Mary Anne And The Search For Tigger Part 2

"He's trying to say 'pollen,' " Kerry whispered.

"Hunter," I said. "Kerry. Let's go upstairs. We can play in Hunter's room. Hunter, you'll be more comfortable." Even though he had wanted to play hide-and-seek, Hunter looked relieved at the suggestion. Poor thing. It must be terrible to be so uncomfortable for so long. The thought reminded me of Tigger. Where was he? Was he uncomfortable? Was he stuck somewhere? Or was he off having the time of his life?

"Bary Adde?" We had reached the upstairs hallway, and Hunter was pulling at my s.h.i.+rt. "Look at our doors," he was saying. "At Logad's ad bide." I looked. They were closed.

"We have to keep theb closed," said Hunter thickly, because by roob is dust-free, and Logad's is - " "A pigsty," supplied Kerry. Then she added hastily, "I think I'll close mine, too. And keep it closed. My - my room doesn't get cleaned too often." She opened the door to Hunter's room. "You guys go on in," she said. "I'll be right there. I just have to do something in my room and then close the door." Kerry left. She certainly was being helpful. If all the kids I sit for were like her, my job would be a cinch.

Hunter and I went inside, closed his door - and I drew in my breath. I'd been in his room before, but I'd forgotten just how bare it is. Bare floor, bare walls, no curtains or bedspread or knickknacks. Hardly even any toys. Just a few in his closet. I'd go crazy in a room like his.

Hunter caught me looking around and said brightly, "I have bore toys, but we keep theb dowdstairs." "Oh, Hunter, I'm sure you have toys," I said, a bit too cheerfully.

Hunter plopped down on his bed. "Ah-choo!" "Bless you," I said.

"Thack you. Do you watt to doe what I'b allergic to?" "Sure." "Okay, here goes. Dust, bold, pollid, cats, dogs, horsies - well, iddy kide of fur or hair, except people hair. I'b dot allergic to byself." I smiled.

Kerry returned then. "What shall we do now?" she asked. "Is there anything I can help with?" You could tell me why you're being so helpful, I thought. This was a new Kerry. The old Kerry was perfectly nice, but this Kerry was . . . unnatural.

"Let's just choose something to do," I said.

"Chutes and Ladders?" suggested Hunter. "Cootie?" "How about Office?" said Kerry. "This could be your office, Huntie. No, wait. Vet. You're the vet and Mary Anne and I bring our sick pets to you." Oh, why did Kerry have to suggest that, of all things?

But Hunter said, "You bead I get to be the vet? Oh - ah-choo! - goody. This is a good gabe." "Mary Anne, you're first," said Kerry. "I'll be the a.s.sistant. Is that okay with you, Doctor Hunter?" Hunter nodded.

So I pretended to carry a c.o.c.ker spaniel into Hunter's office. "This is Duffy," I said, giving Hunter a name he could p.r.o.nounce. "I think he hurt his paw. He's been limping." Hunter held up an imaginary paw. "Huh," he said. "Just as I thought. Duffy broke his toes." "I wonder how that happened?" I couldn't help saying.

Hunter paused. "He - he bust have accidettally walked idto the side of the bathtub. That's how Daddy broke his toes." Kerry and Hunter looked at each other. They began to laugh. Even I laughed, worried as I was about Tigger.

"I'll go fix us a snack," Kerry volunteered.

"Well ... all right," I replied. Kerry could be trusted in the kitchen.

She dashed down the stairs. Suddenly I ran after her. "Hey, Kerry!" I called. "Does Hunter have any food allergies?" "Just wheat. And milk. And strawberries. And seafood." (Sheesh.) "But don't worry. I know what he can eat." A few minutes later, Kerry walked slowly into Hunter's room carrying a tray of snacks. We sat on the bare floor and ate. I tried to be extra neat. If Hunter was allergic to wheat and dust, would that make him allergic to cracker crumbs? I tried hard not to leave any around.

When we finished our snack, Kerry helpfully took the tray downstairs and tidied up the kitchen. She returned, and we continued the vet game and then played both Chutes and Ladders and Cootie. We had fun, even though Kerry kept interrupting the game to go do things in her room, but all I could think of was Tigger. Was he home yet? Was he eating from his bowl or curled up in Dad's lap?

Where was he?

Chapter 6.

As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Bruno had returned and paid me, I jumped on my bike and made a dash for my house. Logan and I don't exactly live in the same neighborhood, so the ride took awhile. I knew it was good exercise, but I was impatient. Was Tigger home or not?

I turned into our driveway, flew to the end of it, and tossed my bike down. Then I crashed through our back door, slamming it behind me.

"Dad! Dad!" "I'm in the den, Mary Anne." I ran to the den. "Dad, is he back?" I asked, panting.

All my father had to do was look at me and I knew what the answer was.

No.

"He's been missing for almost twenty-four hours now," I pointed out.

Dad nodded.

"It's time to do something," I said. I didn't wait to see what Dad's reaction to that would be. I just marched into the kitchen. I'm not always great in an emergency, but right now, I knew what to do.

I called Kristy Thomas. Not only is Kristy one of my two best friends, but she's full of ideas. Good ideas. Plus, she loves pets. She was the best person I could think of to talk to.

'"rigger's missing?" Kristy squeaked when I'd given her the bad news.

"For almost twenty-four hours." "Then there's only one thing to do. I'm calling an emergency meeting of the Babysitters Club. Can you be at Claudia's in an hour?" "Definitely." "Great. I'll see you there then." The members of the Baby-sitters Club gathered in Claud's room slightly less than an hour after I got off the phone with Kristy. I couldn't believe we'd all been able to make it.

We were a somber group. I think that was because most of the club members' families have at least one pet, so my friends were imagining how they'd feel if their pets were missing. I, of course, was thinking of Tigger.

And trying not to cry. I'm a champion crier. Ask anyone in the club.

Kristy got right down to business, and for once I was glad to see her acting in charge, even slightly bossy. "We have a problem," she said briskly. "It's not a baby-sitting problem, but it effects one of the members of our club. Tigger is missing, and we have to do something about it. Mary Anne, why don't you tell us what's happened so far?" "Well," I began. My voice quavered, so I started over again. "Well, when I came to our meeting yesterday, I left Tigger outside. He didn't want to go in. He's been outside alone a few times now, so I thought it would be okay. Only . . . only . . ." I had to stop. I couldn't go on. I looked at the faces surrounding me. Kristy was in her director's chair, but she wasn't wearing her visor, and the pencil that was usually stuck over her ear was resting on Claud's desk. Claudia and Dawn were seated solemnly on the bed, and Jessi and Mallory were on the floor. Their knees were drawn up to their chests, their hands clasped around them, and they were looking at me sympathetically. I was seated in Claud's desk chair, facing everyone.

I cleared my throat. "Only," I said again, "when I got back from the meeting, he wasn't around. Dad and I looked for him outside, but he didn't show up. And he didn't show up last night or today. I guess - I guess that's it." "Oh, Mary Anne," said Dawn. "I'm so sorry." "Me, too," murmured the other girls.

"So what are we going to do?" asked Kristy. When no one said anything, she answered her own question. "We're going to find him, that's what. We're going to pretend Tigger is a missing person." "We could put up posters!" said Mallory.

"With Tigger's picture on them!" exclaimed Claud. "I could draw Tigger." "Yeah, and the posters could say something like 'Lost or strayed. Gray kitten. Answers to the name of Tigger,' " added Jessi.

"We should say more about what he looks like," said Kristy. "A more complete description, I think. You know, how big he is, how old he is, his markings." "And we should put, 'Last seen on Friday afternoon,' " I spoke up.

"Then add something about if you've found him, call Mary Anne's phone number," said Mal.

Over in the director's chair, I could see Kristy getting another of her ideas. I'm not unusually perceptive. It's just that it's hard to miss Kristy getting excited. I could hear this big intake of breath, and then - I swear - she began wriggling around like a puppy.

Claudia saw, too, and said, "Kristy? Is there anything you'd like to tell us?" (Dawn, Jessi, and Mal tried to hide their giggles.) And Kristy exploded with, "Yes, I've got a great idea! We could offer a reward. Then we could add, Ten-dollar reward for the safe return of Tigger' to the poster. Or something like that." Well, we had to admit - it was a great idea.

"Except for one thing," said Dawn, our treasurer. "Where are we going to get the money?" "I've got four dollars," said Jessi.

"I've got three-fifty," said Claudia.

"Five-fifty," said Mal.

"Only two," said Dawn. "I just bought earrings. Sorry, Mary Anne." I shook my head, smiling. Who cared? I couldn't believe what my friends were doing.

"I've got five sixty-four," said Kristy. "I know exactly." "And I," I said softly, "have four seventy-five. I would spend my last penny to find Tigger. I wish I had four hundred seventy-five." Dawn was busy with a pencil and a pad of paper.

"Let's see here," she said. "Urn, all together we've got . . . twenty-five dollars and thirty-nine cents!" We gasped.

"Hold on, you guys," Dawn went on. "Let me check something." She reached for the club's treasury envelope and rooted around inside. At last she emerged with a fistful of bills and change.

"What are you doing?" asked Kristy.

"I just took four sixty-one from the treasury," Dawn replied. "If we add it to the money we're donating, our reward will be an even thirty bucks. Won't that look nice on the poster?" Five heads nodded. And I began to cry.

"Mary Anne? What's wrong?" asked Dawn. "Don't worry. There's still plenty of money in the treasury. I just took out enough to make thirty." "Oh, it's not that," I said, sniffling. (Claudia handed me a tissue.) "It's all of you. Donating the money you worked so hard for. I know you're saving for things. And now, you're giving up your money for Tigger." "And," added Dawn, "for you." Well, that started a fresh flood of tears. I was crying for me, for Tigger, but mostly because my friends were being so wonderful.

I cried until Dawn slid off of Claud's bed, crossed the room, and put her arms around me. Slowly, my tears subsided.

Just as I was getting under control again, I heard Mal say, " 'What shall we do about poor little Tigger?' " "Huh?" said Kristy.

"It's from The House at Pooh Corner," she replied. "Our family's been reading it aloud. That line is the beginning of one of Pooh's hums. You know, his poemy-songs. The rest of it is about getting Tigger the tiger to eat. But that first line makes me think of Mary Anne's Tigger." "Yeah," I said, nodding slowly. "What shall we do about poor little Tigger?" I almost started to cry again, but Kristy said, "Come on, we have work to do. If we can get a sample poster finished, my mom could go to her office tonight and run off copies. Then we - " "She'll go to the office on a Sat.u.r.day night?" interrupted Claud.

"Maybe," replied Kristy. "For something this important. How many copies do you think I should ask her to make?" We decided on a number. Then we got to work on the poster. When we were finished, this is what the top part looked like: Underneath this information, Claud drew a picture of Tigger that really looked like him. She kept sending me home for photos of him so that she could work from them, but I didn't mind. I'd do anything that would help find him.

And at the bottom of the poster in huge letters we wrote: $30 Reward for the safe return of Tigger.

We laid the poster on the bed, and the six of us leaned over to look at it. Mimi came in at that moment. "What is picture?" she asked. (Mimi had a stroke last summer and it affected her speech.) "If s Tigger," Claudia told her grandmother. "He's missing, and we're going to help find him." Mimi looked puzzled. "Eggplants," was all she said. Then she left.

A moment of silence followed.

"I think the poster looks perfect," I said.

"I just hope it works," added Dawn.

"It will. It has to," Jessi said vehemently.

"Where will we put the posters?" asked Claud. I could tell she was trying not to think about Mimi. I hoped she knew the rest of us didn't mind the funny little things that happened.

"Oh, we'll put them on phone poles, in people's mailboxes. We'll go all over our neighborhood. I mean, your neighborhood," replied Kristy. "Well, I better call Charlie for a ride. Let's meet back here at noon tomorrow." We agreed to the plan and I ran home, hoping to find Tigger.

No Tigger.

I called Logan instead and gave him the news.

"Gee, that's too bad," he said vaguely.

That was it? Tigger was missing and Logan said, "Too bad"? Where was his brain?

"Logan, he's been missing for twenty-four hours." "I'm really sorry. . . . Oh! Darn. Now I see." "See what?" "What went wrong in practice today. I'm watching tapes of our games." I couldn't believe it. But I just calmly said good-bye and hung up.

Chapter 7.

I could tell, just from reading this notebook entry, how close Jessi and Becca and Squirt are. That is so nice. Boy, do I wish for a brother and sister. Or for just one of them.

Or for Tigger.

Anyway, as soon as Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey left, Becca said to her big sister, "Jessi, I'm hungry." "I know," replied Jessi. "Me, too. But I want to give Squirt his supper first. I think that'll be easier. Then you and I can eat together when he's finished." "Okay," said Becca reluctantly. She didn't want to wait - but she did want to eat dinner with Jessi.

Jessi fixed Squirt a cheese sandwich and some grapes. She cut the sandwich into small pieces, since Squirt is learning to feed himself. Then she put the food in Squirt's airplane dish, set the dish and a bottle of milk on the kitchen table, sat Squirt in his high chair, and placed his dinner in front of him.

Squirt smiled.

He picked up a piece of sandwich. He opened it. He put the cheese in his mouth and let the bread fall to the floor. Then he mashed a grape in his hands. And laughed.

"Der-bliss!" he cried.

He took another grape, tried to bite it in half, and sent it sailing across the room. More laughter.

Half an hour later, Squirt's bottle was empty. So was his airplane tray. But cheese was squished in his hair, his hands were covered with mashed grapes, and the kitchen was littered with bread, cheese, and grapes.

"You know what?" said Jessi to her sister. "I don't think he ate anything. He drank his milk. Well, he did eat that one piece of cheese, but everything else is somewhere in the kitchen." Becca giggled. "The best part was when he shot that grape at me. Right out of his mouth. And right at my nose. I know he did it on purpose." Becca helped Jessi clean the kitchen. Then Jessi cleaned up Squirt. And then she and her sister sat down to their own supper while Squirt watched them from his playpen.

"We get toasted cheese sandwiches," said Becca happily.

"Yes," replied Jessi, "because we're older and know how to eat. But if you spit anything across the table at me - I'll make you sit in the high chair." Becca giggled.

They began to eat.

"What shall we do about poor little Tigger?" murmured Jessi a few moments later.

"What do you mean?" asked Becca.

Jessi told her about Pooh's hum, and about the missing Tigger.

"Gosh, that's awful," said Becca. "You know who's going to be really upset? I mean, besides Mary Anne?" "Who?" "Charlotte. She loves Tigger. She wishes Tigger were hers." "I can understand that. Tigger's pretty cute. And Charlotte doesn't have a pet." "I'm sure glad Misty lives in his cage," said Becca. "He can't run away." Misty is the Ramseys' hamster. He's their first pet ever. Jessi and Becca think he's so adorable they could practically eat him up. He is cute. Because he's young, he's very small. Everything about him is tiny and adorable. (Kind of like Tigger). He's got itty-bitty feet with claws on them you can barely see. And by his nose, which is pink, are pale, pale whiskers. They're almost transparent. Misty is also pretty. His fur is patches of golden brown and white, and his eyes are s.h.i.+ny and black.

Guess how Jessi got Misty. She didn't go to a pet store and buy him. He came from some of her neighbors, the Mancusis. They were going away on vacation and needed a pet-sitter. So they called the Baby-sitters Club! Ordinarily, Kristy doesn't like for us club members to pet-sit, but Jessi had a free week, so she took the job - and found herself caring for cats, dogs, hamsters, rabbits, a disgusting snake that got loose one afternoon, some fish, and I don't remember what else. Anyway, while she was on the job, she discovered that one of the hamsters was going to have babies. Misty is one of those babies, of course, and the Mancusis were delighted to let Jessi have him. (By the way, Mal's family also took a hamster baby.) "I'm glad Misty lives in a cage, too," said Jessi. "Being cooped up might seem cruel, but at least it's safe." "Hey!" cried Becca. "I just got an idea. Maybe the Mancusis have a kitten they could give to Mary Anne. I mean, if Tigger doesn't come back." "Maybe . . ." Jessi replied slowly. "Two of their cats are going to have kittens." "One of the kittens might look like Tigger!" exclaimed Becca.

"Maybe," Jessi said again. Then, "I'm just wondering about one thing. Would Mary Anne want another kitten? I mean, let's say something happened to Misty - " "What would happen to Misty?" cried Becca.

"Nothing. I'm just saying if something happened - " "If what happened?" Becca had put her sandwich down on her plate. She looked worriedly at her sister.

Jessi sighed. "Nothing. But think of it this way: If you didn't have Misty, would you want a different hamster? Sort of as a replacement?" "No way!" "Okay. That's what I'm thinking about with Mary Anne and Tigger. I'm not sure she'd want a replacement kitten. Not right away." "But it's nice to know the Mancusis are here," said Becca.

"Yeah," agreed Jessi. "It's nice to know they're here." "Ah-choo! Ah-choo!" called Squirt from his playpen. He was standing up, his arms hanging over the sides, looking at his big sisters.

Jessi and Becca began to giggle. Squirt's newest trick is pretending to sneeze. Only his sneezes don't sound real. He just yells, "Ah-choo!" which sometimes comes out "Ah-shoo!" or even "Ah-too!" "Hey, Squirt," said Becca, "if you eat all your vegetables, will you get" (she lowered her voice dramatically) big. . .and. . .strong?" Squirt's face broke into a dimply smile. Then he squeezed his hands into fists, and posed his arms like a strongman.

Jessi and Becca were now giggling so hard they could barely eat. But they calmed down. As they finished their dinners, Becca said, "Jessi, can I help Squirt walk later?" "Sure," answered Jessi, wondering why her sister had even asked. Squirt was a new and unsteady walker, but Becca had helped him toddle around plenty of times.

"Oh, goody," replied Becca. She was quick to help Jessi with the dishes. Then she ran to Squirt's playpen and lifted him out.