There's a Hamster in my Pocket by Franzeska G. Ewart, Helen Bate

Beset with Worries
    I must be a Born Worrier.
    Don’t get me wrong – I can go for ages without a care in the world, but there are times when I’m simply
beset
with worries. And last summer was one of those times.
    â€˜Beset with worries’, by the way, is an expression I got from my best friend Kylie Teasdale. Kylie’s dead set on being a writer when she grows up, and she has this little notebook where she writes down good words and phrases.
    She let me look at it once, and I found ‘beset with worries’ on the ‘B’ page, underneath ‘bravado’ and ‘bucolic’.
    There were three worries besetting me last summer. The first one, which had a Worry Factor of 10, was the family business, Farooq’s Fruits.
    The second one, with a Worry Factor of 8.5, was Auntie Shabnam from Lahore.
    The third one, which only had a Worry Factor of 4, making it more of an Annoyance than a Worry, was Kylie’s Russian Dwarf hamsters.
    Of all the Worries, Farooq’s Fruits was far and away the worst. It was the Mother Of All Worries.
    It began one night, when I tiptoed downstairs for a glass of water and heard Mum and Dad talking in the living room. Something about their voices made me stop and listen.
    They were talking about the shop, and they were using words like ‘recession’ and ‘falling profit margins’. Dad kept sighing, and Mum kept saying she was sure it would be all right, in a voice that clearly meant she wasn’t.
    By this time my ear was almost bonded to the living room door, so when Dad gave his biggest sigh yet and said, “And then there’s the business of the health and safety inspection . . .” I heard every word, clear as a bell.
    I didn’t entirely understand what ‘recession’ and ‘falling profit margins’ were, but I knew they were
not
good news, and I understood perfectly how serious a failed health and safety inspection was. The next day, though, when I asked Mum and Dad if anything was wrong, they just smiled and said of
course
not.
    They couldn’t fool me, though. Not for a minute. And when I asked Kylie what ‘recession’ meant, and she told me it was ‘a period of general economic decline’, I felt absolutely sick.
    So that was the First Worry, and it was, as I discovered at breakfast the next morning, the direct cause of the Second Worry.
    â€œAuntie Shabnam is coming to stay for a while,” Dad announced. “All the way from Lahore. Exciting, isn’t it?”
    We were all sitting round the table. Nani was eating soggy Weetabix and Bilal, who had just cut his second tooth, was gnawing the handle of his mug.

    The news completely floored us. For a while, no one spoke.
    â€œAuntie Shabnam has agreed to help boost the business,” Dad went on. “Give us advice, and so forth.”
    â€œVery sharp, my sister is,” Mum put in. “Brimful of business acumen.”
    I turned to ask Nani what ‘business acumen’ was, but she was glaring down into her spoonful of mushy cereal as though it contained all the sins of the world. I decided I could wait.
    Dad cleared his throat and looked directly at me.
    â€œYour mum and I have decided, Yosser,” he said, “that Auntie Shabnam would be most comfortable in Nani’s room. We’re going to convert it into an executive office for her.”
    A sound like a small, wet, explosion came from Nani’s direction. Dad ignored it.
    â€œSo Nani will move in with you,” he went on.
    I swear I heard my stomach go
splat!
as it hit the kitchen floor.
    â€œIt’s only for a short while,” Dad added, apologetically.
    â€œAnd it’ll give us a chance to give Nani’s room a nice, fresh lick of paint,” Mum said, very brightly. “And declutter it.”
    At the word ‘declutter’, Nani’s nostrils flared. She glowered over at Dad, then at Mum, then finally at me.
    I glowered