Mallory and the Ghost Cat Read online

  “That’s why Uncle Joe’s been acting weird?” asked Vanessa.

  Dad nodded. “It probably explains most of his behavior,” he said. “For example, the reason he’s never learned your names is because people with Alzheimer’s disease have a very hard time with short-term memory. They can remember things that happened years ago, but not things that happened this week.” He gave a big sigh. “I think he’ll be better off in a more stable, quiet environment.”

  “We can be more quiet!” said Nicky. I could see that he was worried by how sad Dad seemed, and he wanted to try to make things better.

  Dad smiled. “I know,” he said. “And I know that you’ve been trying really hard to make this visit work out. But what’s happening is nobody’s fault. And we have to do what’s best for Uncle Joe.”

  Margo asked one last question. “Will Uncle Joe ever get better?”

  Dad shook his head, looking sadder than ever. “Probably not, honey,” he said. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure he’s comfortable and well-taken care of.”

  I had been thinking for days about what had happened the last time I was at the Craines’. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about those letters we’d found. Kennedy Graham had been such an odd, reclusive man, but he’d come to love that cat so much. So much that, even after it died, he heard it meowing! The lonely man, the white cat, the meowing from the attic — it gave me the creeps, to tell you the truth. And I started to wonder (now please, don’t think I’m totally nuts) if maybe Ghost Cat really was a ghost.

  Could it be? Could Ghost Cat and Tinker be one and the same? I’ll tell you, I had a few strange dreams, just from thinking about the possibility. But you know what? I was kind of glad for the distraction, glad for something besides Uncle Joe to think about.

  Anyway, one night I had a brainstorm. If I was having a ghost problem, or at least a possible ghost problem, the person to talk to was Dawn. She is fascinated by ghosts. In fact, she’s sure that there may be one living in this secret passage in her house. (Dawn’s house is really old. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were several ghosts living in it!) Dawn reads everything she can about ghosts, and she knows an incredible amount about different types of ghosts and what they do.

  When I called Dawn, she immediately grew excited by my idea. “What we have to do,” she said, “is run some tests on Ghost Cat. Tests that will prove whether he really is a flesh-and-blood cat, or if he’s something else.”

  Her voice sounded so creepy when she said “something else.” “Um — do you know how to do tests like that?” I asked. The idea made me a little nervous.

  “Sure!” she said. “No problem. When do you want me to see the cat?”

  I gulped. “Well,” I said. “I’m supposed to sit at the Craines’ on Thursday afternoon, and I guess —”

  “Great!” she said. “I’ll be there.”

  So that’s how Dawn came to be with me at the Craines’ house that Thursday afternoon. I had called Mrs. Craine the night before to make sure it was okay if a friend visited with me (I didn’t mention the G-word at all), and she had said it was fine with her.

  The girls were excited about having two sitters that day. And they liked Dawn right away. “Hi, Dawn!” said Sophie. “Want to come see my room?”

  “No, my room!” yelled Margaret.

  “Play with Barbie B.?” asked Katie shyly, holding out her favorite doll.

  “You should be honored,” I whispered to Dawn. “Not too many people get to play with Barbie B.”

  “Barbie B. looks just like any regular Barbie to me,” Dawn whispered back.

  I nodded. “She is. But she’s pretty special to Katie.” Then I raised my voice. “Margaret! Sophie! Come over here. We have something to tell you. We’re going to play a really fun game today,” I continued as they huddled close to me and Dawn.

  “What?” asked Sophie.

  “We’re going ghost-hunting!” I announced.

  “Yay!” yelled Margaret.

  “Oh, boy!” shouted Sophie.

  Katie beamed. They loved the idea. I’m pretty sure they are too young to be truly afraid of ghosts. Plus, they’ve all seen the Ghostbusters cartoon, so they know that hunting ghosts can be fun and exciting.

  “Dawn is our ghostbuster,” I said. “She’s going to make sure that if there are any ghosts in this house, they’re taken care of.” I didn’t want to bring up the idea that Ghost Cat was under suspicion — at least, not yet.

  “What do we do first?” asked Sophie.

  “Let’s show her the attic,” suggested Margaret.

  “Great,” said Dawn. “Ghosts love attics.”

  We headed upstairs, flashlights in hand. The girls began to give Dawn a tour of the attic.

  “There’s the table Ghost Cat was hiding under when we first saw him,” said Margaret.

  “And there’s the hat box where we found the letters,” said Sophie.

  “Right, the letters,” said Dawn. “I’d like to see those.” She was holding something in her hand and peering at it as she shone the beam of her flashlight over it.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “A thermometer,” she said. “I just wanted to check on the temperature up here. A lot of times there will be a distinct chill in the air when ghosts are present.”

  “Oh,” I said, impressed. Dawn seemed so — so professional.

  After a little while, Dawn said she’d seen enough, so we trooped back downstairs. Margaret ran to find the letters, while Dawn took a break from ghostbusting to play a quick game of patty-cake with Katie.

  “Here they are!” said Margaret, waving the letters in the air as she came back into the room. “And here’s a picture of that weird Kennedy Graham.”

  “He wasn’t so weird,” I said, feeling defensive. I guess I was thinking of Uncle Joe. “He was just old — and lonely.”

  “Let’s see the letters,” said Dawn. She read through them quickly. “Hmmm …” she said. “I wonder …”

  “What? What?” asked Margaret and Sophie.

  “I wonder if Ghost Cat really is a ghost cat!” Dawn said.

  I’d known it was coming, but the girls were taken by surprise. Their eyes lit up.

  “A real ghost?” asked Sophie.

  “How do we find out if that’s true?” asked Margaret.

  Some kids might have been scared, but not these two. Even Katie was excited, although she was too young to know what was going on. She banged a spoon against her high chair. “Dost!” she cried.

  Dawn was in her element. “Well,” she said, “there are some tests we can do. First, we’ll check the temperature in that laundry room —”

  “Hey, I just thought of something,” interrupted Margaret. “How can that cat be a ghost? He’s a cat! Aren’t ghosts always people?”

  “Nope,” said Dawn. “In fact, this book I just read said that up to twenty percent of all ghosts are animals, or even objects. And the most common animal ghosts are dogs and cats!”

  “Wow!” said Margaret, in a hushed voice.

  “Anyway,” said Dawn, “as I was saying, first we’ll check the temperature in there. Cooler temperatures can indicate ghosts. Then we can test for the presence of ectoplasm with this meter.” She reached into the knapsack she’d brought with her and pulled out a weird little box covered with dials and knobs.

  “Where did you get that?” I asked.

  “I sent away for it,” she said. She admired it for a moment. “It was advertised in the back of a Ghostly Tales comic book.”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t sure that what she was holding was much of a scientific tool. It looked as if it was made out of cardboard. Heavy-duty cardboard, but still cardboard.

  “Well, let’s get started!” I said. Dawn could probably talk about ectoplasm levels all day, but personally, I was ready for action.

  We opened the door of the laundry room cautiously, expecting Ghost Cat to dash out. But by that time, he had started to feel comfortable in ther
e. He was curled up on top of the dryer, and he glanced at us with mild curiosity when we came in.

  Dawn looked closely at Ghost Cat. “Hmmm …” she said, making a few notes in the little book she was carrying. “He doesn’t seem to be transparent at all.”

  “What does transparent mean?” asked Sophie.

  “It means like plastic wrap,” explained Margaret. “Like when you can see through something.”

  “Ghost Cat isn’t like plastic wrap!” said Sophie indignantly.

  “Right,” said Dawn. “But some ghosts are. It’s just one of the things to check for when you’re looking for ghosts.” She was taking the temperature in the room and marking it down in her book. Then she held up her ectoplasm meter, pointing it toward Ghost Cat. She adjusted a few knobs, checked and re-checked the dials, and adjusted the knobs again. She frowned as she looked at the main dial. “No reading,” she said. She banged her hand against the side of the box, then checked the dial again. “Hmph,” she said, putting the box down. “I can’t tell whether it’s working or not.” She seemed disappointed. “Oh well, what can you expect for five ninety-nine?” She gave the box a little kick.

  “What’s next?” asked Margaret.

  “Well,” said Dawn, “The next thing I think we need is to take a picture.” She pulled a Polaroid camera out of her knapsack.

  Margaret pulled Sophie and Katie in front of the sink. “Say cheese,” she instructed her sisters. She gave Dawn a big smile. What a ham!

  “A picture of the cat, you silly!” said Dawn.

  “Oh,” said Margaret, clearly disappointed.

  I gave Dawn a Look.

  “Well, I guess we can take a picture of you guys, too,” said Dawn. She pointed the camera at the girls and the flash went off. Then she took a picture of the cat. He still didn’t move, just sat there blinking after the flash.

  We waited for the pictures to develop, and then Dawn put them side by side. “Look!” she said. “The picture of the cat is lighter and less focused!” She sounded really excited. “This could be important!”

  I hated to bring her down, but I had to point something out. “I think it’s just because the one of the girls has had more time to develop,” I said. And sure enough, by the time I’d gotten the words out, the picture of the cat had become strong and clear.

  “Well,” said Dawn. “This isn’t looking good. I mean —” She corrected herself. “I mean if you happened to be hoping for a ghost,” she said. “I’m sure you girls would be happier if he was just a regular cat, right?”

  Margaret nodded.

  “I have one more test,” said Dawn. “Actually it’s two tests in one. But this will prove once and for all whether or not this cat is a ghost.” She shooed the rest of us out of the laundry room, but left the door open so we could see what she was doing. Then she took a little plastic bag out of her knapsack and sprinkled some white powder on the floor. “Flour,” she explained, before we could ask. “If he’s a ghost, his footprints won’t show.” Then she reached back into her knapsack and came up with some thumbtacks and thread. She strung the thread across the lower part of the door, holding it in place with the thumbtacks. “A ghost would go through the string without breaking it,” she said.

  She stepped carefully out of the laundry room. “Now all we have to do is get him to come out of there,” she said.

  “I know how to make him come!” cried Margaret. She ran for his box of kitty treats. Then she shook it outside the door, and the cat came running. He ran right through the flour, leaving big, clear footprints. Then he broke through the string. Margaret gave him a treat. “Good kitty,” she said, patting him.

  “I’m glad he’s not a ghost,” said Sophie. She and Katie bent to pat his head.

  Dawn and I looked at each other. I could see that Dawn was disappointed. Then I saw her frown. “What’s that noise?” she asked. I stood still and listened. A meowing sound. Coming from upstairs. Dawn raised her eyebrows. A shiver ran down my spine. And then the phone rang.

  “Hello?” I asked, grabbing the phone. My heart was beating fast.

  “Hello, I’m calling about your ad in the paper — the ad about the white cat. I’m sure he’s mine. Has he got a small nick in his right ear?” The man’s voice was brusque. He almost sounded rude.

  “Yes!” I said. I’d noticed that nick when I was looking at the picture Dawn had taken.

  “His name is Rasputin,” the man said.

  “Well, you can come and get him tonight,” I said. (Mrs. Craine had told me not to let anyone who might answer the ad come by while I was baby-sitting. She wanted to be home when a stranger arrived.)

  “I can’t,” said the man shortly. “I’m out of town. But I’ll be there in two days’ time.” He hung up without saying good-bye.

  Well, that was weird. If this guy was out of town, how did he see the paper? And couldn’t he get here sooner, if he really missed his cat? But I didn’t have time to worry about my questions. We needed to clean up the flour before Mrs. Craine got home!

  I was beginning to feel as if I was living two lives. When I was at the Craines’, all I could think about was Ghost Cat, and Kennedy Graham, and mysterious meowing sounds, and strange phone calls. When I was at home, all I could think about was Uncle Joe. I’d gone to the library to try to find out a little more about Alzheimer’s disease, and what I found out made me feel sad.

  The disease is kind of a mystery, so far. Nobody knows exactly what the cause of it is, and nobody knows how to treat it, either. It’s a degenerative disease, which means that it usually just keeps getting worse and worse. I felt so bad for Uncle Joe. I hoped he wasn’t too aware of what was happening to him. I knew he’d had a long, full life, and I knew the people at Stoneybrook Manor would take good care of him. Still, it was really sad.

  Saturday was going to be Uncle Joe’s last day at our house. Mom and Dad were going to be out all morning. The people at Stoneybrook Manor had asked them to come in for a conference before they brought Uncle Joe back. The doctors and nurses wanted to know everything Mom and Dad could tell them about his condition and his state of mind.

  Jessi had come over to help me baby-sit that morning. I was glad. She’d never met Uncle Joe and this would be her last chance. Also, I hadn’t been able to spend much time with her lately, and I’d missed her.

  “I loved A Wrinkle in Time,” she said, as soon as she walked in the door. “I just finished it this morning.”

  I’d told her about that book as soon as I’d finished it, because I knew she’d like it as much as I did. It’s great having a best friend who loves to read. We’re always recommending books to each other, and we have so much fun talking about them. There’s something special about reading a great book and then discussing it with someone you like; it makes you appreciate the book — and your friend — in new and interesting ways.

  “Wasn’t it great when Meg was with Aunt Beast?” I asked. “That was one of my favorite parts.”

  “Mine, too,” said Jessi. “And then when she figured out how powerful her love for her family could really be.”

  Just then Uncle Joe wandered into the hall where we were still standing. He gave Jessi a quizzical look. She glanced at me, suddenly nervous, but then she got hold of herself.

  “Hello, Mr. Pike,” said Jessi. “My name is Jessi Ramsey. I’m glad to meet you.” She smiled, but didn’t stick out her hand to shake his. I’d told her about Claud’s experience and she’d obviously remembered it.

  Uncle Joe nodded to her. He didn’t smile, but he wasn’t frowning, either. “I believe I’ll go to my room now,” he said to me. “I’ll pack my belongings and I may also take a short nap.” He still sounded as formal and polite as the day he had arrived. And, apparently, he still hadn’t learned my name. Now I at least knew why.

  “Okay, Uncle Joe,” I said. “Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

  He nodded again. “You’re very kind,” he said. Then he turned and left.

  I wat
ched him walk away. Then I raised my eyebrows at Jessi. “Very kind?” I said. “That’s the first time he said anything like that.”

  “He doesn’t seem so bad,” Jessi replied. “I mean, he didn’t say anything nasty, and he didn’t seem confused or anything.”

  “He has his good days and his bad days,” I said. “But he’s never really nasty, exactly. Just … just not very tactful, I guess.”

  “My grandmother was kind of like that,” said Jessi. “I used to think she thought that because she was old she didn’t have to be polite anymore. She’d say the most hurtful things, like ‘My, haven’t you gotten fat,’ to my mother, or ‘Losing your hair pretty quickly, aren’t you?’ to my father. It used to make me so mad. I felt like saying mean things back to her, about her wrinkles and stuff. But then, after I’d spent some more time around her, I figured out that she only said those things because she wasn’t comfortable making small talk. She didn’t know what to say, so she’d just say the first thing that came into her mind. She didn’t mean to be nasty or rude.”

  I thought for a minute. “It’s pretty easy to make snap judgments about people’s personalities, isn’t it?” I said. My family had been so ready for the Uncle Joe Dad had described that the real Uncle Joe had been a shock. But maybe we still didn’t know who Uncle Joe truly was. Finding that out would take time, and that was something we didn’t have. I realized that we’d probably never get to know him now.

  Boy, I was really having some heavy thoughts! But it’s hard to get too philosophical in the Pike household. Someone usually interrupts you.

  “Hi, Jessi!” shouted Nicky as he ran into the hall. “Guess what?”

  Jessi smiled at him. “What?” she asked.

  “We’re almost ready for the Pike Olympics!” he said. He grabbed her hand and started to pull her along. “Come see!”

  She looked back at me and gave a helpless shrug. I followed as Nicky led us into the rec room. “Oh, my lord!” I said, when I saw what my brothers and sisters had done to the place. There were upturned chairs in the middle of the room. The rug had been rolled up and Margo was walking along it as if it were a balance beam. The couch pillows were strewn all over the floor, and some were in towering piles.