Various Pets Alive and Dead Read Online Free PDF

classroom and sorts her things for tomorrow, when there’s a knock on the door and in comes Mr Philpott, the caretaker, wearing his brown button-up overalls. He advances, grinning mysteriously, holding out a large package wrapped in brown paper.
    ‘Ta-daah!’
    ‘Is it for me?’
    She tears off the paper. Inside is a clear plastic box with air holes in which a ball of gingery fluff is curled up asleep. A rush of emotion colours her cheeks.
    ‘Why …?’
    ‘To teach the little villains kindness and responsibility. Remember what the Head said? You can keep it in the classroom. I’ll look after it at weekends.’
    She remembers vaguely that Mr Gorst/Alan mentioned something in a staff meeting, and she’d immediately dismissed the idea as not for her (
Dead Hamster Debacle – Teacher Arrested
).
    ‘I … I don’t think I can keep it.’ Her heart is beating so hard she’s sure he must be able to hear. ‘I’ve had some bad experiences with pets.’
    Mr Philpott looks crestfallen. ‘I thought you’d like it, duck.’
    The ball of ginger fluff stirs. Tiny pink paws rub trembling whiskers. Two bright button eyes blink open. It is heartbreakingly adorable. Well-meaning people like Mr Philpott and Mr Gorst/Alan think caring for pets will teach children kindness and responsibility, but she knows that what you really learn is the precariousness of life, the inevitability of death.
    ‘I do … only … Has it got a name?’
    ‘’Amlet the ’Amster.’
    ‘That’s a great name. But … Hamlet died young!’
    ‘’E ’ad personal problems, din’t ’e? But this one just sleeps all the time.’
    The little creature has curled up again and gone to sleep.
    ‘For in that sleep what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this ’amster coil.’
    ‘He’s talking about death.’
    ‘You know, I wondered what the ’eck ’e were on about. I saw t’ play at t’ Civic Theatre. Watched it twice, and I were none the wiser. I even bought t’ boowk.’
    ‘Your boiler room is a sanctuary of erudition and culture in a barbarous world, Mr Philpott.’
    ‘Aye, if I had my time over again, I could’ve been an intellectual, like you.’
    After he’s gone, she puts the hamster box on the window sill, takes her phone out of her bag, and scrolls down to Serge’s number. The little curled-up ginger creature has jolted her memory.
    Serge is often mysteriously unavailable for weeks, but this time he answers on the first ring.
    ‘Serge Free.’
    ‘I know it’s you, you little troll. Have you been avoiding me?’
    ‘Claz! Why would I do that?’
    ‘Has Doro talked to you about these proposed parental nuptials?’
    ‘Yeah, she came down to London today.’
    Which is strange, since Serge is still at Cambridge finishing his PhD. He mumbles something about collaboration with a maths team at University College, then starts on about an argument concerning doggy-doo with some woman wearing pink leggings. Her mother seems to be getting more and more eccentric in her old age.
    ‘Poor you. Was it embarrassing? Did people stare?’
    ‘Just a bit.’
    ‘D’you remember that time you fell over in the park and came home covered in it? You even got it in your hair. Doro went ballistic.’
    Serge was always uncannily accident-prone as a kid. Doro used to call him dyspraxic.
    ‘Yeah, I remember. Wasn’t it Freud who said shit is a dream-metaphor for money?’
    ‘How Doggy-Doo Can Make You Rich! Billionaire Secrets Revealed!’
    ‘There could be something in it.’
    ‘Get a grip, Soz.’ He’s almost as mad as Doro. ‘Anyway, she wants us to track down the kids from the commune. But I’ve got my hands full trying to organise a stall for the school’s Community Day. I can’t get hold of the recycling company.’
    She talks about her problems with Syrec, and Doro’s strange letter. He makes occasional supporting grunts down the phone.
    ‘I’ve looked on Facebook, but none of the Solidarity Hall kids seem to be signed up,’ she