Read The Kitten Hunt for Free Online Page B

( Don’t ask me where someone who hates pink gets a pink hairband from. I just found it in a drawer,
OK?) I waited on Jazz’s doorstep, pet-sitting appointments book and cat information pack in hand, all fired up and ready to go.
    Jazz opened the door and threw her arms around me.
    ‘Happy Pet-Sitting Day!’ she yelled, squeezing me tight and squashing her bangles into me.
    THWACK! Tyson careered into Jazz’s back and shrieked, ‘Happy Poo-Sitting Day!’ and giggled like a maniac.
    ‘Ty – buzz off!’ Jazz yelled. ‘This is a girls’ only moment. No brat brothers allowed.’
    ‘Ty-son! Leave your sister alone!’ Jazz’s mum shouted down the hall and for once Ty did as he was told. Although not until he’d stuck his tongue out and blown a full-on
raspberry for good measure.
    ‘Idiot,’ Jazz hissed.
    ‘He’s cute!’ I said.
    Jazz curled her lip at me. Then she gave me a quick once-over and smirked. ‘Hey, like the pink hairband – Ms P would approve. So. How did you manage to get out so early?’
    I shrugged. ‘Didn’t Dad tell your mum? He’s got some ultra-boring meeting about a car park that used to be a theatre or something. Anyway, don’t talk so loud –
remember I don’t want Dad to find out about the pet-sitting.’
    ‘OK, OK, don’t get stressy,’ said Jazz, wo bbling her head at me and putting on what Dad would definitely have called a Tone of Voice. ‘Mum’s dealing with Ty and
everyone else is still snoring.’
    We headed off, a rm in arm.
    ‘I’ve been thinking, Berts. We really need to look again at the business side of this enterprise,’ Jazz said, her voice all bouncy and glittery.
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘The
money
, Bertie – you should be asking for more.’
    I shook my head. ‘No, I’m not going to. A pound a day for two weeks is already a lot of money. And we only have to go over there twice a day . ’
    ‘WHAT?’ Jazz shrieked. ‘What kind of a business woman are you? You’ve got to know the market rate in any business transaction,’ she added confidently, as if she
actually knew what she was talking about.
    ‘I’m not really interested in the money,’ I said impatiently.
    I regretted it the moment the words were out of my mouth.
    ‘WHA—?’ Jazz began again, her jaw dropping dramatically as if I had finally lost every last marble in my brain and she was watching them roll away at top speed into the nearest
gutter.
    ‘Listen,’ I interrupted, stopping suddenly, which caused my whirling dervish friend to whirl dervishly into me. We disentangled ourselves. ‘I’ve already told you –
I don’t care about the money because that’s not why I set up the Pet-Sitting Service in the first place!’ I said, putting a hand up to stop her from butting in, which is what she
was about to do. ‘You
know
I’ve always wanted a pet of my own. You
know
Dad won’t let me. So you should understand that the only thing I want to get out of this idea
of mine is a chance to look after some animals and – well, I know it sounds lame – kind of pretend that they are actually my own for a bit.’
    Jazz’s face changed when I said this. She smiled a small smile and dropped her head to one side. ‘All right,’ she said, putting her arm around me. ‘Come on then, you
noodle; let’s go cuddle Kaboodle!’

 
6
Cat-astrophe
    I n Pinkella’s kitchen she’d left another note on the work surface in some more of that seriously classy handwriting. It was written on,
you’ve guessed it, pink notepaper And it honked of some of the overpoweringly flowery perfume Pinkella was wearing when she had tried to crush me to death.
    Her signature was a great big loopy thing that took up half the page.
    Jazz sucked her teeth. ‘He gets
what?
And on a
silver dish? You
are joking! That woman has serious issues.’
    ‘Look, it doesn’t matter what we think,’ I said to Jazz. ‘We are in charge of Kaboodle until Pinkella gets back, so we must do as we’re told.’

    Jazz rolled her