Mrs. Quimby was amused at the idea of

old Picky-picky dancing.“I doubt it,” she said.

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“That cat isn’t really dancing.They just turn the film back and forth so it looks as if he’s dancing.”

How disappointing. Ramona dozed while

another cat-food commercial appeared. She

awoke enough to watch a big yellow cat

ignore several brands of cat food before he settled down to eat a bowl of dry food silently.

That’s funny, thought Ramona.When Picky-

picky ate dry cat food, he ground and

crunched so noisily she could hear him from any room in the house, but television cats never made any sound at all when they ate.

The commercials lied.That’s what they did.

Ramona was cross with cat-food commer-

cials. Cheaters! She was angry with the whole world.

Late that afternoon Ramona was aroused

once more by the doorbell. Was it someone

interesting? She hoped so, for she was bored.

The visitor turned out to be Sara.

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Ramona lay back on her pillow and tried to look pale and weak as her mother said,

“Why, hello, Sara. I’m glad to see you, but I don’t think you should come in until

Ramona is feeling better.”

“That’s all right,” said Sara.“I just brought some letters the class wrote to Ramona, and Mrs.Whaley sent a book for her to read.”

“Hi, Sara,” said Ramona with the weak-

est smile she could manage.

“Mrs.Whaley said to tell you this book is

not for DEAR.This one is for a book report,”

Sara explained from the doorway.

Ramona groaned.

“She said to tell you,” Sara continued, “that she wants us to stand up in front of the class and pretend we are selling the book. She

doesn’t want us to tell the whole story. She says she has already heard all the stories quite a few times.”

Ramona felt worse. Not only would she

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have to give a book report, she would have to listen to twenty-five book reports given by other people, another reason for wanting to stay home.

When Sara left, Ramona examined the big

envelope she had brought. Mrs.Whaley had

written Ramona’s name on the front with a

floppy cursive capital Q and beneath it in her big handwriting, “Miss you!” followed by a picture of a whale and y.

I bet she doesn’t mean it, thought

Ramona. She opened the envelope of the

first letters anyone had ever written to her.

“Mother, they wrote in cursive!” she cried, delighted. Although all the letters said much the same thing—we are sorry you are sick and hope you get well soon—they made Ramona

feel good. She knew they were written to

teach letter writing and handwriting at the same time, but she didn’t care.

One letter was different. Yard Ape had

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written, “Dear Superfoot, Get well or I will eat your eraser.” Ramona smiled because his letter showed he liked her. She looked forward to the return of her father and sister so she could show off her mail.