The life-size Jesus statue in the Tisks’ front yard made an excellent guardian. His blue eyes seemed to follow me as I walked past him, silently reminding me of all ten commandments and how I’d broken at least four of them. I didn’t think I was breaking any at the moment, but he still made me kind of nervous. I rang the doorbell. A few seconds later the door opened and Mrs. Tisk was staring out at me. Or maybe she was looking through me—it was hard to tell. She reminded me of the statue, only less alive. She didn’t say anything; she just stood there with her crown of pale blond hair and colorless eyes.
“Hi, Mrs. Tisk,” I said. “I’m Ginger Crump.”
“I know who you are.” Her voice sounded like oatmeal. “You are the girl from the library. What is it you want?”
I held up my tab and showed her a page from the corrupted version of Charlotte’s Web.
“Charlotte isn’t supposed to be a girl. She’s a spider. I want you to fix it, because if you don’t, you’re going to be in big trouble.” When I had practiced saying that on the way over, it had sounded much more fearsome. Mrs. Tisk’s dead-fish eyes bored into me. “My dad will have you arrested for literary terrorism,” I added.
Mrs. Tisk laughed, a creaky, rusty sound like you might hear if you forced open a cellar door that hadn’t been opened in decades.
“You can’t just go around changing books,” I said.
“Your blasphemous reading habits are not my concern, young lady. Clearly you are not only rude and presumptuous, you are beyond saving. I have no idea what you’re talking about, and even if I did, I wouldn’t care. However, I will pray for you.”
She slammed the door in my face.
But not before her cat, Mr. Peebles, slipped out unseen.
“How do you stand it?” I asked him.
“Grup,” he said.
• • •
I did not mean to become a kidnapper. Or, more accurately, a catnapper. Mr. Peebles followed me home of his own free will. And when we got there, I did not force him to stay, but I did feed him another half a can of tuna. I gave the other half to Barney, making him promise not to say anything. Grudgingly Barney agreed. He ate his tuna and went to his living room perch to sulk. I politely invited Mr. Peebles to spend the night in my bedroom, and he politely accepted my invitation.
Why did I do that? I suppose I was angry that the Tisks had taken Charlotte away from me, and thousands of other readers, and taking their cat was . . . I don’t know. I was mad, okay? Anyway, I figured I could return Mr. Peebles later and no harm done. And they couldn’t really blame me, because Mr. Peebles had come on his own.
I considered sending a ransom note. I spent a few minutes writing one out. I found a ransom note font to make it look like a real ransom note. I thought it looked pretty good:
I showed it to Mr. Peebles. He stared at it for a moment, then swiped his paw across the screen, trying to turn the page.
“Wait here,” I said. “I’ll get you a book.”
I ran downstairs to my dad’s study and looked over his bookshelf. What would Mr. Peebles like? Something with pictures, maybe. I found one of my old picture books on the bottom shelf. The Cat in the Hat. Perfect!
Back in my room, I propped the book on my pillow and set Mr. Peebles in front of it. He sniffed the edges of the book, then rubbed the spine with his chin and licked it.
“You’re supposed to read it, not eat it,” I said. I opened the book to the middle. Mr. Peebles plopped down on top of the book and began to purr.
“I can see you’re a real book lover,” I said.
I went back to the ransom note. On second reading, it didn’t seem like such a good idea. They would probably guess who sent it, and there was probably some sort of law against catnapping and ransom demands, even if it was for a good cause. Even if the cat was not in fact napped, but had defected of his own free will. It wasn’t fair.
I could almost hear Mom. Fair? Life is not fair! She said that often about things I considered unfair. My mother could be quite unreasonable at times.
My thoughts were interrupted by someone repeatedly pressing our doorbell. I peeked out my window and saw Mrs. Tisk standing on the front steps. My mother answered the door. Words were Spoken, most of them by Mrs. Tisk. Then my mom spoke some Words that made Mrs. Tisk’s pasty face turn red, and moments later she turned and walked off all stiff-legged and indignant.
I threw Mr. Peebles in my closet, jumped back in bed, and pretended to be reading something on my tab. A minute later I heard my mother’s distinctive, sharp-knuckled rap on my door.
“Yes? Who is it?”
“Ginger, open the door.”
I opened the door. My mother’s laser-beam eyes instantly zeroed in on the bowl on the floor next to my bed.
“Ginger, why does your room smell like tuna fish?”
“Um . . . I got hungry?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Ginger, did you steal the Tisks’ cat?”
“No,” I said. It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly.
“Do you know where the Tisks’ cat is?”
She had me boxed in with that question. I was trying to think what to say when Mr. Peebles started scratching at the closet door.
“It’s possible that some strange cat followed me home,” I said.
She crossed the room and opened the closet. Mr. Peebles strolled out, hopped onto my bed, and curled up on my pillow.
“Ginger . . . ”
“You should ask the Tisks why they messed up my copy of Charlotte’s Web.”
“So that’s what this is about. I suppose you think kidnapping is the proper response to a minor computer problem.”
“It’s not a minor problem; it’s a major one. I mean, how would you like it if somebody changed all the words in one of your books? And it’s not kidnapping, it’s catnapping, and anyway, I didn’t do anything except give Mr. Peebles some tuna.”
My mother crossed her arms. “Ginger . . . ”
“Nothing can be proved,” I said.
“This is not a court of law. I don’t need proof to know when my daughter is guilty. I want you to return that cat to the Tisks immediately, if not sooner.”
“But what about Charlotte’s Web?”
“That is a separate issue. Your father said he will deal with it on Monday, and so he will. Now take that cat back! And while you’re at it, apologize to them.”
“But—”
“Now!”
• • •
Mr. Peebles did not care for the cat crate, but I bribed him with some of Barney’s cat treats and soon was on my way to the Tisks. Mr. Peebles complained every step of the way.
“Shut up,” I told him. “At least you don’t have to apologize to that book-wrecking old bag.”
“Mroooow!”
“Whatever.” I was in no mood to argue. I didn’t mind giving the cat back, but I hated apologizing to anybody—even if I happened to be in the wrong.
Mrs. Tisk opened the door about two seconds after I rang the bell. I saw Dottie standing behind her.
“I found your cat,” I said.
“Tsk,” she replied.
I opened the crate. Mr. Peebles ran between her legs, into the house, and hopped into Dottie’s arms.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my jaw almost breaking from the effort of squeezing out those words. “He followed me home.”
“Tsk,” said Mrs. Tisk.
Mr. Tisk came up behind her. “What is going on here?”
“This is the girl who stole Dottie’s cat,” said Mrs. Tisk.
Mr. Tisk peered out at me. The two of them filled the doorway. “Oh,” he said. “You.”
“Yes. Me,” I replied. “And I didn’t steal him. He followed me home, maybe because he doesn’t like living with people who hate books.” I probably shouldn’t have said that last part, but he was making me mad.
“You are a very rude young lady,” said Mrs. Tisk.
“I know you hacked Charlotte’s Web,” I said, getting madder. “And I’m going to prove it!”
She slammed the door in my face—again.