Энн Файн - The Killer Cat Runs Away

CONTENTS

Cover

About the Book

Title Page

1. Silly Pink Babies

2. Parasite

3. The Same Old Boring Cat-Chat

4. One Good Reason to Stay

5. A Chapter of Sad Farewells

6. So Spank My Bum

7. Dead Mice and Birds? Eee-yuk!

8. Tuffy the Busker

9. The Wild Cats’ Chorus

10. The Perfect Home

11. ‘Come Home So I Can Strangle You.’

12. I Did Not Kill It!

13. ‘A Photo of My Beautiful Tuffy!’

14. Nightmare Stuff!

15. A Blur of Fur

16. No Hope of Rescue. None.

17. ‘Haven’t You Heard?’

18. All the Usual Rubbish

19. Reprise

20. My Precious, Wonderful, Amazing Tuffy!

21. ‘You Promised You’d Never Forget Me.’

The Wild Cats’ Chorus

About the Author

Also by Anne Fine

Copyright

About the Book

Tuffy no longer feels loved. All the family ever seems to do is fuss about his tiny mistakes – like spitting at next door’s baby and knocking over the new TV. Even Ellie’s too busy cooing over fluff-ball kittens to pay him any attention.

Who wants to hang around where they’re not wanted? There must be somewhere in town where Tuffy will be treated properly . . .

1

Silly Pink Babies

OK, OK. So twist my tail. I spat at the stupid baby. But it was annoying me, lying there in its frilly basket, chuckling and gurgling. The thing was laughing at me. And no one likes being laughed at. Especially not me. I’m not called Tuffy for nothing. And I didn’t earn the nickname of ‘the killer cat’ from sitting purring on a cushion.

And then this baby poked its finger in my eye. For heaven’s sake! It could have hurt me. So it was lucky, really. I could have bitten it. Or scratched it. But I only spat. Spit doesn’t hurt at all, so why’s everyone picking on me?

‘Tuffy!’ said Ellie. ‘Get away from the baby at once!’

She rushed to scoop it up. I don’t know why. It wasn’t even yelling. The baby didn’t mind. It was still laughing as if the whole thing was a giant joke. And there was only a tiny bit of dribble running down its face. Nobody in this house has any sense of humour at all. They all go mad about the slightest thing.

‘That cat is not to be trusted,’ said Ellie’s father. ‘He’s the most jealous creature under the sun.’

I like that! Jealous? Me? Of something that can’t even walk or feed itself? I gave the man the slit-eyed stare. But he just stared right back and said to Ellie, ‘Remember poor Tinkerbell?’

Ellie went pale. Of course she remembered. Tinkerbell was a small kitten the family had to look after for four whole days. You wouldn’t believe the fuss they made of her.

‘Isn’t she pretty? So fluffy! And so sweet!’

‘Look, Ellie! Tinkerbell’s learned how to flick her tail!’

‘See her tiny pink tongue! Look, Mum! Look quickly, while she’s lapping up her milk!’

‘She’s not cold, is she? If she’s cold, push Tuffy off the rug and let Tinkerbell sit near the fire instead.’

‘I think she’s hungry. Shall we offer her a dish of cream?’

Offer her cream? She didn’t even live with us! We were just kitten-sitting for a day or so. And I was their real pet, not Tinkerbell. I’d lived with them for years, ever since Ellie got old enough to nag them into getting me. Is it surprising that I got a little testy?

And that I wouldn’t let Tinkerbell sleep in any of my favourite places.

And that I accidentally pushed her off the windowsill.

And ate her special, juicy baby kitten food, all by mistake.

And all the other stupid, petty things that they complained about. No, I don’t think that Tinkerbell will be in any hurry to come and stay with us again.

And there’s no room, in any case. Because they clearly prefer silly pink babies now.

If they’re not careful I shall spit at it again.

2

Parasite

OK, OK. So cover me with jam and put me in a box of wasps. I broke their new television. It was an accident ! I didn’t mean to tip the screen over like that. I was after a bumblebee, and if that stupid television hadn’t been in the way, I would have got it too. No one likes being stung by bees. They should have been grateful to me.

And whose fault was it that the new, slim, wide, high-definition screen wasn’t fixed on its stand more safely in the first place?

Yes! That’s right. It was Ellie’s dad’s fault, not mine. You only had to watch Mr Oh-That’ll-Probably-Be-All-Right fixing the screen so loosely onto the base to know that it was almost bound to fall off. Even without someone like me crashing into it hard.

And whose fault was it that I didn’t manage to get over the screen in my amazing leap?

That’s right. It was Ellie’s mother’s fault. She is the one who feeds me. If she has got it wrong and let me get a smidgeon over my ideal jumping weight, who is to blame?

Clearly not me.

You should have heard Ellie’s dad when he came in and saw the damage. Talk about wild! ‘This screen is ruined! Ruined! Claw marks all over, and both the top corners chipped! Look what that great, fat, stupid, tiresome, idiotic, unpleasant, vicious, dangerous parasite has done now!’

Excuse me? Parasite?

Now that’s not nice. In case you don’t already know, parasites are all those nasty things like nits and tapeworms and fleas and ticks that do nothing except sponge off other people to stay alive. I am not like that. I let myself be stroked. I let myself be fed. I let myself be cuddled. (Only by Ellie. And only sometimes . But you take my point.)

I’m not a parasite. How dare he? I won’t put up with rudeness like that. I tell you, next time he looks in his chest of drawers, he’s going to find hairs over everything. On all his socks. And on his pants and vests. Don’t think I can’t lick quite enough hairs off me to make his underwear disgusting .

I can pay him back.

3

The Same Old Boring Cat-Chat

He was a whole lot crosser than I thought. I slipped out for a quick smell tour around the wheelie bins with Tiger and Bella and Snowball. But when I strolled back in, what should I come across but what he calls ‘a family conference’ and I call ‘The Same Old Boring Cat-Chat that I’ve heard over a thousand times’.

‘What shall we do about Tuffy?’

There they all were, huddled together in the living room: Old Mr Grumpy. The Kitten-Loving Queen. And Ellie.

I hung around outside the door, eavesdropping as usual.

‘So,’ says Mr Football-on-Telly-Addict-Gone-Mad, ‘I say that was the last straw, and we should find another home for Tuffy.’

Just like she always does, Ellie burst into tears. ‘No! No! You can’t! Tuffy’s my pet!’

Her mother usually sticks up for me. But not this time. ‘But he’s not safe with babies. Or with kittens.’

‘Or televisions,’ Ellie’s dad added bitterly, still harping on about his own sad loss.

Now Ellie stamped her foot. ‘But he’s my pet !’

That’s when her father turned even more cunning than usual. ‘Ellie, I know you’re very fond of Tuffy. But we could always find you another pet.’

‘Yes,’ said her mother. ‘One that’s a bit more gentle and doesn’t cause quite so much damage.’

‘Perhaps a kitten . . .’ said her dad.

‘Like Tinkerbell . . .’ her mother said hopefully.

‘But what about Tuffy ?’ Ellie said through her tears. ‘What will happen to him?’

‘Oh, you know cats,’ said Mr Get-What-You-Want-Whichever-Sneaky-Way-You-Can. ‘They’re not like dogs. They don’t adore their owners. So long as they’re warm and comfy, and the grub’s good, cats can be happy anywhere. And there are plenty of other places Tuffy could go.’