budge. She’s never stalked or killed anything in her life. She doesn’t know that’s the way cats are supposed to hunt food. She is happy to amble into the kitchen and wait for Gran to open her tin of Whiskas. It’s the only exercise she takes all day.
Gran says I’ve got to remember Mabel is very, very old. Mabel has been very, very old ever since I can remember. She was my mum’s cat.
I haven’t got a mum. She died the day I was born. That’s almost all I know. Gran still can’t talk about Mum without her eyes going watery. Even
Grandad
cries. So I don’t talk about my mum because I don’t want to upset them.
I’ve got a dad but I don’t see him all that often because he’s left for work before I get up and he’s nearly always still at work when I go to bed. I once heard Gran say my dad is married to his job. Just so long as he doesn’t marry a real lady. I definitely don’t want a stepmother.
I’ve read all about stepmothers in fairy stories. They don’t have a good image. Laura’s got a step
dad
and she certainly doesn’t think much of him. He’s the one who put poor Dustbin on a diet. He even suggested Laura’s
mum
should go on a diet and made her upset about having a big bottom – which she can’t help.
Thank goodness Dad doesn’t seem interested in any ladies, with big or little bottoms. He hardly ever talks about Mum but he once said she was the loveliest woman in the whole world and no-one could ever replace her. This was a great relief.
I love my dad. He sometimes takes me out for treats on Saturdays, just him and me. For my last birthday he took me all the way on the train to Paris and Disneyland, which was fantastic –
and
he bought me a giant Minnie Mouse doll. I have her in my bed every night. It gets a bit crowded with Mabel as well.
People are sometimes sorry for me because I haven’t got a mum. Sophie once put her arms round me and said it must be so awful. I was bad then and made myself look so sad that Sophie would be specially sweet to me, but I really don’t mind a bit not having a mum. I don’t miss her because I never knew her. The only time
I
get upset is when we go to visit my mum’s grave. It’s very pretty, with a white headstone, and the words
Beloved Wife and Daughter
in curly writing. Gran always arranges freesias in a little vase. They’re my mum’s favourite flowers. I can’t help thinking about my poor mum underneath the pink and yellow flowers and the white headstone in the dark, dirty earth. There are worms. I hate thinking about my mum being buried.
I try to imagine her alive instead. I’ll tell you a very private secret. I sometimes talk about my mum to Mabel, because Mabel doesn’t ever get upset.
I talk and talk and talk about my mum. Mabel listens. When she’s not asleep.
CHAPTER TWO
Where’s Mabel?
WHEN I GOT home from school I ran into the hall and stepped straight into this little mess of cat sick.
‘Y-u-c-k!’
I was wearing open-toed sandals, which made it a
lot
worse. I hopped around going, ‘Yuck Yuck Yuck’ and Gran sighed and hurried me into the kitchen and got a bowl of water and a cloth and some disinfectant.
Mabel was dithering at the end of the hall, hanging her head.
‘Honestly, Mabel! Why do you have to throw up right where I’m going to walk in it? What have you been eating, you naughty cat? You’re disgusting!’
Mabel drooped and slunk away.
‘Yes, you jolly well should be ashamed,’ I said.
‘Don’t be too hard on Mabel, Verity,’ said Gran. ‘I don’t think she’s very well. That’s the second time she’s been sick – and she’s had a little accident too.’
‘Mabel’s always having little accidents,’ I said.
She’s so lazy she doesn’t amble over to her litter tray in time.
‘Mabel isn’t getting any younger, you know,’ said Gran.
‘
You’re
not getting any younger, Gran, but you don’t sick up your food or do little wees all over the place,’ I said, giggling.
‘You
Gran says I’ve got to remember Mabel is very, very old. Mabel has been very, very old ever since I can remember. She was my mum’s cat.
I haven’t got a mum. She died the day I was born. That’s almost all I know. Gran still can’t talk about Mum without her eyes going watery. Even
Grandad
cries. So I don’t talk about my mum because I don’t want to upset them.
I’ve got a dad but I don’t see him all that often because he’s left for work before I get up and he’s nearly always still at work when I go to bed. I once heard Gran say my dad is married to his job. Just so long as he doesn’t marry a real lady. I definitely don’t want a stepmother.
I’ve read all about stepmothers in fairy stories. They don’t have a good image. Laura’s got a step
dad
and she certainly doesn’t think much of him. He’s the one who put poor Dustbin on a diet. He even suggested Laura’s
mum
should go on a diet and made her upset about having a big bottom – which she can’t help.
Thank goodness Dad doesn’t seem interested in any ladies, with big or little bottoms. He hardly ever talks about Mum but he once said she was the loveliest woman in the whole world and no-one could ever replace her. This was a great relief.
I love my dad. He sometimes takes me out for treats on Saturdays, just him and me. For my last birthday he took me all the way on the train to Paris and Disneyland, which was fantastic –
and
he bought me a giant Minnie Mouse doll. I have her in my bed every night. It gets a bit crowded with Mabel as well.
People are sometimes sorry for me because I haven’t got a mum. Sophie once put her arms round me and said it must be so awful. I was bad then and made myself look so sad that Sophie would be specially sweet to me, but I really don’t mind a bit not having a mum. I don’t miss her because I never knew her. The only time
I
get upset is when we go to visit my mum’s grave. It’s very pretty, with a white headstone, and the words
Beloved Wife and Daughter
in curly writing. Gran always arranges freesias in a little vase. They’re my mum’s favourite flowers. I can’t help thinking about my poor mum underneath the pink and yellow flowers and the white headstone in the dark, dirty earth. There are worms. I hate thinking about my mum being buried.
I try to imagine her alive instead. I’ll tell you a very private secret. I sometimes talk about my mum to Mabel, because Mabel doesn’t ever get upset.
I talk and talk and talk about my mum. Mabel listens. When she’s not asleep.
CHAPTER TWO
Where’s Mabel?
WHEN I GOT home from school I ran into the hall and stepped straight into this little mess of cat sick.
‘Y-u-c-k!’
I was wearing open-toed sandals, which made it a
lot
worse. I hopped around going, ‘Yuck Yuck Yuck’ and Gran sighed and hurried me into the kitchen and got a bowl of water and a cloth and some disinfectant.
Mabel was dithering at the end of the hall, hanging her head.
‘Honestly, Mabel! Why do you have to throw up right where I’m going to walk in it? What have you been eating, you naughty cat? You’re disgusting!’
Mabel drooped and slunk away.
‘Yes, you jolly well should be ashamed,’ I said.
‘Don’t be too hard on Mabel, Verity,’ said Gran. ‘I don’t think she’s very well. That’s the second time she’s been sick – and she’s had a little accident too.’
‘Mabel’s always having little accidents,’ I said.
She’s so lazy she doesn’t amble over to her litter tray in time.
‘Mabel isn’t getting any younger, you know,’ said Gran.
‘
You’re
not getting any younger, Gran, but you don’t sick up your food or do little wees all over the place,’ I said, giggling.
‘You
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