Free Paws and Whiskers by Jacqueline Wilson Page B

writing in my notebook. I put down the bit about Montmorency and his gang of dogs. I put down the cat bit. I can’t think of anything else. The truth is, I am finding this book quite difficult to get into. Maybe it is because I am worried about Mr Pooter and not in the right mood. Or maybe it’s because this is the first grown-up book that I have tried to read on my own, without Mum. If Mum were reading it to me, and doing all the voices, then I am sure I would find lots to laugh at. But I am not going to give up! I am a real book person and Mrs Caton is eagerly waiting to know how I get on.
    On the way in to school this morning Uncle Mark says that he will ring the vet and make an appointment for this evening. Auntie Ellen is with us, as it is one of her days when she works in the shop. She says that she is the one who will be coming with me. My heart goes plummeting. I don’t want Auntie Ellen coming with me! But I haven’t any choice. It’s Thursday, and late-night shopping, and Uncle Mark won’t be home in time.
    After lunch I go to the library. I take out my notebook and read Mrs Caton the bits I’ve written down.
    ‘I think those bits were hilarious,’ I say.
    I wasn’t quite sure what the word hilarious meant until I looked it up in the dictionary. It means ‘very funny’, and I didn’t honestly find either of the bits
very
funny. Just a little bit funny. But Mrs Caton looks pleased.
    ‘I’m so glad you’re enjoying it,’ she says. ‘I thought you would.’
    I promise her that I will make a note of all the other bits I find funny, so that I can tell her about them. She says that’s a good idea.
    ‘It’ll be something to look forward to at the start of next term.’
    ‘I’ll have finished it long before then,’ I say. ‘I’ll probably have read a million others by then!’
    Now I’m being boastful again. I don’t mean to be, but it’s probably true. I will have read a million others. There are eight long weeks to go and I can’t think what else there’ll be to do.
    I get home to find Auntie Ellen waiting impatiently for me. ‘Go and fetch the cat,’ she says. ‘Put it in its box, we have to be at the vet for 4.15.’
    I hate that she calls Mr Pooter ‘the cat’. He’s Mr Pooter! I go upstairs to get him and he purrs amiably.I think he quite likes his box. Holly, for some reason, insists on coming with us. She says she’s never been to the vet’s before and she wants to know what it’s like. I tell her it’s like being at the doctor’s, except all the patients are animals.
    We sit in the Reception area, waiting to be called. I hold Mr Pooter on my lap, in his box. He crouches, watchfully. There are other people with cats, some people with dogs, one little girl with a pet rabbit. I try to interest Mr Pooter in the rabbit, but Auntie Ellen tells me sharply not to make a nuisance of myself. All I was doing was just turning his box in the right direction, so he could see! Holly wrinkles her nose and says there’s a smell. Auntie Ellen tells her it’s disinfectant and she goes, ‘Ugh! Yuck! Poo!’ But then a vet puts his head round the door and calls out, ‘Fluffy Marshall?’ and Holly giggles – ‘
Fluffy Marshall!
’ – and wants to know whether that’s the name of the cat or the name of the owner. Auntie Ellen tells her to be quiet and stop showing off, so then she sits in a sulk, scuffing her feet on the floor.
    When it’s our turn the vet calls, ‘Pooter Walters!’ He’s not Pooter Walters, he’s Pooter Winton, but I suppose it’s not really important. What’s important is that the vet is going to make him better.
    We all troop into the surgery. The vet asks what the problem seems to be, and I tell him about Mr Pooter being sick and not wanting to eat.
    ‘And how old is he?’ says the vet.
    Proudly I say that he’s sixteen.
    ‘Quite an old fellow,’ says the vet.
    He examines Mr Pooter all over. Mr Pooter is so good! He doesn’t complain once. I stroke him