Sammy Keyes and the Psycho Kitty Queen Read Online Free PDF Page A

inched a little closer. “I smell chocolate! And candied oranges! And toasted walnuts. And…”
    “Stop!” Grams said. She was scrambling around like crazy. “It's supposed to be a surprise.”
    “It is!” I laughed, and hugged my mother again.
    But after a second she backed away and said, “Samantha, you're soaked! What happened?”
    “Oh,” I said. “It's kind of a long story.”
    Grams laughed and called from the kitchen, “Prepare yourself, Lana.”
    My mom smiled at me like, well? So I shrugged and said, “I was hosed down by a crazy cat lady.”
    “For?”
    “For returning her dead cat.”
    Mom's smile started to fade. “For returning her dead cat?”
    But just then, out of nowhere,
my
cat jumps right over my feet, dives under the kitchen table, and pounces on something in the corner.
    My mother puts one hand to her heart and catches her breath. “What on earth…?”
    “Hey, Dorito,” I say, moving toward my cat. “What'cha got there?”
    Now, I can tell he's not just playing with a kitty toy— he's being way too intense. So I crouch beside him, and when he turns to face me, there's something long and skinny sticking out of his mouth. And it's
twitching.
Like some sort of freaky alien tongue.
    “That's a
tail
,“ Mom squeaks.
    I clamp onto Dorito's muzzle and try to pry his teeth apart, but Grams kneels beside me and says, “It's a mouse, Samantha—just let him have it!”
    “But Grams… !” I felt so sorry for the mouse, trapped inside jaws of death, twitching like crazy to get free.
    “Oh! Eeeew!” my mom squeals, and believe me, she's looking around for a chair to jump on.
    “Samantha,” Grams says gently, “this is what cats do. This is what they're for.”
    I frown at her. “This is what they're
for?
You mean you got me Dorito so he could catch mice?”
    She sighs. “Look. If there are mice in the building, they're going to have to exterminate them anyway.”
    “Oh! Eeeew!” Mom says again with her hands to her cheeks.
    I've got Dorito's lips peeled back, but he's not giving up the mouse. His big yellow eyes are actually glaring at me. And Grams is still coaching me, saying, “Samantha, mice can carry salmonella or hantavirus or Lyme disease, not to mention fleas. They're not animals you want in your house!”
    By now the tail has stopped twitching, but I pry Dorito's mouth open anyway. “Let go, Dorito!”
    Grams grumbles, “You are so stubborn…,” and Dorito gives me a disgusted look, but finally he opens up and lets me have the mouse.
    I hold it out, letting it dangle by its tail. It's so little. So cute.
    So dead.
    “Oh eeeew!” my mom says again. “You have
mice.”
    “It's just a baby, Lana,” Grams says to her. “And it's the first one I've ever seen.”
    “But…,” my mom says, giving her a panicked look, “a baby means there's an entire
litter
somewhere. It means—”
    “Oh, Lana. Don't get yourself all worked up. It's just a mouse.”
    “But you yourself said they can carry salmonella or hantavirus or Lyme disease. Not to mention”—she shudders, nose to toes—”fleas.”
    So I'm dangling a tiny dead mouse by the tail, with a disgusted cat on one side and a flea-phobic mother on the other, when Grams says, “Just take it downstairs, would you?”
    “Take it downstairs?” I ask. “And do what with it?”
    “Throw it out!”
    “But—”
    “And don't use the trash chute. Millie in five-oh-two says it's plugged up again.”
    “But—”
    “Just go!” Grams whispers, eyeing my mother, who's looking like she's about to faint.
    So okay. I sneak down the fire escape and over to the Dumpster. And maybe I should have just tossed the little flea-infested, hantavirus-carrying rodent in and forgotten about him, but he was so cute. And it just felt so … wrong.
    So I wound up saying, “Sorry, little guy. I hope mousy heaven's a really nice place. With lots of crackers and cheese and… and whatever else you like.” And since one side of the