Jessie said. She looked out the window. Heaps of dirty snow everywhere, but it was cozy in the van. “Oh, man. You should have seen my mother’s face when she walked in from work and saw that kitty sitting in my lap.” “Why doesn’t she like cats?” Meadow said. “Did I say that? He’s a stray, he needs vet care, and Ma says that’s like one of the most expensive things going. Anyway, she’s in one of her poverty moods.” “What moods?” “Poor. Poverty. Hello? She says we don’t have any money to spare. Lots of bills and not enough bucks to go around.” Saying this, Jessie was momentarily furious, as if Meadow had forced the words out of her, as if it were a shameful thing that the Cowan family’s brick house had three chimneys and four bathrooms, while Jessie, her mother, and Aunt Zis considered themselves lucky to be able to pay the heating bill on time and would think it pure heaven to have two bathrooms. “The kitten’s adorable,” Jessie said, “although somewhat battered.
