PeeWee's Tale by Johanna Hurwitz Page B

was on his lap while he gently combed my fur.
    â€œWhat do you think you’re doing?” Mrs. Fischler yelled.
    â€œI’m combing PeeWee’s hair. You’re always telling me to comb mine,” Robbie explained.
    â€œThrow that comb into the garbage at once,” his mother told him. “I don’t want it to go anywhere near your head ever again. I’ll get you a new comb, but it’s just for you—
not
that rodent.”
    â€œIf you’re getting me a new comb, I can save this one for PeeWee,” Robbie suggested.
    â€œNo! I don’t like you handling him so much.And I never want to see him on your bed either. Put him back in his cage where he belongs.”
    That was bad, but worse was to come. One day when Robbie let me out of my cage, I went into the hallway outside his bedroom. Just at that moment, Mrs. Fischler came walking by. She took one look at me and let out a deafening shriek.
    â€œHelp!” she screamed so loudly that she frightened me. I ran around in a circle looking desperately for a place to hide.
    Robbie came running.
    In her panic, Mrs. Fischler had jumped up on a nearby chair.
    â€œWhat is that creature doing out here?” she shouted.
    â€œPeeWee was just taking a little walk,” said Robbie, picking me up.
    â€œLock him inside his cage immediately!” his mother called to Robbie “And keep him in it.”
    So Robbie took me back into his room and placed me inside my cage.
    â€œIsn’t she silly?” Robbie whispered to me. “How could anyone be afraid of you, PeeWee?”

    Even though Iwasn’t hungry, I nibbled on one of the dry pellets that were the major part of my diet. Eating, drinking, and running on the exercise wheel were the only activities that I had. Of course, I still occasionally studied the letters on the scraps of paper on the floor of my cage. Even though they made no sense, I wanted to keep my ability to read.
    So life at the Fischlers’ continued, and I was careful not to leave Robbie’s bedroom. I didn’t want to frighten his mother, and I really didn’t want her to frighten
me
.
    One evening when Robbie had a sleepover date at the home of one of his classmates, Mrs. Fischler came into his bedroom. Mr. Fischler was with her.
    Lying quietly in the corner of my cage, I listened to Robbie’s parents speaking together.
    â€œBarbara, I don’t like this at all,” Mr. Fischler said to his wife. “He’s going to be very upset when he comes home.”
    â€œRobbie didn’t even want a guinea pig,” Mrs. Fischler responded. “If my brother hadn’t given it to him for his birthday, we wouldn’t have this problem. But I can’t go about my own home in fear that this thing is going to get out.”
    â€œWhat does it matter if he does? This poor guinea pig can’t possibly hurt you.”
    â€œYou don’t understand,” Mrs. Fischler said. “I keep imagining this rodent in every corner. I can’t relax. I even wake at night thinking of him crawling around. We’ll just tell Robbie that he got out of the cage and got lost. He’ll feel bad for a day or two, but he’ll get over it. And I’ll make it up to him in some way.”
    â€œWhat you want to do is probably illegal,” Mr. Fischler said.
    I stood up in my cage. What were the Fischlers going to do? I wished Robbie was there to protect me.
    Mr. Fischler opened my cage and took me out. “He is a handsome fellow,” he said to his wife as he stroked my fur. “I’m only going along with this because I’m concerned about what the guinea pig is doing to your blood pressure.”
    I looked at Robbie’s mother. What was blood pressure? I wondered. Mrs. Fischler nodded her head. “Go on already. Put him in the box and get him out of here,” she said.
    Robbie’s father put me inside a small box. At once, the lid was placed on top of it