Coffeehouse Angel by Suzanne Selfors

Author:Suzanne Selfors [Selfors, Suzanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Barnesnoble:
Publisher: Walker & Company
Published: 2009-07-21T07:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

My grandmother didn't sleep much that Friday night. Neither did I. I kept thinking that the mutant rat might have some mutant friends with revenge on their minds. I swear that at one point during the night, something walked across my legs. The night-light stayed on after that.

They say it's always darkest just before the dawn. Here's how dark it got.

Saturday morning's headline in the Nordby News read: Ratcatcher, the Coffeehouse Cat, Catches World's Biggest Rat.

Thanks to the wonders of technology, that article spread all over the world with the click of a Send icon. Isn't that great? Readers in London and Cairo shivered when they read that a rat with a six-foot tail had been sleeping in our pantry. Of course there was no proof that it had been sleeping in our pantry, but an unnamed owner of a certain organic coffeehouse speculated that it had been sleeping there.

Readers in Paris and Moscow squirmed when they read that a rat with feet the size of a St. Bernard had been scurrying all over our counters. Readers in Monte Carlo and Stockholm gagged when they read that a rat with droppings the size of peanut M&M'S had been lounging on the tables, probably licking the salt shakers. Again, speculation provided by an unnamed source.

Ratcatcher's kill launched all sorts of editorials about rats and disease. Did you know that it only takes a single flea from a rat's back to start an outbreak of bubonic plague?

Stores worldwide ran out of rat poison. One ginormous rat meant that there might be other ginormous rats lying in wait to conquer the world. Some environmentalists blamed the rat's size on pollutants. An unnamed source blamed its size on an endless diet of krumkake and sardine sandwiches--weird Old World food that no one should be eating in the first place.

I wanted to dump sardines right on Mr. Unnamed Source's head.

When television stations picked up the story, the focus turned from issues of health to Ratcatcher herself. Her cute, chubby face, a welcome contrast to the gruesome death clench of the rat, was plastered everywhere. "Can we interview her?" a CNN reporter asked.

"She's a cat," I said.

"We'd love to interview her. Can we set up a time? Is she sensitive to bright lights?

Has she ever used a microphone? Does she have an agent?"

"She's a cat."

Grandma and I hid upstairs. Since we didn't usually have Saturdays off, we weren't really sure what to do with ourselves. We ate some scrambled eggs and puttered around. I couldn't focus on homework. I wanted to call Vincent but didn't. Anyway, he should have called to say he was sorry.

But what if he wasn't sorry? What if he had meant those mean words? I was just this bothersome friend without a life and our friendship had run its course. He had moved on to better and prettier things. I missed him terribly. Being accused of spreading bubonic plague would have felt a lot less horrid with Vincent by my side.

"What's this?" I asked, picking up a brochure that lay on the table.

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