The Good, the Bad and the Bossy (Best Babysitters Ever). Caroline Cala

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      But the bonnet is so cute!” yelled Bree. “I don’t understand what your problem is!” She held a glittery blue bonnet in the air, prompting the cat to dig his claws ever deeper into Bree’s second-favourite sparkly pillow.

      In the three short days Bree had owned him (the vet had informed them that Veronica was, in fact, a boy cat), Veronica had all but destroyed Bree’s lifelong dream of feline parenthood. He had also, quite literally, destroyed her duvet, her fluffy white rug, her curtains, and everything that once sat on top of her desk.

      Despite what Bartholomew had said, this particular sphynx cat had no interest in being hugged. He wasn’t even a little bit cuddly. He didn’t want to socialize with Chocolate Pudding, or with Bree, or really with anyone. He did, however, have a lot of energy.

      “I love you!” Bree yelled, close to tears. “Why won’t you let me love you?”

      The cat stared at her menacingly, his giant yellow eyes glowing with what anyone who wasn’t Bree would likely identify as pure evil.

      Bree pounced on top of him, causing the cat to scratch at her arm. “You’re supposed to want to be held!” she said. “Hugs are good for you!” Somehow, she managed to hold him for just long enough to squeeze the bonnet on to his head and secure it with the little elastic. Veronica made a sound not unlike a baby screaming.

      Just then, there was a knock at her bedroom door.

      “Bree, lovey?” her mom called from outside the locked door.

      “Yes?” Bree called, trying to sound casual.

      “I’m picking up Emma and Olivia up from dance lessons, so it’s time for you to hang out with Bailey until we get back. He needs help with his school project.”

      “Okay!” Bree called as Veronica ran in manic circles around her.

      Bree’s job was to babysit Bailey, especially now that the concert was approaching and she needed the extra money. But so far, it felt virtually impossible. How was Bree ever supposed to see human Veronica if she couldn’t get cat Veronica under control?

      “And it’s taco night, so can you also take the stuff out of the fridge? I’ll heat everything up as soon as I’m back.”

      “Uh-huh!” Bree said, her voice coloured with fake sunshine.

      “Okay! Everything is good with the cat?” Her mom sounded suspicious. How did she always know everything?

      “Yep! Everything is great,” Bree said as Veronica went into full-on attack mode with one of Bree’s remaining pillows, sending stuffing flying through the air.

      “Okay, then! I’m heading out. Come downstairs, okay?”

      “Coming!” Bree said in a singsong voice, as she scrambled to pick up the bits of discarded stuffing and bury them securely in a trash bag.

      Veronica meowed, pleased with himself.

      Bree sighed.

      “Look, I get that you had a rough kittenhood or whatever, but I love you now. You’re safe here. You don’t have to keep acting out. You have food and litter and toys and an entire wardrobe with outfits for every occasion and even accessories.”

      The cat meowed defiantly.

      “I need you to, like, calm down.”

      Veronica blinked one time.

      “Can you stay in here and not destroy everything? I have to go downstairs for a little bit to spend time with Bailey. I’m not abandoning you. I’ll come back upstairs soon, okay?”

      The cat sauntered in front of the door, daring her to open it.

      “No, I need you to stay in here.”

      Bree felt very exasperated. She wondered what Taylor Swift would do in this situation. She carried her cats around in the airport and stuff, and they seemed so nice.

      Bree had no choice but to resort to bribery. She opened a package of fish-flavoured cat treats and threw one across the room. Veronica bounded after it, his bonnet sparkling all the way. Bree slipped out the door, closing it behind her.

      Downstairs, she opened the fridge to find the ingredients she needed for taco night. Tortillas and all sorts of toppings – including her favourite: fish covered with her mom’s signature marinade – sat in foil-covered dishes. Bree took each dish out of the fridge and lined them up on the counter. Bree loved taco night. She felt thankful that it would be a happy ending to what was turning out to be a very stressful day.

      Once everything was set up, Bree headed to the family room, where Bailey sat on the couch, watching cartoons, eating popcorn, and having no idea how good his life was. He didn’t have a psycho cat. He didn’t have to hold down a job or even help out around the house. He just got to be nine years old, which seemed like a pretty good deal.

      “What are you watching?” Bree asked.

      “Danger Duck Detective Agency,” Bailey said, never taking his eyes from the screen.

      “Should you really be watching this right now? Mom said you needed help with your project.”

      “Yeah, but I’m almost done,” Bailey countered. “It’s a papier-mâché model of the Eiffel Tower. Mom already helped me make the base level and I just have to put another layer of paper on top.”

      “Okay, well, then maybe we should finish it together now, quickly, so we don’t have to worry about it,” Bree suggested. “You’ll feel good once it’s done.” She purposefully left out the part where she wanted to get it over with as fast as possible so she could run back to check on her . . . challenging cat.

      “Okay. It’s in Marc’s study,” Bailey said with a shrug.

      They headed into Bree’s stepdad’s office, where the lopsided, half-finished Eiffel Tower was on top of the desk, surrounded by decidedly less artistic things, like stacks of Marc’s legal papers. Bree spread out the supplies, and they got to work. They were just getting into a good rhythm of layering on the paper strips, when Bailey suddenly looked surprised.

      “What’s that noise?” Bailey asked.

      “I don’t hear anything,” Bree said.

      “It sounds like a goose. Being strangled.”

      At that moment, something truly horrible-smelling made its way into Bree’s nostrils.

      “What is that?” said Bree, gagging. It was the worst thing Bree had ever smelled. It was even worse than nappies.

      “Ewww! СКАЧАТЬ