time, young man!” his aunt scoldedimmediately. “I practically screamed myself hoarse calling for you.”
“Yes, Auntie.” Boney turned his back to her as she continued her tirade. He tried to conceal the kitten while pushing his sneakers off with his feet. But his aunt wasn’t that easily fooled.
“What have you got there?” She sniffed, walking toward him.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you clutching your stomach?”
Boney froze. “I don’t feel well.”
His aunt leaned in to take a closer look. “Your stomach looks all bloated. Do you have a fever? Let me feel your forehead.”
Boney jumped back. “NO! It’s okay. I just have to go to the washroom really badly.” He hopped lightly from foot to foot to show his distress. The kitten began to squirm beneath his shirt.
His aunt stared in horror at the wiggling lump. “Good heavens!” She turned to Boney’s uncle. “Robert, get the ipecac. I think William has worms.”
“It’s not worms,” Boney said. “I just need to go to the washroom.”
“Don’t move,” his aunt ordered. She rummaged through the cupboards until she found the bottle of medicine she was looking for, and then she got a tablespoonfrom the cutlery drawer. Unscrewing the cap on the bottle, she walked toward Boney, filling the spoon with gruesome yellow liquid.
Boney grimaced, struggling to contain the squirming kitten. “Really, Auntie, I’m okay — I think it’s just food poisoning.”
His aunt recoiled as though bitten. “Food poisoning? Not from this kitchen.” She turned to her husband. “Robert? How’s your stomach?”
“Huh?” Boney’s uncle sputtered through his moustache, fluttering his newspaper absently.
“Maybe I got it from something I ate at the clubhouse,” Boney said, the kitten becoming more and more agitated.
“Well, it won’t hurt you to take a little medicine.” His aunt raised the spoon of jiggling syrup.
Boney jerked away from the spoon. “Auntie, please!” he howled, the kitten screeching from his shirt and landing between his feet with a loud plop!
The sight of the kitten caused his aunt to shriek and faint. She collapsed on the kitchen floor, the ipecac syrup fanning from the bottle in a putrid yellow arc across the room.
Boney’s uncle leaped to his feet and trampled through the sticky syrup, leaving yellow footprints across the linoleum. He knelt at his wife’s side, flapping his foldednewspaper in her face. Boney grabbed the terrified kitten and held him to his chest.
“Can I keep him, Uncle?” he begged. “I promise I’ll take care of him. You won’t even have to pay for food or anything.”
Boney’s uncle continued to fan his wife with the newspaper. “You’d better take that kitten up to your room,” he ordered. “We’ll discuss this in the morning— once your aunt has had a chance to recover.”
Boney rushed upstairs with the kitten. He could hear his uncle helping his aunt up the stairs, her wails echoing through the house. He waited until things settled down, then searched his room for an old cardboard box for the kitten’s litter, cutting the edges down to the proper height. When he was sure his aunt was safely stowed in her bed, Boney snuck downstairs with the makeshift litter box and crept outside to get some soil from the rose garden. Looking over his shoulder for clones, Boney quickly filled the box with his hands, brushing them off on his jeans before sneaking back into the house.
In the kitchen, the table was still set for dinner, pots and pans abandoned on the stove. His aunt had never been this upset before. He would never hear the end of it. Desperate to make amends, Boney grabbed the dishcloth from the sink and furiously scrubbed the yellowipecac syrup from the floor, rinsing the cloth several times until the kitchen was clean. As he replaced the cloth in the sink, Boney’s stomach growled loudly. Despite everything, he was hungry. He cautiously peeked into the pots: Brussels sprouts and one of
“Yes, Auntie.” Boney turned his back to her as she continued her tirade. He tried to conceal the kitten while pushing his sneakers off with his feet. But his aunt wasn’t that easily fooled.
“What have you got there?” She sniffed, walking toward him.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you clutching your stomach?”
Boney froze. “I don’t feel well.”
His aunt leaned in to take a closer look. “Your stomach looks all bloated. Do you have a fever? Let me feel your forehead.”
Boney jumped back. “NO! It’s okay. I just have to go to the washroom really badly.” He hopped lightly from foot to foot to show his distress. The kitten began to squirm beneath his shirt.
His aunt stared in horror at the wiggling lump. “Good heavens!” She turned to Boney’s uncle. “Robert, get the ipecac. I think William has worms.”
“It’s not worms,” Boney said. “I just need to go to the washroom.”
“Don’t move,” his aunt ordered. She rummaged through the cupboards until she found the bottle of medicine she was looking for, and then she got a tablespoonfrom the cutlery drawer. Unscrewing the cap on the bottle, she walked toward Boney, filling the spoon with gruesome yellow liquid.
Boney grimaced, struggling to contain the squirming kitten. “Really, Auntie, I’m okay — I think it’s just food poisoning.”
His aunt recoiled as though bitten. “Food poisoning? Not from this kitchen.” She turned to her husband. “Robert? How’s your stomach?”
“Huh?” Boney’s uncle sputtered through his moustache, fluttering his newspaper absently.
“Maybe I got it from something I ate at the clubhouse,” Boney said, the kitten becoming more and more agitated.
“Well, it won’t hurt you to take a little medicine.” His aunt raised the spoon of jiggling syrup.
Boney jerked away from the spoon. “Auntie, please!” he howled, the kitten screeching from his shirt and landing between his feet with a loud plop!
The sight of the kitten caused his aunt to shriek and faint. She collapsed on the kitchen floor, the ipecac syrup fanning from the bottle in a putrid yellow arc across the room.
Boney’s uncle leaped to his feet and trampled through the sticky syrup, leaving yellow footprints across the linoleum. He knelt at his wife’s side, flapping his foldednewspaper in her face. Boney grabbed the terrified kitten and held him to his chest.
“Can I keep him, Uncle?” he begged. “I promise I’ll take care of him. You won’t even have to pay for food or anything.”
Boney’s uncle continued to fan his wife with the newspaper. “You’d better take that kitten up to your room,” he ordered. “We’ll discuss this in the morning— once your aunt has had a chance to recover.”
Boney rushed upstairs with the kitten. He could hear his uncle helping his aunt up the stairs, her wails echoing through the house. He waited until things settled down, then searched his room for an old cardboard box for the kitten’s litter, cutting the edges down to the proper height. When he was sure his aunt was safely stowed in her bed, Boney snuck downstairs with the makeshift litter box and crept outside to get some soil from the rose garden. Looking over his shoulder for clones, Boney quickly filled the box with his hands, brushing them off on his jeans before sneaking back into the house.
In the kitchen, the table was still set for dinner, pots and pans abandoned on the stove. His aunt had never been this upset before. He would never hear the end of it. Desperate to make amends, Boney grabbed the dishcloth from the sink and furiously scrubbed the yellowipecac syrup from the floor, rinsing the cloth several times until the kitchen was clean. As he replaced the cloth in the sink, Boney’s stomach growled loudly. Despite everything, he was hungry. He cautiously peeked into the pots: Brussels sprouts and one of
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