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shovel under it and, using all my strength, levered it onto my ancient skateboard. Then I wheeled it back to Mrs Bird’s house.
    â€˜Thank you so much, Sonny,’ she said as I tipped the flabby feline onto her living room floor. It still didn’t move, unless you counted its belly spreading out over two square metres of the carpet. ‘I’ll get my purse.’
    No one knew whether Mrs Bird had any money or not. Some of the kids who lived nearby reckoned she was a multi-millionaire who kept it all stashed underneath her mattress. But no one knew for sure.
    And she was so tiny. And wrinkled. And old.
    When she came back and held out a twenty-dollar note to me, I was caught in two minds. This would reduce the amount I would have to find to forty dollars. This was manageable. I could see light at the end of the tunnel. Hey, given that Mrs Bird was so forgetful, I could come back in five minutes and do it all over again. And again. Half an hour and I’d have the cash to buy God.
    But she was so tiny. And wrinkled. And old.
    â€˜That’s okay, Mrs Bird,’ I said. I couldn’t stop the words coming out of my mouth. I tried. ‘It’s my pleasure. I don’t need payment.’
    I have to be honest here. I’d walked that cat dozens of times and never been paid for it. I always meant to take the cash she offered, but when it came down to it my fingers couldn’t grasp the money. I’m pathetic.
    â€˜Are you sure?’ she said, tucking the note back into her purse.
    I’d noticed that about Mrs Bird before. Sometimes she heard things as clear as a bell. I guess her hearing just came and went.
    â€˜Absolutely, Mrs Bird,’ I replied. ‘I enjoy it. Really. No charge.’
    â€˜You’re right,’ she said. ‘It is a lovely day.’
    It must have gone again.
    I would have sighed but I screamed instead. I’d taken a step backwards and put my foot too close to Tiggles’s dozing mass. It had lashed out with razor-sharp claws and taken a chunk out of the flesh at my ankle. Payback time.
    I limped back to my house, trailing a thin stream of blood.
    Three jobs, a gash that would probably get infected and no money to show for any of it. I thought I would just lie on my bed and listen to music on my iPod. It had been a helluva day. Then I remembered what had happened to my iPod and my mood just got darker.

‘You poop on my doona again and the deal’s off,’ I said.
    I meant it too. I was sick of the whole business.
    Blacky lay at the foot of my bed. I’d tried to stop him but he took no notice. Dylan lay at the top end of my bed. I’d tried to stop him, too, but he didn’t pay attention to me either. Sometimes, I just felt it was so unfair that everyone took Marcus for granted. Now I was on the point of exploding. So I stood at the open bedroom window and looked at the night stars. That calmed me sometimes. Helped me see that my problems were pretty small compared to everything out there.
    â€˜Chill, man,’ said Blacky. ‘I did that just once to get your attention. Won’t happen again.’
    I snorted.
    â€˜Is he talking to you again?’ asked Dylan.
    â€˜Look. Just shut up,’ I said. ‘I can’t have two conversations at once.’
    â€˜Fair enough,’ said Dylan. ‘I can’t even cope with one.’
    He whipped out a hand-held computer console and started loading up a game. I sat on a chair and looked at Blacky’s curled-up body. When I spoke again I kept the words in my head.
    â€˜I’m not sure I can do this,’ I said.
    â€˜Sure you can,’ said Blacky. ‘It’s not difficult. Even someone with your limited intelligence should be able to cope with a simple problem-solving exercise like this.’
    â€˜Hey,’ I yelled. It was strange yelling and not making a sound. ‘Why are you so horrible to me? I haven’t done anything to you. In fact,