Энн Файн - The Killer Cat's Christmas

Okay, okay! So pump me up with air, and tie a knot in me. I clawed a hole in her hopper. For heaven’s sake, it was an accident! How was it my fault that it sort of shrivelled under her, and she fell off?

I hurried under the thorn bush. Lucilla rolled over on to her hands and knees and started wheedling into the greenery. ‘Oh, Tuffy, dearest! Don’t you remember us? It’s me, Lucilla. Lancelot’s here too. Oh, please come out so we can cuddle you.’

‘Yes,’ Lancelot echoed. ‘Oh, darling Tuffy. Please come out.’

Oh, I came out all right. But on the other side, and straight back up on the fence. From there, I jumped on the garage roof, and into the house through the bathroom window.

So go on! Boil me in bubble bath! Maybe I wasn’t quite as careful as I should have been, walking along the sill. Perhaps some of the fancy bottles of shampoos and lotions did get tipped on to the floor. But it wasn’t me who left the tops off. So how was I supposed to know that they were going to make a mess like that – a huge, foaming, slimy puddle of froth and goo and gel? All I was trying to do was get away to somewhere I’d be left in peace.

And maybe choosing to hide under Ellie’s mother’s best silver party frock was not the smartest idea. But I didn’t pull the stupid thing off its hanger. It fell off by itself as I rushed in the closet. Okay, so maybe I did root about a bit, trying to make myself comfy. But how was I to know I’d pop off all those sequins? All I was doing was trying to take a little nap . Can’t a pet take a nap in his own house without Ellie’s mother ending up sitting in a heap on the carpet, picking the cat hairs off a ruined frock and sobbing her heart out?

I ask you. Honestly! How wet is that ?

3: ‘The whole of Christmas in a cattery!’

IT WOKE ME up, though, all that boohooing from Ellie’s mum. Then Mr Grumpy rushed up the stairs to find out what was going on, and things turned nasty. There were some harsh words.

‘You furry vandal!’ Ellie’s father snarled. ‘You foul and spiteful beast!’

I played it cool, raising an eyebrow at him.

He hates it when I put on my ‘not bothered’ look, and flick my tail at him. ‘Look what you’ve done!’ he fumed. ‘You’ve turned a beautiful and expensive frock into a filthy rag!’ He waved it in my face. ‘Look at it! Torn to shreds!’

Now Ellie had arrived, with Lucilla and Lancelot in tow. They all stuck up for me. ‘Oh, please don’t blame Tuffy!’ begged Lancelot.

‘He didn’t mean to spoil the frock!’ insisted Lucilla.

‘He’s just unsettled from having visitors,’ Ellie explained to her father.

But Mr Blame-The-Cat-For-Everything was not having that. He wagged his telling-off finger. ‘Don’t you believe it! This whiskery little waster knows full well what he’s about. And I tell you this house would be a far, far better place if we just made the sensible decision to ask the vet to simply –’

I didn’t catch the last few words. Ellie had let out a fearsome screech, and clapped her hands over my ears.

I wriggled free in time to hear the end of his next threat: ‘– or spend the whole of Christmas in a cattery!’

Up came Ellie’s hands again. This time, when I tugged back my head enough to hear, the only words I caught were: ‘– in some strong cage!’

Ellie was almost in tears. And so were Lancelot and Lucilla.

‘Oh, please don’t say that, Uncle George!’

‘No, don’t say that!’

But Ellie’s father was still in a rage. ‘Well, it’s my view that –’

‘No!’ Ellie cried. ‘We three will look after Tuffy! You needn’t worry. We’ll keep him well away from you.’

Her father was still scowling. ‘And well away from all the clothes in the cupboards? And the tree? And all the food? And all the presents and the decorations?’

‘Yes! Tuffy won’t spoil anything , I promise!’

Ellie pounced on me. And since for once I felt I would be safer out of there, I let her scoop me up and carry me off, down to the living room, well away from Mrs Still-Red-And-Weepy-Eyes, clutching the torn shreds of her ruined frock, and Mr Total-Grump.

4: Surprise, surprise!

SO THAT’S HOW I ended up sitting like Goody-Two-Shoes on the sofa in the front room, while Lucilla and Lancelot drooled and drivelled over my brains and beauty.

‘Oh, Tuffy! You’re so lovely.’

‘Your fur’s so soft .’

‘And you’re so clever .’

‘I wish we had a cat.’

‘Oh, Ellie! You’re so lucky !’

It just went on and on. I stood it for about a minute or two, and then I reckoned it was time to leave, so I stood up.

Quick as a flash, all three of them reached out to stop me. I was trapped.

‘No, Tuffy! We promised!’

‘Just to keep you safe!’

‘You have to stay!’

I tried to wriggle free. Lucilla shut the door and Lancelot checked the window latch. Ellie could see that I was getting nervous, so, ‘Never mind,’ she soothed. ‘Let’s think of something to play.’

Play? What does she think I am? Some newborn fluff ball? But it is always best to know what’s going on, so I stopped struggling long enough to listen. What was it going to be? Hide and Seek? (I hoped not. Most of the hiding places in this house are mine, mine, mine .) How about Murder in the Dark? (Step on me by mistake, and I will scratch a good chunk out of you!) Perhaps they’d choose Tiddleywinks. (Better take care. Flick just one wink at me, and you are dead .)

Surprise, surprise!

‘Let’s put on a show!’ Lucilla said.

‘Yes!’ Lancelot echoed. ‘Let’s put on a little show!’

Ellie was bouncing up and down, clapping her hands. ‘Oh, goody gumdrops! I love doing special little shows!’

I was embarrassed. (Ellie’s such a drip .) But I did think I might at least be left to sit up on the dresser and sneer. I mean, you can’t train cats to act or dance. No one would even try. You might be able to boss dogs about. But never cats.

So I thought I’d be safe with special little shows.

Well, more fool me.

5: Frog in a wedding dress

SO GUESS WHAT The Three Softies finally decided that they were going to do.

Yes. Just my luck. A show of nursery rhymes that have a cat in them. Is that tattered old book that you grew out of years ago still on your shelf? Shall we run through some of the sweet little baby songs your granny used to warble to you when you were still in nappies?

There’s ‘Ding Dong Bell, Pussy’s in the Well’, of course. Then there’s that merry old favourite, ‘Hey Diddle Diddle, the Cat and the Fiddle’. After that, there is the tragic tale of ‘Three Little Kittens who Lost their Mittens’. And ‘Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, Where Have You Been?’