Conrad Cooper's Last Stand ePub (10 page)

Suzie looks around the old PE shed and gasps, ‘You didn't.'

Jasper stares. ‘How did all these cats get in here?'

Both of them stare at me like a third eye just popped out of my forehead. Quickly I explain, ‘It took me a while, but I caught them. The two grey ones came easy but Midnight over there, I had to set a trap for her.' Suzie's mouth drops open, so I explain, ‘Nothing fancy, just saucers of milk under a beer crate with a rope tied on.'

Jasper steps back and grabs hold of a shelf, nearly tripping over a tabby. He laughs, ‘And you did this
without
me? Stink!'

Suzie just shakes her head. ‘You idiot. I didn't mean you should kidnap loads of cats and leave them in the PE shed!'

‘I
didn't
kidnap them, I borrowed them. When I'm done training I'll give them back … Why are you staring at me? I left them plenty of water and a saucer of mince from the fridge.'

‘Are you crazy? Their owners will miss them!'

‘Uh, well … cats wander off sometimes, don't they?' I've never had pets before. A feeling kicks me in the stomach, and it seems to be wearing boots. I was so busy thinking about saving birds, I forgot about the owners. But I'm not keeping them for long, so the neighbours won't be too worried, will they?

She folds her arms. ‘You've got to give them back. Right now.'

Jasper rolls his eyes. ‘He can't just give them back, he'll get in heaps of trouble. We'll have to wait until tonight and sneak them back out.'

Suzie frowns. ‘We? I can't, I'm staying at Dad's. And
don't
say you won't need my help. There's like, fifteen cats in here.'

‘Well … okay.'

‘We'll do it tomorrow night. No one uses this old shed any more, so none of the teachers will find the cats, if we're lucky.' Suzie turns to me and says, ‘You'd better let the owners know their pets are safe. They'll be going crazy with worry.'

‘How?'

‘I dunno, write them a note or something.'

‘But I'll get in trouble.'

‘Don't put your name on it. Just promise the cats are safe and you'll return them.'

‘Okay, but I'm not sure about …'

‘Don't worry,' says Jasper quickly. ‘I'll help you. Now, I'm more interested in hearing
how
you were planning on training these cats?'

‘Oh, that's easy.' I walk over to the old sponge mattress we used for high jump, before the mice started living in it. ‘Here.'

Reaching under the foam, I pull out a couple of drawings, including the one I sketched with Suzie. ‘See?' I hold up my picture of a sparrow. ‘When I show cats this picture I give them a treat, so they know it's a good thing, like a friend.'

‘Um, you don't think associating pictures of birds with food might give them the wrong idea?'

‘What sort of idea?'

‘Like maybe, birds are for eating?'

‘Maybe, but then I show them this picture and I bark like a dog. They don't like that much.'

I hold up my other drawing. Suzie watches me out of the corner of her eye, then glances back at Jasper. It's a massive cat with big teeth, sort of like a shark with four legs, and it's got a bird in its mouth. I've added speech bubbles, coming out of the cat's mouth, saying, ‘Yuck! Jelly meat tastes way better. I'll never eat helpless birds again.'

At the bottom of the page I've drawn two cats in jail for animal cruelty and one dead cat, who ate so many birds his stomach popped. There's claws and beaks all over
the place; his intestines are hanging out of his stomach like spaghetti dangling from a bowl.

‘See?' I wave the picture at two cats and growl, as they sprint under the benches. ‘Woof – woof! Every time they see a bird it'll remind them of a barking dog. Then they'll get a fright and won't eat it.'

Jasper's jaw drops. ‘Uh … really?'

Suzie stares and we both start laughing. She giggles until she has to sit down and hold her stomach, like it hurts to breathe. Truth is, I'd just been making tweeting noises and rewarding them for not attacking me – I didn't have much of a plan.

‘Oh …' Jasper's head moves backwards and forwards. ‘You're joking.'

‘Jasper Harris,' Suzie splutters, ‘you're an idiot.'

‘Yeah? Well it takes one to know one.'

But he's grinning at the floorboards, so he can't be too mad, and we're all laughing, but it's weird. Even though my mouth feels happy, and I'm making the right sounds, there's a heavy feeling in my stomach … Tane, you'll still help me with Gaz, won't you? Even if I give back the cats? 'Cause I can't get rid of him on my own.

Saturday morning, the doorbell rings. Our neighbour across the street, Mrs McDonald, stands on the doorstep wearing a bright green Adidas tracksuit. Her red perm is sticking out at funny angles. I dunno what she's doing
here so early, but she's holding two pieces of paper that look suspiciously like pages from my refill pad.

I take one look at the papers and say, ‘Mum's not here. She's gone to, um, see the doctor.'

‘On a Saturday?' Mrs McDonald blinks. ‘I hope it's not serious.'

‘It might be cancer.'

‘
What
?'

Is that a very bad thing? Nan's friend had cancer once and she got better, but she couldn't have visitors for ages. I just thought cancer sounded sick enough for Mrs McDonald to leave us alone.

‘Oh – oh, dear.' She starts pulling on her sleeve, like she's just realised her jumper's too tight. ‘Do they know where she has it?'

‘Um, I'm pretty sure … it's in her toenail.'

Brilliant; this is a stroke of genius because I can say she had surgery and the toenail was cut off. No one will be too worried, seeing as toenails grow back. But Mrs McDonald looks at me funny, like I just spilled something on her best dress.

I open my mouth to explain that it's okay, her toenails will heal, when Mum calls out, ‘Conrad? Who is it?'

Uh-oh.

‘Justine?' Mrs McDonald frowns, looking over my shoulder and peering into the hallway. ‘Is that you?'

Mum walks out of the bedroom, still tying on her
dressing gown. She doesn't have her makeup on, thank goodness. Mum reckons she's pale without lipstick so she probably looks a bit sick. But, Tane, please don't let Gaz get out of bed. Please, please – he likes to sleep in on Saturdays.

Mrs McDonald lowers her voice and folds her arms. ‘Conrad said you weren't here. He … he said you had cancer.'

Now they're both frowning, so I shrug. ‘Maybe I misunderstood. I thought you said something about your toe …'

Their frowns get deeper, and finally Mrs McDonald just shakes her head at Mum. ‘Look, I only came around to see if you've seen my cat. You know my tabby, Mr Whiskers? He's gone missing.'

‘Oh.' Mum blinks. ‘I'm sorry to hear that, I haven't seen him. We don't have cats because Gaz …'

‘I see.' Mrs McDonald waves a hand like she's wiping Mum's words away. ‘You won't believe it, but I've been up and down the street, knocking on doors. It turns out half the neighbours are missing their pets.'

Mum's eyes widen and I copy her, stretching mine so hard I'm amazed my eyeballs don't pop out and roll down into the garden. It's an excellent surprised look, so I don't know why Mrs McDonald's staring at me again. All the lines on her face get very straight and keep pointing at her mouth.

Mum says to her, ‘Do you think someone's laid down poison?'

‘Look what I found in the mail.' She hands over the letter, keeping her eyes on me, saying, ‘We're thinking of calling the police.'

No way. Thank goodness we're taking the cats back tonight. Suzie's right, we could all be wanted criminals. But the letters should've explained everything, so why's she upset?

I stand on my toes and read over Mum's elbow.

Dear Owner,

I'm leaving you. I love my new owners, an elderly couple who are really dirty and leave food on the floor, so there's plenty of mice to eat. It's heaps better than eating cheap cat food, seeing as you're too stingy to buy the good stuff.

Yours sincerely,
Petal

P.S. I've changed my name. Want to know why? Because I'm a BOY. So let's do this again …

Yours sincerely,
Brian

What
? Oh, no. This is not the letter I wrote. I explained very clearly that the cats were being borrowed for retraining. Borrowing is not stealing, and it's
definitely
not a crime.

Mum just folds her arms and says, ‘Well, it's not Conrad, I can tell you that. Look, this kid is left-handed. You can tell by the slope of the writing.'

Mrs McDonald looks disappointed, seeing as Mum's right. But I know who
is
left-handed. I'm going to kill Jasper.

‘Really?' Jasper laughs. ‘Your neighbour went door to door? Bet she asked everyone else for handwriting samples! That's hilarious!'

‘It's not funny,' I tell him. ‘The whole street wants to murder me for catnapping.'

‘No they don't, because they'll never know it was you … Hey, is that a Christmas ornament?'

‘No,' I lie, shoving the red ribbon back into my pocket before he can ask any more questions. ‘Right, who's got the torches?'

‘Me,' says Suzie, waving them under my nose. ‘I also brought these, but Mum only had one pair.'

She pulls out a pair of rubber washing-up gloves from her backpack. We stare at them until she shrugs. ‘Well,
I'm
not going to leave fingerprints.'

Jasper snorts, and she lifts up her chin. ‘I saw it on an
episode of
CHiPs
.' Now he's really cracking up and she says, ‘Fine. But you won't be laughing soon.'

Suzie's right.

We sneak into school, carrying torches and wearing hats low over our eyes. It's a shame we're taking the cats back early, but thanks to Jasper I'm a wanted criminal. To make things worse, some of those cats put up a fight. Anyone would think they didn't want to go home.

When we round the top of my street, I whisper, ‘Watch out for Mr Anderson's house. He's got a Rottweiler.'

Sure enough, barking erupts from behind his fence. We tear off down the street, but it's not easy holding on to fighting fur balls. Jasper catches the worst of it; his arms look like he's been playing with a grater. Only Suzie escapes without a single scratch, thanks to those yellow gloves. It's possible she's the smartest girl I've ever met.

When we reach my driveway, Jasper gasps. ‘Conrad, how'd you get these cats into the shed without being ripped apart?'

‘Oh, I carried them over in the beer crates. It took ages; I had to do like four trips.'

His eyes get big. ‘And you didn't think to
mention
that?'

‘I didn't think we'd need the crates, seeing as there's three of us.'

‘Right.' Jasper gets real quiet, until we're dropping off Mrs McDonald's cat. I'm busy trying to snip fur
off her poodle, Baxter, and Suzie's asking if I've gone completely nuts – when Midnight claws Jasper's neck. Trying to stop the bleeding, he presses his hand against the cut and hisses, ‘Hey, Conrad?'

‘Yeah?'

‘You know those letters I wrote? We're even now.'

Sunlight burns my eyes, reflecting off the pages of my book. Thump thump: heavy feet move along the concrete walkway, up to our verandah. I don't look up – it's gotta be Gaz – and his voice says, ‘What's this?'

Dirt rains down, mixed with sticks and branches. ‘Hey … my forest!'

‘Your
what
?'

I don't answer. He wouldn't like the truth – he doesn't believe in Tane. I try to think of a different response, without lying. ‘Um, well Mum plants shrubs and cuttings off trees. So, uh, I thought I'd start a garden.'

Well, that's close enough. I look around for Mum, but she's nowhere to be seen.

‘Behind my compost heap? Have you seen back there? It's a right mess.'

‘Sorry, I just thought it was the best place.' I push the words out fast, ‘You always said compost was good for growing things.'

He doesn't answer, but stares at me. I can't look away,
but it feels weird. I'm used to glances and nods, but he never
looks
at me. He turns his head to one side and says, ‘Okay … Come with me.'

He takes off towards the front yard, charging off around the side of the house. ‘Got to be here, somewhere …' He opens the wooden door that leads to under the house and pulls out a bucket.

‘Um, what am I gonna do with that?'

‘Weeding.'

Turning, he heads towards the front steps, where Mum grows roses and pansies in dead straight rows. Dumping the bucket on the ground he says, ‘Get to it.'

‘Um, sorry?' He glares and I say fast, ‘I mean, pardon me?'

‘Your mum and I spend hours in the garden, we don't need you messing it up. This'll teach you to appreciate hard work. Maybe then you won't be so keen to mess it up with sticks and weeds.' He doesn't wait for me to answer, just takes off indoors. I don't ask where he's going. I'm pretty sure ‘weeding' will be added to my star chart.

Gaz stops by the door, scraping his feet on the bristled mat. ‘And don't just pull out the leaves or the weeds will grow again. You've gotta get the roots.'

‘Yeah,' I mutter, ‘I've helped Mum before.'

‘Good. Maybe you'll get it right, then.' The door closes behind him, and he's gone.

Looking down, my bucket seems deep and wide, like all the emptiness inside me poured out, filling it with air. All I can think about is my forest. Tall trees, ferns, bushes and the pohutukawa – all gone; ripped out by Gaz's hands.

Tane, he's ruined our lovely bushwalk. And there's nothing I can do.

About an hour later, Gaz comes back outside. ‘Let me see that bucket.' Bending over, he stares. It's a good bucketful of weeds, the leaves attached to bulbs and thin roots, like tiny white veins. My fingers ache from digging. I want to go inside and watch TV.

‘Hmm …'

He picks up my bucket, and then dumps its contents back on the garden. My mouth drops. Gaz lifts one booted foot and stamps the weeds down, back into the earth.

‘You can weed that again, tomorrow.'

‘But …'

‘No buts, mate. I'm teaching you a valuable lesson. See, your mother and I weeded our garden and you messed it up. Doesn't feel good, does it?'

Words sink into my chest; they can't come out my mouth, but they burn all the way down.

I don't like you.

I don't.

‘Conrad? You hear me?'

My head nods –
but I don't like you
.

He frowns. ‘What's with that face? You got something to say?'

You bet I do. Tane, I wanna tell him to go inside and find his bags, 'cause you'll be sending him packing in no time. But my mouth won't open.

I shake my head.

‘Right, inside now and clean those nails thoroughly, hear me?'

I nod but can't speak, in case other words come out, the ones I'm not allowed to say. Words can be slippery things, squeezing and popping out when you don't expect them. No wonder Mum doesn't want me to say anything about Gaz, there's no telling where my words might end up.

Tane, please tell me I won't have to put up with Gaz much longer. You're onto it, right? 'Cause I don't know how to deal with him on my own.

After tea, Mrs McDonald comes back to tell us the cats have miraculously returned. They're fine except for one thing. They're all wearing bells.

Mum frowns. ‘Bells?'

‘Yes, with little bits of holly stuck to them and gold tinsel. Someone tied the bells onto their collars with a note, saying the bell will warn off birds.' Mrs McDonald
shakes her head. ‘Must be a real nutter.'

‘Hmm.'

I ask, ‘Will you keep the bells on?'

‘What? No.' She blinks at me. ‘But I will keep Mr Whiskers inside from now on. There's no telling what might happen to him. My own street isn't safe.'

‘That's a good idea,' I say, and it is. It'll save at least one bird every week, maybe more.

‘Hmm,' says Mum again. When Mrs McDonald leaves, she holds on to the closed door handle and says, ‘Anything you want to tell me?'

‘No.'

Which is true, I don't
want
to tell her anything. When December arrives and Mum gets out the box of tree ornaments and finds we're missing the Christmas bells, I'm hoping she won't remember.

Mum says, ‘There's an awful lot of ice-cream containers taped together, on the back lawn.'

‘I, uh, made a birdbath at school.'

‘Right – and the picture of a dog on the side, with the hair stuck on?'

‘That's to protect the birds. I cut a bit of fur off Mrs McDonald's poodle, so it will smell like a dog and scare off any cats.'

‘I see … to protect the birds?'

‘It's a school project.'

‘Well, I don't think Gaz'll be keen on a new birdbath.
You'd better clear it up and, after that, go put some antiseptic on those scratches.' She nods at my arm. ‘I'm just glad we don't own any cats.' Mum walks off, chewing her thumb.

But that gets me thinking.

Tane, what if Gaz sees the missing bells and works it out? Can you keep him from noticing? Thanks.

Of course he's still here, but it's my fault. I messed up with the cats. Don't worry, I'll make an extra big effort with protesting and we'll be back on track. Tomorrow I'll go back up the hill and – and then it's bye-bye, Gaz.

Right, Tane?