Iggy Loomis, A Hagfish Called Shirley Read online

  Alistair’s parents just looked at each other and shook their heads.

  “Look, this wasn’t really Alistair’s fault!” I insisted, wondering why Alistair was making faces at me and shaking his head no! as I spoke. “Iggy’s the one who flushed Shirley down the toilet!”

  “Hey!” Iggy pointed at me. “Dat not nice!”

  Alistair jabbed me hard with his elbow.

  I gave Alistair a what-was-that-for?! jab right back.

  “Boys, I think we understand what happened here,” said Alistair’s mom. “And, Alistair, we realize this happened because you want to act like an ordinary human while you’re spending time with your Earth friends.”

  I thought this was a weird thing to say because Alistair almost never behaves like an “ordinary human.” I mean, if you met him you might not realize he’s an alien from another planet, but he’s definitely not in the “ordinary” category.

  “However,” Alistair’s dad said, “lying is not a human characteristic you will adopt under any circumstances, Alistair. We Blaronites do not tell lies.”

  What lying? I wondered. Alistair doesn’t tell lies!

  “Pinocchio have a nose dat growd-ed pecuz he lying,” Iggy said, pointing at his nose.

  “Alistair,” Alistair’s dad continued, “your mother and I told you to return that hagfish to the ocean where you found it. Now we find out that you actually kept the hagfish hidden in your bedroom, and then you flushed it down the toilet.”

  I stared at Alistair. So Alistair actually lied to his parents about keeping the hagfish! No wonder he didn’t want to get hagfish slime all over the carpet in his room!

  Alistair just stared at the floor, looking ashamed. “Iggy’s the one who flushed it,” he mumbled.

  “It doesn’t matter who flushed the hagfish, Alistair,” said Alistair’s dad. “The point is that the hagfish wouldn’t have gone down the toilet at all if you had put it back in the ocean where you found it instead of keeping it.”

  Secretly, I had to admit that Alistair’s dad sort of had a point, but I figured Alistair would feel pretty annoyed if I started taking his dad’s side right at that moment.

  “You also broke an important rule of our Blaronite mission,” Alistair’s mom added. “Remember, Alistair, you only have permission to catch and study life-forms that are directly relevant to growing frackenpoy. We promised to leave everything on Earth just the way we found it.”

  Could’ve fooled me, I thought, looking at Iggy and thinking about how much he had changed ever since Alistair’s family moved into the house next door.

  “Everyone on Earth has pets!” Alistair complained. “Why can’t I have a pet?”

  “I have one furry bug in a jar,” Iggy offered. He was talking about his so-called pet named “Callie the caterpillar,” who has probably been dead for several days. Iggy keeps telling us that Callie is “napping.”

  “Alistair,” said Alistair’s dad, “you may look like a human right now, but you aren’t actually a human. Furthermore, you will never be a human.”

  “What does that have to do with having a pet?” Alistair argued.

  Alistair’s dad turned red. “Because Blaron-ites don’t have pets, Alistair, and that’s final!”

  Alistair’s neck looked blotchy again. He clenched his fists, but didn’t say anything for a minute.

  “Of course nobody has pets back on Planet Blaron!” Alistair finally snapped. “Back on the home planet, the only life-forms are Blaronites and broccoli! It’s impossible to have pets on Planet Blaron because there aren’t any animals! And since the Blaronites can’t even keep frackenpoy alive, they’d probably kill any pet they owned!”

  Alistair’s parents looked shocked at that outburst. I wondered if it was the first time they had ever heard Alistair get so angry.

  Alistair’s dad shook a finger at Alistair. “Do not speak of our home planet that way!” he said.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Alistair blurted. “The Blaronites ruin everything!”

  Alistair’s dad opened his mouth to yell something, but instead he sat down in a chair and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

  “Alistair, the hagfish you caught belongs in the wild,” said Alistair’s mother.

  “That hagfish’s name happens to be Shirley,” Alistair said. “And she was my pet!”

  Iggy put a sympathetic hand on Alistair’s arm. “Haggie wuv me,” he said, as if that would make Alistair feel better.

  Alistair just stared at Iggy for a moment. Then he did something I’ve never seen him do before: He started crying. Alistair sat there with his head in his hands and just bawled.

  Alistair’s mom looked horrified.

  Alistair’s dad whispered something about “human tear ducts” and “saltwater discharge.”

  Iggy patted Alistair and said, “Haggie in da potty,” which only made Alistair cry harder.

  I felt bad for Alistair, but I had no idea how to make him feel better.

  Finally, Alistair’s mom and dad said that it was probably time for Iggy and me to go home.

  I thought that was a good idea. Things had really gone downhill since Iggy and I first came over earlier that day.

  “Bye, Alistair,” I said, touching his shoulder. “Um, I’m sorry about your hagfish.”

  Alistair nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  Poor Alistair, I thought as Iggy and I left his house. As if losing his pet wasn’t hard enough, now he was also in huge trouble with his parents.

  I hoped Alistair would get over losing that pet hagfish soon, but somehow I knew it wasn’t going to be easy for him.

  OUTSIDE ALISTAIR’S HOUSE, Iggy and I ran into my “frenemy” Chauncey, who was walking a very plump, fluffy dog on a leash. Actually, the dog was just sitting in the middle of the sidewalk, but Chauncey kept pulling on its leash, trying to make it walk.

  “Chauncey have a doggy!” Iggy announced.

  “Don’t pat him right now, Iggy,” Chauncey warned. “Beanie’s in a terrible mood.”

  “I didn’t know you have a dog,” I said.

  “It’s actually my grandma’s dog,” Chauncey explained. “I have to take Beanie on his walks this week because Grandma hurt her back. Right, Beanie?”

  Beanie wagged his little tail at the sound of his name, but made no effort to walk.

  “Come on, Beanie!” Chauncey urged. “Let’s get a move on!”

  Beanie wasn’t about to go anywhere. He lay down on the sidewalk and panted.

  “Beanie’s mad at me because I don’t give him treats every time he does his business like my grandma does,” Chauncey explained. “Grandma spoils him, but I’m going to get him into shape!”

  “But how will you get him back home to your grandma’s house if he won’t even move?” I asked.

  Chauncey shrugged. “Your sister just ran inside to find a snack that I can use as a reward.” As he spoke, Chauncey pulled a bone-shaped dog biscuit from his pocket and popped it into his own mouth. He chewed the doggy biscuit and grinned down at Beanie, who stared up at him, drooling.

  “I’m serious,” Chauncey said, crunching. “You should try these things sometime!”

  “You’re eating Beanie’s dog biscuits?!” I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was just like Chauncey to take a dog on a walk and then steal its snack.

  “Calling these cookies ‘doggy biscuits’ is just a marketing gimmick,” Chauncey said, pulling another doggy treat from his pocket. “The same company that makes chocolate chip cookies makes these doggy treats. Same recipe; different words on the box.”

  I doubted that was true, but I didn’t feel like getting into a dumb argument with Chauncey about dog biscuits.

  “Can I twy dose chocowite chip doggy cookies?” Iggy asked.

  “Sorry, Iggy.” Chauncey held up empty hands. “All gone.”
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  “NO FAIR!” Iggy shouted.

  “You think that’s no fair?” Chauncey pointed at Beanie. “What about him? He gets a doggy biscuit every time he does doggy doo outside. Do I get a treat every time I use the bathroom?”

  “Yes!” said Iggy.

  “No, I don’t get a treat, Iggy! So why should I give Beanie all the doggy biscuits just because he pees and poops like an ordinary dog?”

  “Maybe because they’re doggy biscuits and he’s a dog?” I suggested.

  “Listen,” said Chauncey. “This dog gets dog cookies all the time at my grandma’s house!”

  Chauncey loves junk food more than anything, but his mom never lets him have any. I guessed he must be pretty desperate if he was jealous of Beanie and his dog biscuits.

  The front door of my house burst open and my little sister, Dottie, ran across the lawn, shouting. “Beanie! Beanie! Beanie! I have doggy tweats for youuuuuuu!”

  Beanie wagged his tail and jumped up on Dottie to lick her face.

  Dottie held up a pepperoni slice for Beanie. “See, Beanie? Pepperwoni for cute doggy!”

  Beanie gobbled the pepperoni.

  “No fair!” Iggy protested. “I want one peppowoni for Beanie, too!”

  Dottie handed a piece of pepperoni to Iggy.

  Beanie snatched the pepperoni from Iggy’s hand, gulped it down, and then growled at Iggy.

  “Hey!” Iggy protested. “Why he growlded at me?” Iggy reached his arm toward Beanie in an attempt to pat him, but Beanie snapped at Iggy’s fingers.

  “STOP DAT, YOU BAD BEANIE!” Iggy dropped down on all fours, getting into an attack position.

  “Oh no you don’t!” I pulled Iggy to his feet before things got out of hand. “The last thing we need right now is a dogfight between you and Beanie.”

  “Okay, let’s move it, Beanie,” Chauncey pulled on Beanie’s leash, but Beanie refused to budge.

  “Oh, fine!” Chauncey sighed and picked up Beanie. “Next time we go for a walk, I should just put you in my sister’s baby doll carriage, Beanie.”

  “Wait!” Dottie ran inside the house and returned a moment later, waving a baby blanket. “I have a doggy wanket for Beanie!”

  Beanie licked Dottie’s hand gratefully as she tucked the blanket around him. Chauncey just rolled his eyes.

  It was time for us to go inside for dinner, and as we made our way up the front steps, I spied Alistair next door, looking out his bedroom window.

  I waved to Alistair, but he didn’t see me. He just watched Chauncey, who was walking down the sidewalk, carrying Beanie in his arms like a baby.

  WHILE I HELPED my mom set the table for dinner, Iggy and Dottie pretended to be brother and sister puppies named Beanie and Haggie. They cut triangles out of paper and taped them to their hair for ears. They wore socks on their hands for paws. When Mom wasn’t looking, Dottie found a pair of scissors and cut a pair of her tights in half. Then she and Iggy each stuck one of the stocking legs into the waistband of their clothes for tails.

  “See, Iggy?” Dottie said. “Dese our dog tails!”

  Next, Dottie used the tie from Mom’s bathrobe to chain Iggy to the leg of the table, as if she were tying his leash to a parking meter on the sidewalk.

  “Dis your leash, Iggy,” Dottie explained.

  “Ruff!” Iggy replied.

  “Time for doggies to sit down for dinner!” Mom announced.

  But instead of sitting at the table, Dottie grabbed two plates and put them on the floor for herself and Iggy to use as dog dishes.

  Mom told Iggy and Dottie to please get off the floor and sit at the table.

  Iggy and Dottie pointed at their empty “dog dishes” and howled.

  “Maybe we should put the dogs outside for the night,” I joked.

  “Ruff!” said Dottie.

  “Chairs! Now!” Mom said in her you’re-not-so-cute-anymore voice.

  Iggy and Dottie whimpered as they climbed into their chairs.

  As my dad sat down at the table to join us, Iggy stuck his whole face into his bowl and began to slurp his spaghetti without using a fork. He still wore socks on his paw-hands.

  “You have a fork, Iggy,” said my dad. “Please use it!”

  “No fork!” Iggy showed Dad his sock-hands. “Paws!”

  Dad was not amused.

  “What is going on with you two this evening?” Mom asked.

  “If we can’t have a dog,” said Dottie, “we BE a dog!”

  “You can be dogs after dinner,” Mom said.

  “Mom, can we get a puppy today?” Dottie pleaded. “PLEEEEEEASE?”

  Dad began to sing in a jolly voice:

  Unfortunately for me, Dad loves to make up songs, and “It Isn’t the Pet We’re Gonna Get!” is one of his favorites.

  “Everyone having a pet!” Iggy shouted. “I WANTS A PET, TOO!”

  “Alistair doesn’t have a pet,” I reminded Iggy.

  “Yes, he do! Awistair have a haggie-pet!”

  “No, Alistair doesn’t have a ‘haggie-pet’ anymore because you flushed his haggie-pet down the toilet!”

  “Iggy did what?!” Mom put down her fork.

  “Iggy flushed Alistair’s hagfish down the toilet,” I tattled.

  Iggy’s lip trembled. He pointed his fork at me. “Now you making me SAD!”

  Uh-oh, I thought. Iggy might have a bug-boy attack right here at the kitchen table if I don’t get him to calm down.

  “Iggy, I know you didn’t mean to flush Alistair’s hagfish,” I said. “It was an accident.”

  “Haggie going come back!” Iggy insisted.

  “Iggy,” said Dad. “How many times do we have to tell you not to flush things down the toilet that don’t belong there?”

  Iggy’s face turned red.

  Uh-oh, I thought.

  “And this better not be about that ridiculous poo-poo-party idea either,” Dad added.

  Tears welled in Iggy’s eyes.

  Why did Dad have to call the poo-poo party “ridiculous”? I thought. Now Iggy will definitely have a meltdown!

  Iggy snatched a wooden spoon from the salad bowl and chomped on it.

  I once watched Iggy chew the leg off a wooden chair with “termite teeth” that popped out after Dad yelled at him, so I knew I had to get him away from the dining table fast.

  “Come on, Iggy,” I said, jumping up from the table.

  “But you haven’t finished your dinner!” Mom protested.

  “Back in a minute!” I yelled, grabbing Iggy by the arm and dragging him from the room. “Iggy just needs a little time-out first.”

  BACK IN OUR ROOM, I gave Iggy his Human Normalizer and also one of his favorite picture books called Big Bunny Eats a Cupcake. It’s a pretty ridiculous story, but for some reason Big Bunny calms Iggy down almost as fast as his Human Normalizer does.

  “I hate Awistair!” Iggy blurted, without looking up from his book.

  “Why do you hate Alistair?” I asked.

  “Pecuz Awistair always yelling at me!”

  “Alistair isn’t always yelling at you, Iggy. He only yelled at you today because he was so angry and sad about losing his hagfish.”

  “Awistair and Daddy bofe MEAN to me,” Iggy insisted.

  “Listen, Iggy. Remember that time you lost Snuffy Boo-Boo?”

  I reminded Iggy about the time when he and Dottie got into a huge fight in the back of our minivan.

  Dottie picked up Iggy’s favorite stuffed animal and threw it at Iggy.

  But instead of hitting Iggy, Snuffy Boo-Boo went right out the car window and disappeared in the weeds at the side of the road!

  Dad stopped the car, and we all climbed out to search for Snuffy Boo-Boo. . . .

  But it was no use. It seemed that Snuffy Boo-Boo was
gone for good.

  “Remember how you yelled at Dottie?” I reminded Iggy.

  Iggy nodded. “I sad when I lose my Snuffy.”

  “Well, that’s exactly how Alistair feels about losing his pet hagfish.”

  “But Snuffy Boo-Boo come back.” Iggy pointed to the beat-up stuffed frog lying on his bed, and I realized he had a point. By some weird stroke of luck, Snuffy Boo-Boo actually did come back.

  “That’s true, Iggy,” I said. “You were lucky that a dog happened to find Snuffy.”

  I remembered the day at the park when Iggy happened to spot a dog who was chewing on something that looked like a bunch of green rags.

  As it turned out, Iggy was right: the green rags actually were Iggy’s very soggy and partially eaten Snuffy Boo-Boo.

  “But, Iggy,” I continued, “remember how Dottie tried to make you feel better before you got Snuffy back?”

  I reminded Iggy how Dottie drew about twenty pictures of Snuffy Boo-Boo for him, and how she covered Iggy’s bed with a mountain of her own toys.

  Iggy listened and nodded. “Dano,” he said, pointing a finger in the air, “you giving me a gweat idea!”

  “What is it?”

  Iggy found some paper and a box of crayons. “I going make a pwesent for Awistair!” he announced.

  Iggy got to work.

  A few minutes later, he handed me his drawing—a picture of a hagfish waving good-bye from a toilet.

  Beneath the picture, Iggy attempted to write the words, “Good-bye, Haggie! I’m sorry. Love, Iggy.”

  Compared to most of Iggy’s scribbly drawings, this drawing was actually pretty good.

  “I’m sure Alistair will like your picture, Iggy,” I said, thinking that Alistair would at least appreciate an apology.

  “No,” Iggy said. “Awistair going to WUV dis picture! When he seeing dis picture I make-ted for him, he won’t feel sad for his Haggie.”

  I looked at Iggy and thought how much he had to learn about people. I mean, even an alien from Planet Blaron is going to miss his lost pet for more than one day.