Chapter One
I still think you need a cat, Sunita,” Zoe tells me as we bounce along in the school bus. We’re going to Dr. Mac’s Place, the veterinary clinic where we volunteer. It’s the perfect way to start the weekend.
“Forget about it,” I say. “It’s useless. My mother won’t let me. End of story.”
“You’re giving up too easily.” Zoe fixes the butterfly clips in her hair. “You like cats more than anyone I know.”
She has a point. I’ve always loved cats. Long-haired, short-haired, tabby, Siamese, or stray. I adore them all. I can watch cats for hours—the graceful way they move, that mysterious look in their eyes, the twitching tail, the cute whiskers—everything about them fascinates me.
My mother, however, doesn’t like them. I think they scare her, though she won’t admit it. Instead, she gives reasons like “They shed” or “They’ll ruin the furniture with their claws.” She has made up her mind. No cats in the Patel house.
“You just haven’t asked the right way,” Zoe continues. “Parents expect you to ask a million times so they know you really, really, really want something. You’ve probably only asked, like, a thousand times.”
Zoe’s mother is an actress. I’m sure she doesn’t mind if Zoe gets a little dramatic when she wants something. That doesn’t work at my house.
“My mother isn’t the kind of person who likes being asked a million times for anything,” I explain. “She’s a doctor. She wants facts.”
Zoe’s redheaded cousin, Maggie MacKenzie, leans across the aisle. “The fact is you’re great with cats and you deserve a pet,” she says.
David Hutchinson turns around in the seat in front of us. “Tell your mom that a cat would eat the mice in your basement,” he says.
“Yuck!” Zoe protests. “That’s disgusting.”
Brenna Lake, sitting next to David, punches his arm lightly. “Sunita doesn’t have mice, you bean head.” She twists around to face Zoe and me. “Write down all the reasons why you want a cat and give the list to your mom. Make sure you have lots.”
“I doubt that would work,” I say with a laugh. “My mother wants a cat that doesn’t have fur, claws, or teeth, or need a litter box or food. In other words, she’ll let me have a stuffed animal.”
“But she let you volunteer at the clinic,” Maggie says. “Remember how much that surprised you? Maybe you should give her a chance.”
She’s right about that. I didn’t expect Mother to let me volunteer with the others. But she did. At first I thought helping at the clinic would be enough. If I got to be around cats at Dr. Mac’s Place, I wouldn’t want one of my own so badly. But being around them makes me want one of my own even more. There has to be something I can do to get Mother to change her mind.
The bus slows as we approach our stop.
“OK, you guys,” I say, turning to my friends. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll try asking mother again. But I have to find the right way to do it. Now let’s get to Dr. Mac’s Place.”
Dr. Mac’s Place is run by Dr. J.J. MacKenzie, Maggie and Zoe’s grandmother. We call her Dr. Mac. She invited Brenna, David, and me to volunteer at the clinic with Maggie and Zoe last month, and it’s the most spectacular thing that has ever happened to me.
Being at the clinic is amazing. We see all kinds of animals, from cats to canaries, puppies to pot-bellied pigs. My favorite parts are when the veterinarians let us help them during examinations and when we learn about things like X-rays and blood tests.
It’s not always fun, though. Some of the work is boring and smelly, like cleaning cages or mop-ping floors. But every job is important—that’s what Dr. Mac says.
Since my dream is to be a vet when I grow up, I’ll do whatever she asks. I want to know everything I can about animals. Especially cats. Whenever I have any free time at home, I devour the cat books that Dr. Mac lets me borrow, or surf the Internet to
I still think you need a cat, Sunita,” Zoe tells me as we bounce along in the school bus. We’re going to Dr. Mac’s Place, the veterinary clinic where we volunteer. It’s the perfect way to start the weekend.
“Forget about it,” I say. “It’s useless. My mother won’t let me. End of story.”
“You’re giving up too easily.” Zoe fixes the butterfly clips in her hair. “You like cats more than anyone I know.”
She has a point. I’ve always loved cats. Long-haired, short-haired, tabby, Siamese, or stray. I adore them all. I can watch cats for hours—the graceful way they move, that mysterious look in their eyes, the twitching tail, the cute whiskers—everything about them fascinates me.
My mother, however, doesn’t like them. I think they scare her, though she won’t admit it. Instead, she gives reasons like “They shed” or “They’ll ruin the furniture with their claws.” She has made up her mind. No cats in the Patel house.
“You just haven’t asked the right way,” Zoe continues. “Parents expect you to ask a million times so they know you really, really, really want something. You’ve probably only asked, like, a thousand times.”
Zoe’s mother is an actress. I’m sure she doesn’t mind if Zoe gets a little dramatic when she wants something. That doesn’t work at my house.
“My mother isn’t the kind of person who likes being asked a million times for anything,” I explain. “She’s a doctor. She wants facts.”
Zoe’s redheaded cousin, Maggie MacKenzie, leans across the aisle. “The fact is you’re great with cats and you deserve a pet,” she says.
David Hutchinson turns around in the seat in front of us. “Tell your mom that a cat would eat the mice in your basement,” he says.
“Yuck!” Zoe protests. “That’s disgusting.”
Brenna Lake, sitting next to David, punches his arm lightly. “Sunita doesn’t have mice, you bean head.” She twists around to face Zoe and me. “Write down all the reasons why you want a cat and give the list to your mom. Make sure you have lots.”
“I doubt that would work,” I say with a laugh. “My mother wants a cat that doesn’t have fur, claws, or teeth, or need a litter box or food. In other words, she’ll let me have a stuffed animal.”
“But she let you volunteer at the clinic,” Maggie says. “Remember how much that surprised you? Maybe you should give her a chance.”
She’s right about that. I didn’t expect Mother to let me volunteer with the others. But she did. At first I thought helping at the clinic would be enough. If I got to be around cats at Dr. Mac’s Place, I wouldn’t want one of my own so badly. But being around them makes me want one of my own even more. There has to be something I can do to get Mother to change her mind.
The bus slows as we approach our stop.
“OK, you guys,” I say, turning to my friends. “You’ve convinced me. I’ll try asking mother again. But I have to find the right way to do it. Now let’s get to Dr. Mac’s Place.”
Dr. Mac’s Place is run by Dr. J.J. MacKenzie, Maggie and Zoe’s grandmother. We call her Dr. Mac. She invited Brenna, David, and me to volunteer at the clinic with Maggie and Zoe last month, and it’s the most spectacular thing that has ever happened to me.
Being at the clinic is amazing. We see all kinds of animals, from cats to canaries, puppies to pot-bellied pigs. My favorite parts are when the veterinarians let us help them during examinations and when we learn about things like X-rays and blood tests.
It’s not always fun, though. Some of the work is boring and smelly, like cleaning cages or mop-ping floors. But every job is important—that’s what Dr. Mac says.
Since my dream is to be a vet when I grow up, I’ll do whatever she asks. I want to know everything I can about animals. Especially cats. Whenever I have any free time at home, I devour the cat books that Dr. Mac lets me borrow, or surf the Internet to
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