Cat Mummy Read online

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Ancient Egyptian Cats

  I DIDN’T SLEEP properly that night. Mabel padded in and out of my dreams and whenever I woke up the bed was so cold and empty without her.

  I had another search of the house when I got up.

  ‘I’ve had a good look myself,’ said Gran. ‘There’s no sign of her.’

  ‘Let’s open her tin of Whiskas and bang the tin opener about a bit. That always makes her come,’ I said desperately.

  Gran opened the tin. She banged the tin opener lots of times. So did I. We both called for Mabel. But Mabel didn’t come.

  Grandad had another good look when he went to get the newspapers. No luck.

  ‘Perhaps she’s been kidnapped!’ I said.

  ‘Darling, nobody would want an old cat like Mabel,’ said Gran.

  ‘I want her,’ I said, and I cried again.

  I cried so much that Gran and Grandad got really worried.

  ‘Do try and stop, Verity. You’ll make yourself ill,’ said Gran. ‘Come on, now, you’re going to be late for school.’

  ‘Maybe she’s not in a fit state for school?’ said Grandad.

  ‘No, I’m not in a fit state at all,’ I sobbed, hoping that I’d be able to stay off and search for Mabel.

  But Gran was firm. I had to go to school no matter what. She stuck the cleaned sandals on my feet and fetched me a clean school dress from the airer.

  ‘Come on, stop that crying now, Verity,’ she said, buttoning me into my dress.

  She couldn’t button my lips though.

  ‘You don’t understand, Gran. Don’t you care that Mabel’s missing?’

  Gran stopped buttoning.

  ‘I care a great deal,’ she said, and her voice suddenly sounded wavery, like a radio not tuned in properly. ‘I’ve known Mabel much longer than you, Verity. I remember when we first got her as a kitten and your mother––’ Gran’s voice suddenly stopped. There were tears in her eyes.

  My tummy clenched so tight I couldn’t talk either, but I squeezed Gran’s hand to show her I was sorry.

  ‘I’ll take you to school today, Verity,’ said Grandad. ‘Come on, dear. Leave your gran be for now.’

  Gran wasn’t making any sound but the tears were running down her cheeks. Silent crying seems more frightening than noisy sobs. I hurried off to school with Grandad, looking in every single garden on the way. I kept stopping to peer underneath cars too just in case Mabel was curled up anywhere.

  Grandad gave me a hug at the school gate.

  ‘How about a big smile for Grandad?’ he asked. I couldn’t even manage a very little smile. Grandad was finding it hard to smile too.

  ‘I wish I didn’t have to go to school, Grandad,’ I said, wondering if he’d weaken and let me go back home with him.

  But Grandad said maybe playing with my friends would take my mind off Mabel. I didn’t see how he could say that. My mind was going Mabel-Mabel-Mabel like a burglar alarm and when I went into the classroom and started talking to Sophie and Laura and Aaron the Mabel noise didn’t stop. It got louder.

  ‘What’s up, Verity?’ Sophie asked, putting her arm round me.

  ‘Mabel’s missing!’ I wailed, and I told her all about it.

  Sophie was very comforting. She gave me half her Mars Bar from her lunch box and told me that Sporty and Scary and Baby and Posh’s mother once went missing.

  ‘She was gone for ages. She made herself a nest in the garden shed. That’s where she had her kittens. Maybe your Mabel’s having kittens too?’

  ‘Mabel’s much too old to have kittens.’

  ‘Maybe she’s just gone off on the scrounge,’ said Laura. ‘Our dog Dustbin does that. He goes into people’s gardens and barks piteously as if he’s starving and sometimes they fall for it and feed him.’

  ‘I don’t think Mabel would do that. She’s been a bit off her food recently,’ I said. ‘She keeps being sick.’ I put my head down on my desk. ‘I was horrid to her because I stepped in it, but it wasn’t her fault at all. Maybe she’s really, really ill.’

  ‘Our Licky is sick lots and lots. He eats grass, the silly boy, like he’s got this mad idea he’s a sheep. Does your Mabel eat grass?’

  ‘No, she just likes her cat food,’ I said, speaking into my desk.

  ‘Good morning, everyone,’ said Miss Smith cheerily, coming into the classroom. ‘Verity? What’s up with you, poppet? Are you sleepy?’

  ‘Mmm,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Did you stay up late watching television?’

  ‘No. I couldn’t sleep properly.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ said Miss Smith, coming up to my desk and squatting down beside me.

  ‘I had these bad dreams.’

  ‘Oh dear. Did you tell your mum?’

  ‘My mum’s dead,’ I said, and I sniffed hard.

  Miss Smith looked very upset. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, as if my mum had only died yesterday.

  I drooped in my desk while Miss Smith started the lesson, telling us all this stuff about the Ancient Egyptians. We’re doing them this term.

  Miss Smith looks a bit like an Ancient Egyptian herself with her straight black hair and her big outlined eyes. We had to do an Ancient Egyptian picture last week. You have to draw all the people looking sideways. Sophie and I got the giggles wondering if the Ancient Egyptians walked about like that.

  I didn’t feel at all like giggling now.

  Moyra gave me a little dig in the back.

  ‘My pet snake Crusher’s gone missing too,’ she whispered. ‘I wonder where he can have got to?’

  I knew what was coming. A few seconds later Moyra’s arm slithered over my shoulders.

  ‘It’s Crusher!’ she hissed.

  This time I didn’t scream. I didn’t even flinch.

  Moyra tried again, her arm wrapping right round my waist, but I still didn’t move.

  ‘Moyra! Leave Verity alone, please,’ said Miss Smith.

  ‘You’re no fun,’ Moyra whispered.

  I knew I wasn’t any fun. I slumped further down in my chair, thinking about Mabel. I kept remembering how I’d shouted at her for being sick and the sad, shamed way she’d slunk off. I couldn’t bear it.

  I had to find my hankie quick. I snuffled noisily. Everyone politely took no notice – until I got another poke in the back from Moyra. I thought I was under another Crusher attack, but she whispered, ‘Sorry about your cat, Verity. I’m sure she’ll come back. We always find Crusher when he goes missing.’

  ‘Moyra!’ said Miss Smith.

  ‘I was just saying nice stuff about Verity’s cat, Miss Smith!’ said Moyra.

  ‘She was, Miss Smith,’ I said, blowing my nose.

  I’m not always good, but I am truthful.

  The whole class looked astonished. Moyra and I are famed for our deadly enmity and yet here we were sticking up for each other. Even Miss Smith looked surprised.

  ‘Well, I’m glad to see you two being friendly for once,’ she said. ‘Still, we’re really supposed to be thinking about the Ancient Egyptians, not cats. Though as a matter of fact the Ancient Egyptians were extremely interested in cats. They kept them as special pets and looked after them very lovingly. If an enemy soldier held a cat as a kind of living armour the Egyptian soldiers wouldn’t attack because they were so worried about hurting the cat. They even had a special cat goddess called Bastet. They built a big cat cemetery in her name. When a cat died the owners would shave their eyebrows as a sign of mourning – and very special cats were even made into mummies.’

  ‘Mummies! Wow. Tell us about mummies, Miss Smith,’ said Moyra.

  I stopped listening. I was saying a prayer to Bastet.

  ‘Please let me find Mabel, oh great cat goddess Bastet,’ I whispered. ‘Please please please let me find Mabel.’

  I had my eyes tightly shut. When I opened them Miss Smith was holding up a picture of a cat. It looked very odd, long and thin, with no tail or paws, but it had a very distinct cat face and
little pointed cat ears. It seemed to be made of cloth rather than fur so I thought it was maybe a toy cat.

  ‘This is a cat mummy,’ said Miss Smith, and she told us exactly how the Ancient Egyptians made their poor dead cats into mummies. And this time I listened.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Mabel Mummy

  THE CAT GODDESS Bastet granted my prayer – but in the worst way possible.

  Gran met me from school. She had make-up on and she looked smart, but she was still sad. There was still no sign of Mabel.

  ‘But we’ve got to remember she’s been missing less than twenty-four hours,’ said Gran.

  It seemed like she’d been missing twenty-four days. No, twenty-four weeks. When I went indoors I wished there was some magic way I could rewind those twenty-four hours so I could step in the sick in the hall but then pick Mabel up and cuddle her close and tell her how sorry I was that she wasn’t feeling well.

  But the carpet was clean this time. There was no Mabel hanging her head in the hall.

  ‘I’ll make us a little snack,’ said Gran, though neither of us was feeling hungry.

  I went trailing upstairs to my bedroom. Minnie was sprawled on my bed. I flopped down beside her for a minute. I kicked off my sandals and curled up as if I was going to sleep. Gran came to find me after five minutes.

  ‘Are you having a little nap, Verity? That’s a good idea. I’ll call you later on for tea, all right?’

  Gran tiptoed away. I kept my eyes shut but I couldn’t sleep. I felt cold and shivery even though it was a hot day. I didn’t want to get right under the covers in my school dress. I suddenly wanted my cosy old winter dressing gown. It was made of blue furry stuff and it had a big black cat head on both pockets.

  I got up off the bed and searched through my wardrobe but I couldn’t find it at first. It had slipped off the hanger and fallen onto my shoes. I knelt down and rummaged for it. I felt fur . . . real fur.

  I gave a little gasp and pulled it out carefully, holding my breath. Mabel was nestled up inside my dressing gown. But there was something terribly wrong with her. Her eyes were half open and she seemed very very stiff.

  ‘Mabel,’ I whispered. I shook her gently to try to wake her up. But she couldn’t wake up now. My poor darling Mabel was dead.

  ‘Oh Mabel,’ I said, and I cradled her in my arms and rocked her to and fro.

  I wanted to cry out to Gran but I was so choked up I could barely make a sound. I thought about what would happen next. Mabel would be buried. I couldn’t bear the idea of her being smothered under all that dirty earth. Mabel didn’t like it out in the garden any more. She’d be so frightened and lonely. And then the worms would get her . . .

  ‘No!’ I whispered. ‘I’m not going to let them bury you, Mabel, I promise. I’ll look after you. I’ll keep you safe.’

  But I couldn’t just leave her tucked up in my dressing gown. She was already starting to look and feel and smell a little strange. I wasn’t quite sure how things might progress, but I knew it wouldn’t be pleasant. I had to find some way of preserving Mabel.

  Then it came to me. It was as if the great cat goddess Bastet had put her holy paw upon me to give the idea. I would make Mabel into a mummy! I wouldn’t tell Gran or Grandad or Dad. I knew they might find it too weird – and Gran would probably fuss about hygiene.

  I had to do it. It was the perfect way of preserving Mabel for ever. Then I could still hold her in my arms and tell her I loved her and whisper messages to my mum. Mabel would be just like a cat toy, able to stay with me for ever and ever and ever.

  So . . . I had to get cracking and turn her into a mummy while Gran thought I was having a nap. I knew the Ancient Egyptians had taken seventy days but I had less than seventy minutes.

  I carefully opened up my old dressing gown and spread it out on the bedroom floor. Mabel lay rigidly in the middle. She didn’t look well at all. I tried to smooth her fur and mopped her up carefully with a little wad of tissues.

  When she was as clean and tidy as I could get her I squatted on my heels, thinking about the next step. I knew what it was. You had to take a piece of wire and stick it in the head and hook out the brain.

  Mabel’s half-open eyes looked at me. I knew I couldn’t possibly do any hooking. I decided to wrap her up whole. I was worried that all her insides might go bad. I had to preserve Mabel under her mummy wrappings.

  I knew what the Ancient Egyptians used. It was natron, a special kind of salt. I didn’t think you could get natron now. I’d never seen it on the shelves in Sainsbury’s. I didn’t think ordinary Saxa salt was the right sort of stuff. Then I remembered the big jar of lavender bath salts on the bathroom shelf.

  I thought they would be ideal. I crept to the bathroom to check. I saw on the label that they included preservative. Great! Plus they were so sweet-smelling they’d keep Mabel as fragrant as a flower.

  I stole back to my bedroom with the jar and tipped the entire contents over Mabel. It looked as if she’d been caught in a lavender snowstorm.

  ‘There, darling,’ I whispered, brushing the salts out of her eyes so we could look at each other one last time. ‘Now, we’ll make you into a mummy.’

  Gran kept old sheets at the top of her airing cupboard and only ever got them out when she had to make me a costume for a school play, or when Sophie and I wanted to play ghosts. I took a big sheet and then got cracking with my scissors. I couldn’t just wrap the sheet round Mabel like a parcel. I knew you had to make bandages and wrap and wrap and wrap very tightly in a special pattern.

  I tried to cut the sheet into neat strips. It was very difficult because I didn’t have any decent scissors, just the old blunt-edged ones I used for my scrapbook. Gran had special sharp scissors in the kitchen but I couldn’t risk creeping downstairs. I struggled on as best I could with my own stupid baby scissors until my hands ached, and then I tried ripping bits of sheet.

  Time was getting on. I decided I’d better start wrapping with the scraps of sheet I already had. I picked Mabel up tenderly and tried to get her into the right position. I knew I had to straighten her paws and tail so that she would look like a long-necked cat doll when she was finished.

  Mabel wouldn’t straighten up. She curled up with her paws out and her tail wrapped round herself in her usual going-to-sleep position. She simply wouldn’t budge from it. I tried tugging hard but I was terrified her poor old legs might actually snap, and I didn’t dare try her tail because it was already so thin and threadbare.

  I had no idea how the Ancient Egyptians solved this problem. I decided I simply had to make the best of it and wrapped Mabel up with her paws sticking out and her back all bunched. It wasn’t easy. I’ve never been much good at wrapping Christmas presents. You can’t even stick strips of sheet with Sellotape. Every time I got a bit round one part of Mabel another part unravelled. I had to keep tying big knots. Mabel started to look like the most untidy parcel in the world.

  I was nearly in tears because I so wanted her to look beautiful and dignified. But as I went on wrapping and wrapping I was able to disguise her shape more – and I was starting to get the hang of doing it neatly. It was like the first time I tried to put my hair into a plait at the back and it was all lop-sided and half the hair hung down, but now I’ve done it so many times my fingers flash in and out and it ends up as neat as ninepence.

  Mabel didn’t end up quite as neat as that. As tidy as twopence, more like. But at least she was now officially a mummy.

  I got my best set of felt tips and carefully inked green eyes and a pink nose and a red smiley mouth on the sheet over her head. Then I tried to do Egyptian symbols all round her sheeted body. I did that open eye of Horos to protect her and the Ankh sign for good luck. Then I drew lots of things that Mabel liked, a can of catfood and the hearthrug and my bed, with a border of mice and fish and birds to finish it off.

  I sat back on my heels when I’d finished and admired Mabel. I needed to keep her in a sarcophagus, the special mummy case. I coul
dn’t think what to use. I tried a shoe box but it wasn’t big enough, and it was the wrong shape. I needed something biggish because Mabel was pretty bulky now.

  I decided my old duffle bag that I use for swimming might just do as a temporary measure, so I eased Mabel into it as carefully as I could. I put my head in the top of the bag and kissed her wrappings and told her I loved her for ever and ever and ever. Then I gently and reverently placed her in the back of my wardrobe. It wasn’t pyramid shape but it was dark and private, so it made a reasonable tomb.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nightmare

  ‘YOUR LITTLE NAP did you good, darling,’ said Gran, when I went downstairs for tea. ‘Mmm! You smell very fresh and pretty!’

  ‘You’ve got a bit of colour back in your cheeks, poppet,’ said Grandad.

  They both looked pale and tired but they were trying hard to smile and be cheerful. Gran served us sausage and mash, our favourite – but nobody cleared their plate.

  I kept peering at Mabel’s dish in the corner of the kitchen. She always had her tea while we ate ours. Sometimes she came scavenging for my leftovers. She particularly liked mashed potato. I had to be careful though. If I gave her too much she was sick.

  I thought about the last time poor Mabel was sick and how mean I’d been. My mashed potato got stuck in my throat and I was very nearly sick myself.

  Grandad’s hand reached out and patted mine. Gran took my plate away and gave me another drink.

  ‘Your dad’s going to do his best to come home early tonight,’ said Gran.

  I wasn’t too sure about this. Dad always had to work very, very late. But today he came home just as Gran was clearing the table.

  ‘I’ll get your own tea, dear,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll have it later,’ said Dad. ‘I thought Verity and I would go out first. I’ve got heaps of posters about Mabel. We’ll pin them up over the neighbourhood. I’ve even used a photo of her, look, Verity.’