a long pause, she said, “Well, this is sort of unusual, but let me talk to the other girls and see what they say. Someone will call you back in about five minutes…. Yes…. Okay…. Okay, ’bye.”

  Claudia hung up the phone and looked up from some notes she’d been making. She found the rest of us staring at her.

  “Well?” said Kristy.

  “Well, the Mancusis need a pet-sitter,” Claudia began.

  “A pet-sitter?” Kristy practically jumped down Claud’s throat.

  “Yeah, let me explain,” Claud rushed on. “They’re going on vacation next week. They’ve had this really nice vacation planned for months now. And you know all those animals they have?”

  “Their house is a zoo,” Mary Anne spoke up.

  “I know,” Claud replied. “All I could hear in the background was barking and squawking and chirping.”

  “What’s the point?” asked Kristy rudely.

  “Sheesh,” said Claud. “Give me a minute. The point is that the Mancusis had a pet-sitter all lined up and he just called and canceled.”

  “That is so irresponsible,” commented Mallory.

  “I know,” agreed Claud. “Now the Mancusis can’t take their vacation, not unless they find a pet-sitter.”

  “Oh, but Claudia,” wailed Kristy, “how could you even think about another pet-sitting job?”

  “Another one?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” said Kristy. “The very first job I got when we started the club — my first job offer at our first official meeting — was for two Saint Bernard dogs, and it was a disaster.”

  I couldn’t help giggling. “It was?” I said. “What happened?”

  “Oh, you name it. The dogs, Pinky and Buffy, were sweet, but they were big and galumphing and they liked making mischief. What an afternoon that was! Anyway, I swore we would never pet-sit again.”

  “But Kristy,” protested Claudia, “if the Mancusis can’t find a pet-sitter, they’ll have to cancel their dream vacation.”

  Kristy sighed. “All right. Suppose one of us was crazy enough to want to pet-sit — don’t the Mancusis need someone every day?”

  “Yes, for a few hours every day next week, plus the weekend before and the weekend after. They’re leaving this Saturday and returning Sunday, a week later.”

  “Well, that kills it,” said Kristy. “I don’t want any of my sitters tied up for a week.”

  At that, I heard Dawn mutter something that sounded like …well, it didn’t sound nice. And I saw her poke Mary Anne, who mouthed “bossy” to her. Then Mal whispered to me, “Who does Kristy think she is? The queen?”

  All of which gave me the courage to say (nervously), “Um, you know how the Braddocks are going away?”

  “Yes?” replied the other club members, turning toward me.

  “Well …well, um, my ballet school is closed next week, too. Remember? So I’m available. For the whole week. I could take care of the Mancusis’ pets. I mean, if they want me to.” (So much for my week of freedom.)

  “Perfect!” exclaimed Claud. “I’ll call them right now.”

  “Not so fast!” interrupted Kristy. “I haven’t given my permission yet.”

  “Your permission?” cried the rest of us.

  Kristy must have realized she’d gone too far then. Her face turned bright red.

  “Listen, just because you had a bad pet-sitting experience —” Dawn began.

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Kristy turned toward me. “Go ahead,” she said. “You may take the job.”

  “Thank you.”

  Claud called Mrs. Mancusi back, as promised. As you can probably imagine, Mrs. Mancusi was delighted to have a sitter. She asked to speak to me. After thanking me several times, she said, “When could you come by? My husband and I will have to show you how to care for the animals. There are quite a lot of them, you know.”

  After some discussion, we decided on Friday evening, right after supper. It was the only time the Mancusis and I were all free. Since the Mancusis live near my house, I knew that would be okay with my parents.

  I hung up the phone. “Gosh, the Mancusis sure are going to pay me well.”

  “They better,” Kristy replied. “I don’t think Claud told you exactly how many pets they have. There are three dogs, five cats, some birds and hamsters, two guinea pigs, a snake, lots of fish, and a bunch of rabbits and turtles.”

  I gulped. What had I gotten myself into?

  As soon as I saw Mr. and Mrs. Mancusi, I realized I knew them — and they knew me. They’re always out walking their dogs, and I’m often out walking Squirt in his stroller, or baby-sitting for some little kids. The Mancusis and I wave and smile at each other. Until I met them, I just didn’t know their names, or that beside their dogs they owned a small zoo. This is what I heard when I rang their doorbell: Yip-yip, meow, mew, chirp, cheep, squawk, squeak, woof-woof-woof.

  By the way, I am a pretty good speller and every now and then my teacher gives me a list of really hard words to learn to spell and use in sentences. On the last list was the word cacophony. It means a jolting, inharmonious mixture of sounds. Well, those animal voices at the Mancusis’ were not jolting, but they sure were inharmonious and they sure were a mixture.

  The door opened. There was Mrs. Mancusi’s pleasant face. “Oh! It’s you!” she exclaimed, just as I said, “Oh! The dogwalker!”

  “Come on in.” Smiling, Mrs. Mancusi held the door open for me.

  I stepped inside and the cacophony grew louder.

  “SHH! SHH!” said Mrs. Mancusi urgently. “Sit…. Sit, Cheryl.”

  A Great Dane sat down obediently. Soon the barking stopped. Then the birds quieted down.

  Mrs. Mancusi smiled at me. “So you’re Jessi,” she said. “I’ve seen you ar
ound a lot lately.”

  “We moved here a few months ago,” I told her, not mentioning that, in general, the neighbors hadn’t been too … talkative.

  Mrs. Mancusi nodded. “Is that your brother I see you with sometimes?” she asked. (A bird swooped into the room and landed on her shoulder while a white kitten tottered to her ankles and began twining himself around them.)

  “Yes,” I answered. “That’s Squirt. Well, his real name is John Philip Ramsey, Junior. I have a sister, too. Becca. She’s eight. But,” I added, “we don’t have any pets.”

  Mrs. Mancusi looked fondly at her animals. “I guess that makes us even,” she said. “My husband and I don’t have any children, but we have plenty of pets. Well, I should start —”

  At that moment, Mr. Mancusi strode into the front hall. After more introductions, his wife said, “I was just about to have Jessi meet the animals.”

  Mr. Mancusi nodded. “Let’s start with the dogs. I guess you’ve already seen Cheryl,” he said, patting the Great Dane.

  “Right,” I replied. I pulled a pad of paper and a pencil out of my purse so I could take notes.

  But Mr. Mancusi stopped me. “Don’t bother,” he said. “Everything is written down. We’ll show you where in a minute. Just give the animals a chance to get to know you. In fact,” he went on, “why don’t you talk to each one? That would help them to feel more secure with you.”

  “Talk to them?” I repeated.

  “Sure. Say anything you want. Let them hear the sound of your voice.”

  I felt like a real jerk, but I patted the top of Cheryl’s head (which is softer than it looks) and said, “Hi, Cheryl. I’m Jessi. I’m going to walk you and take care of you next week.”

  Cheryl look at me with her huge eyes — and yawned.

  We all laughed. “I guess I’m not very impressive,” I said.

  On the floor in the living room lay an apricot-colored poodle.

  “That’s Pooh Bear,” said Mrs. Mancusi. “Believe it or not, she’s harder to walk than Cheryl. Cheryl is big but obedient. Pooh Bear is small but devilish.”

  I knelt down and patted Pooh Bear’s curly fur. “Nice girl,” I said. (Pooh Bear stared at me.) “Nice girl … Um, I’m Jessi. We’re going to take walks next week.” Then I added in a whisper, “I hope you’ll behave.”

  The Mancusis’ third dog is a golden retriever named Jacques. Jacques was napping in the kitchen. He tiredly stuck his paw in my lap when I sat down next to him, but he barely opened his eyes.

  “Now Jacques,” began Mr. Mancusi, “is only a year old. Still pretty much a puppy. He tries hard to behave, but if Pooh Bear acts up, he can’t help following her lead.”

  “Right,” I said. I tried to think of something creative to say to Jacques, but finally just told him I was looking forward to walking him.

  “All right. Cats next,” said Mrs. Mancusi, picking up the kitten. “This little fluffball is Powder. He’s just two and a half months old. But don’t worry. He knows how to take care of himself. Also, his mother is here.”

  “Hi, Powder,” I said, putting my face up to his soft fur.

  Then Mrs. Mancusi set Powder on the ground and we went on a cat-hunt, in search of the other four. Here’s who we found: Crosby, an orange tiger cat who can fetch like a dog; Ling-Ling, a Siamese cat with a very loud voice; Tom, a patchy gray cat with a wicked temper; and Rosie, Powder’s mother.

  Next we went into the Mancusis’ den, where there were several large bird cages holding parakeets, cockatoos, and macaws.

  “Awk?” said one bird as we entered the room. “Where’s the beef? Where’s the beef? Where’s the beef?”

  Mr. Mancusi laughed. “That’s Frank,” he said. “He used to watch a lot of TV. I mean, before we got him.” I must have looked astonished, because he went on, “It’s natural for some birds to imitate what they hear. Frank can say other things, too, can’t you, Frank?”

  Frank blinked his eyes but remained silent.

  “See, he isn’t really trained,” added Mr. Mancusi. “He only talks when he feels like it.”

  Mrs. Mancusi removed the bird that had landed on her shoulder earlier and placed him in one of the cages. “Often, we leave the cages open,” she told me, “and let the birds fly around the house. I’d suggest it for next week, but most people don’t feel comfortable trying to get the birds back in the cages, so maybe that’s not such a good idea.”

  It certainly didn’t sound like a good one to me.

  I started to leave the den, but Mr. Mancusi was looking at me, so I peered into the bird cages and spoke to Frank and his friends.

  In the kitchen were a cage full of hamsters and a much bigger cage, almost a pen, that contained two guinea pigs. I looked in at the hamsters first.

  “They’re nocturnal,” said Mrs. Mancusi. “They’re up all night and asleep all day. You should see them in the daytime. They sleep in a big pile in the middle of the cage.”

  I smiled. Then I looked at the guinea pigs. They were pretty interesting, too. They were big, bigger than the hamsters, and they were sniffing around their cage. Every so often one of them would let out a whistle.

  “The guinea pigs are Lucy and Ricky. You know, from the I Love Lucy show,” said Mr. Mancusi. “They shouldn’t be any trouble, and they love to be taken out of their cage for exercise.”

  “Okay,” I said, thinking that Lucy and Ricky looked like fun.

  We left the kitchen and walked toward a sun porch. The job, I decided, was going to be big but manageable. I could handle it.

  Then I met the reptiles.

  The aquarium full of turtles wasn’t too bad. I don’t love turtles, but I don’t mind them.

  What was bad was Barney.

  Barney is a snake. He’s very small and he isn’t poisonous, but he’s still a snake. A wriggling, scaly, tongue-flicking snake.

  Thank goodness the Mancusis didn’t ask me to touch Barney or take him out of his cage. All they said was I’d have to feed him. Well, I could do that. Even if I did have to feed him the insects and earthworms that the Mancusis had a supply of. I’d just try to wear oven mitts. Or maybe I could stand ten feet away from his cage and throw the worms in.

  “Nice Barney. Good Barney,” I whispered when the Mancusis stopped and waited for me to talk to him. “You don’t hurt me — and I’ll stay away from you.”

  Next the Mancusis showed me their fish (about a million of them), and their rabbits (Fluffer-Nut, Cindy, Toto, and Robert). And after that, they took me back to the kitchen, where they had posted lists of instructions for caring for each type of animal, plus everything I’d need to feed and exercise them — food dishes, chow (several kinds), leashes, etc. I would be going to their house twice a day. Early in the morning to walk the dogs and feed the dogs and cats, and after school to walk the dogs again and to feed all the animals.

  When I said good-night to the Mancusis I felt slightly overwhelmed but confident. The job was a big one, but I’d met the animals, and I’d seen the lists of instructions. They were very clear. If the animals would just behave, everything would be fine … probably.

  * * *

  Saturday was my test. The Mancusis left late in the morning. By the middle of the afternoon, Cheryl, Pooh Bear, and Jacques would be ready for a walk. After that, the entire zoo would need feeding. So at three o’clock I headed for the Mancusis’ with the key to their front door. I let myself in (the cacophony began immediately), managed to put leashes on the dogs, and took them for a nice, long walk. The walk went fine except for when Pooh Bear spotted a squirrel. For just a moment, the dogs were taking me on a walk instead of the other way around. But the squirrel disappeared, the dogs calmed down, and we returned to the Mancusis’ safely.

  When the dogs’ leashes had been hung up, I played with the cats and the guinea pigs. I let the rabbits out for awhile. Then it was feeding time. Dog chow in the dog dishes, cat chow in the cat dishes, fish food in the tank, rabbit food in the hutch, guinea pig food in the guinea pig ca
ge, bird food in the bird cages, turtle food in the aquarium, hamster food in the hamster cage, and finally it was time for … Barney.

  I looked in his cage. There he was, sort of twined around a rock. He wasn’t moving, but his eyes were open. I think he was looking at me. I found a spatula in the kitchen, used it to slide the lid of Barney’s cage back, and then, quick as a wink, I dropped his food inside and shoved the lid closed.

  Barney never moved.

  Well, that was easy, I thought as I made a final check on all the animals. A lot of them were eating. But the hamsters were sound asleep. They were all sleeping in a pile, just like Mrs. Mancusi had said they would do, except for one very fat hamster. He lay curled in a corner by himself. What was wrong? Was he some sort of outcast? I decided not to worry, since the Mancusis hadn’t said anything about him.

  I found my house key and got ready to go. My first afternoon as a pet-sitter had been a success, I decided.

  Well, it was trouble, as Claudia said, but it wasn’t too bad. I mean, I’m sure we’ve all been in worse trouble.

  Anyway, on Sunday afternoon when I was about to head back to the Mancusis’, Claudia was baby-sitting for Jamie Newton. Jamie is four, and one of the club’s favorite clients. Kristy, Mary Anne, and Claudia were sitting for him long before there even was a Baby-sitters Club. Now Jamie has an eight-month-old sister, Lucy, but Claud was only in charge of Jamie that day. His parents were going visiting, and they were taking Lucy with them.

  When Claudia arrived at the Newtons’, she found an overexcited Jamie. He was bouncing around, singing songs, making noises, and annoying everybody — which is not like Jamie.

  “I don’t know where he got all this energy,” said Mrs. Newton tiredly. “I hope you don’t mind, but I told him he could invite Nina Marshall to play. Maybe they’ll run off some of Jamie’s energy. Anyway, Nina is on her way over.”