Ann Martin - Baby-Sitters Club 027

"Gotcha!" exclaimed Charlotte, opening her eyes and cupping him in her hands.

Logan laughed. So did Charlotte and I. ("Oh, he's so cute," I said.) Tigger looked at the three of us with surprised eyes. What had happened?

"Gosh," said Charlotte, as she turned Tigger onto his back, "if I could have three wishes, you know what I'd wish for?" "What?" Logan and I asked at the same time.

"Tigger," she replied. "A pet of my own." "And the other two wishes?" asked Logan.

"Tigger and Tigger." The three of us laughed - and I watched Logan and remembered something. I remembered one reason I had liked him so much when I was first getting to know him. Well, I have to admit, when I first saw him, I just thought he was gorgeous. But later I liked a lot of other things about him. For instance, he's good with kids. And he can laugh easily. (Obviously today was not one of his better days. But laughing just now had reminded me of that.) You know what I still can't figure out, though? I can't figure out why Logan likes me. Why would any boy like shy me better than sophisticated, outgoing Claudia? Or self-assured Dawn?

I didn't know then and I still don't know now. But Logan put his arm around me, and we watched Charlotte and Tigger for a long time. At that moment, it didn't seem to matter why Logan likes me.

At last Charlotte stood up. "I better go," she said.

Beside me, Logan stood up, too. "Same here." (I think he was getting cold. I was.) I sighed. "Okay." Charlotte ran off, and Logan jumped on his ten-speed and pedaled away.

I scooped up Tigger. "Come on, Bigger Tigger," I said. "Time to go inside. I have a meeting of the Baby-sitters Club and you've been outdoors long enough." But Tigger struggled and mewed. He did not want to leave the yard. So finally I let him stay outside. As I ran across the street to Claudia's house, I could see him pouncing on invisible things in the grass.

Chapter 4.

"Hi, Tigger, wherever you are!" I called. "Come see me!" Our meeting was over and I was at home again. It was time to start dinner. Dad and I like to eat pretty soon after he returns from work, and he returns between six and six-thirty most nights. So as soon as I'm home from club meetings, I get busy.

That night I set a huge pot of water on the stove. At breakfast that morning, Dad and I had decided we wanted spaghetti for dinner. And with that, I thought, a salad and some garlic bread. I'm not much of a cook, but I can throw a meal together.

I was busy getting vegetables out of the refrigerator when I realized something. Tigger wasn't running between my feet like he usually does at this hour of the day. I always feed him while I'm making dinner - and he knows it.

Where was he? He hadn't come when I'd called. I checked to make sure that his special cat door was open. Sure enough, it was. I was surprised that he hadn't come inside while I was at Claudia's. He knew it was getting to be dinnertime . . . didn't he?

Well, wait a second. Maybe he was inside. He has an awful lot of good hiding places.

"Tigger, Tigger, Tigger!" I called as I got his food out.

I chose a can of King Kat Liver 'n' Beef. I spooned a quarter of it into his bowl. Then I poured in a little milk and stirred it up. Can you believe it? Milk actually isn't very good for cats, especially male cats, but it isn't bad for kittens. And Tigger is so little that I need to mix the grown-up cat food with something to make it mushier.

I set his dish on his place mat, his special cat mat that says FOOD PLEASE. Then I called him again.

No Tigger.

"I know you're hiding," I said loudly. "Aren't you hungry?" No Tigger.

"All right. I'll just have to look for you." In our house are a million places where a kitten could hide. There are also several where a kitten could get stuck. Twice, Tigger has been snoozing in the laundry room when the doors somehow swung dosed on him. I marched to the laundry room. The doors were closed! Goody.

"Tigger!" I called.

I opened the door. No Tigger.

Sometimes he climbs onto a high place, such as the mantelpiece over the fireplace, and then can't get down. I checked the mantelpiece. No Tigger.

Okay. It was time for a room-by-room search. In a room-by-room search, I look through each room thoroughly. If I don't find Tigger in one room, I close the door to the room (if it has a door) and go on to the next one.

I began upstairs. I searched the bedrooms and the bathrooms. I didn't see Tigger, so I closed the door at the head of the stairs and ran down to the first floor.

I was on my hands and knees looking under a chair when I heard my father calling me.

"I'm here, Dad!" I replied. "In the living room." I backed away from the chair and stood up.

"What's going on?" asked my father. He crossed the room and gave me a kiss. "There's water on the stove but the burner isn't on, and there are vegetables all over the table. It looks as if you stopped in the middle of making dinner." "Sorry. I guess I did. I can't find Tigger. And I've looked everywhere for him. Well, everywhere inside. He's never missed dinner." "I guess we better search for him outside then," said Dad.

I gave Dad a grateful look. "Right now? That would be terrific." "I'll go get the torches." The torches are these gigantic flashlights we have. Each is bright enough to light up New York City.

I put a jacket on and Dad found the torches. He handed one to me and we went outside.

"Ti-i-i-igger! Ti-i-i-igger!" we called. We walked all around our yard. We shone the lights under bushes, up trees, in shrubbery. The longer we looked, the worse I felt. There was this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I had swallowed a pebble and it had grown into a rock. Now it was growing into a boulder.

Dad must have seen me looking discouraged, because he said brightly, "I've got an idea," and ran inside. When he came out, he was carrying two of Tigger's toys. He gave me one, and we walked around the yard again, this time shaking the toys so that the balls jingled.

"Come play! Ti-i-i-igger, come play!" No Tigger. (The rock had just about reached boulder proportions.) "Dad!" I called, and he came running around the side of the house. "I don't think he's here. I really don't." My father put his arm around my shoulders. "Maybe not. Maybe he's off on an adventure. Anyway, I don't think there's any point in looking for him outside now. It's too dark. Besides, if he were around here, he would have come to us by now." I nodded. "I know." "So let's go in." Dad and I went into a house. A huge lump was forming in my throat. Maybe it was that boulder.

"I suggest we go on and make ourselves a nice dinner," my father said cheerfully. "If Tigger's off enjoying himself, then we might as well enjoy ourselves." I looked at Tigger's bowl. The food was starting to congeal and the milk was turning brown. Tigger probably wouldn't eat it tonight. How sad.

Dad saw me looking at the dish and said, "When I was growing up, our next-door neighbors had a cat who disappeared at least once a week. He just liked to take trips." "But Tigger is so little," I replied. I turned on the burner under the pot of water, while Dad began cutting up the tomatoes and cu- cumbers and celery and carrots for our salad. He didn't look worried. How come I felt so worried? Because I'm a worrywart, that's why.

We ate our dinner. Well, Dad ate his dinner. I tried to eat mine, but all I could get down were three mouthfuls of salad.

"Mary Anne," said my father, looking at my full plate, "what time is it?" "Seven-thirty?" I answered. (Why was he asking? He was wearing his watch.) "And when was the last time you saw Tigger?" "Just before five-thirty." "So he's only been missing for two hours," Dad pointed out. "He could be taking a nap somewhere, for all we know." "He did have a pretty exciting afternoon," I said slowly. "Lots of visitors. And he does sleep soundly." "I'll say," said Dad. "He could sleep through a tornado." I felt cheered up. I felt so cheered up that I called Dawn and said, "You'll never guess what. Tigger is off taking a nap, and he's hidden himself so well that Dad and I can't find him!" Dawn giggled. She likes Tigger stories. Then she said, "Okay, my turn. You'll never guess what. Our parents are going out again." "They are? Dad didn't say anything." "Well, it's no big deal. They're just going to a parents meeting at school together. But that's something, isn't it?" "Sure," I replied. "That's something." Dawn and I talked for the exact ten minutes that I'm allowed. Then we hung up. Then she called back. We talked for ten more minutes. That's one way of getting around Dad's telephone rule without actually breaking it.