Ian Whybrow - Merry Meerkat Madness

For Laura and Sophie Campbell, faithful readers and kind friends to the entire Whybrow mob.

And with thanks to Dr Stuart Sharp of the Department of Zoology at the University of Cambridge and to Matt Gribble, whose knowledge and first-hand experience of life among meerkats has been invaluable. It was they persuaded me that there is such a thing as Christmas in the Kalahari.

Contents

Title Page

Dedication For Laura and Sophie Campbell, faithful readers and kind friends to the entire Whybrow mob. And with thanks to Dr Stuart Sharp of the Department of Zoology at the University of Cambridge and to Matt Gribble, whose knowledge and first-hand experience of life among meerkats has been invaluable. It was they persuaded me that there is such a thing as Christmas in the Kalahari.

Foreword he behaviour and adventures of the characters in this book are modelled on those of certain actual meerkats still living in the Kalahari. These creatures wish to remain anonymous to protect their privacy. For this reason, their names and their language have been changed. Any similarity between these characters and any meerkat-stars of stage or screen is purely coincidental. Furthermore, any resemblance between Oolooks or Whevubins on safari, actual Click-clicks or Sir David Attenborough is purely in the eye of the beholder. Ian Whybrow

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Also available by Ian Whybrow

Back Ads

Copyright

About the Publisher

he behaviour and adventures of the characters in this book are modelled on those of certain actual meerkats still living in the Kalahari. These creatures wish to remain anonymous to protect their privacy. For this reason, their names and their language have been changed. Any similarity between these characters and any meerkat-stars of stage or screen is purely coincidental. Furthermore, any resemblance between Oolooks or Whevubins on safari, actual Click-clicks or Sir David Attenborough is purely in the eye of the beholder.

Ian Whybrow

Zora, Bundle, Quickpaws and Trouble began it… by being just a bit too good at begging.

It was midsummer in the Kalahari – Feast-time – when there were all sorts of newborn babies and young creatures everywhere.

“Whee! Whee!” said the babies, meaning, Give us a bite! Give us a bug! Just a little lick! Pleeeeeease!

Each sweltering suntime brought shockingly big infant animals lolloping and whinnying and snorting and crashing through the thorn bushes. Some of them were happy to nibble the tender shoots and fruits and bright yellow flowers. Others just wanted to chase and pounce. But quite a few of the ones with the sharpest teeth started chasing and nibbling… well, everybody, actually.

“Always stick close to a bolthole, what-what!” ordered Fearless, as his babies squeaked and bounced about. “Remember our motto. Stay together to stay alive! And listen out for alarm-calls from the sentry.”

The kits had quickly learned how to keep out of harm’s way by now. What’s more, they were becoming expert hunters themselves.

They dashed among the dunes after the smaller, squirmier newborn creatures that wiggled and hissed and slid. They easily sniffed out the tiny, crawly totterers that waved their legs and feelers or tried to hide from the sun in cool, damp patches of sand.

For a meerkat, a damp patch of ground around Christmas time is like a full larder. You just stick your paw in and grab anything you fancy – lizards, skinks, centipedes, bugs, ants’ eggs – and, best of all, scrummy, crunchy and juicy-as-you-like – scorpions. Yum!

“They’re so dim!” complained Mimi to her brothers soon after Warm-up on the morning of Christmas Eve. “They need brains like me, like Mimi!” She often spoke like that – but she was a meerkat princess, remember.

“Who? The bugs or the babies?” said Skeema. He had been hoping to scoff down a pawful of squirming larvae, but Quickpaws came and mewed and rolled on her back. She did it so sweetly that he couldn’t refuse her. He handed them over.

“Both!” moaned Mimi. “The bugs choose the most obvious places to hide and the babies can’t work out how to catch them.”

“Don’t you believe it!” laughed Skeema. “The babies are much sharper than us. They get us to do the work for them! Look out, Dreamie! Here comes Trouble!”

Little Dream had got rather hot. He’d been dancing a fat but furious scorpion to a standstill. Forward-back, forward-back, hup-two-three, forward-back. Panting like a honey-badger, he snapped off the scorpion’s sting. Then hup! went the kicking arthropod, high into the air. Little Dream had become an expert at this game and fully expected to catch his breakfast in his mouth and chew it up. But just as he opened his jaws, baby Trouble let out a screech like a steppe-buzzard. Little Dream went stiff with shock and closed his eyes tight. The scorpion bounced off the top of his head – bonk! – and before you could say ‘Where’s-my-brekky?’ his was halfway down Trouble’s naughty little throat.

“Bad luck, Dreamie!” laughed Skeema. “You’ll have to start digging all over again!”

At that moment, Radiant trotted over, hearty and cheery as ever. “Oh, you poor, dear kits!” she cried, laughing. “Never a moment’s peace with babies, is there? Come along, Trouble! You stay with your mother!” she said with mock-firmness. “You let your cousins forage for themselves, my greedy little warthog!” With that she grabbed the little squeaker by the scruff and carried him off to join his brother and sisters in the shade some distance away.

“Now’s your chance to tuck in, you two,” called Skeema to Mimi and Little Dream. “I’ve just had a spotted sand lizard. Yum!” He licked the juice from his lips and then hurried to the top of a Kalahari currant bush. “I can watch all round from here. Get your heads down and start digging!”

Immediately, a shower of sand flew up below him as Little Dream and Mimi dug in and shifted twice their own weight of it in a trice. At once, two scorpions, a frill-neck, several spiders and an assassin bug were kicked out of bed.

“I say! Well done!” cried Skeema. “You’re still clear to tuck in! Go for it!”

Hardly had he spoken when the voice of Uncle Fearless suddenly sounded the general alarm. “WUP-WUP! ACTION STATIONS! PUFF-ADDER ON THE PROWL! TAKE COVER!”

In a split second, the kits were deep down a bolthole. They waited, pricked up their ears, lifted their noses. As soon as they thought the coast was clear, they peeped out. There was no sign or smell of a puff-adder. Instead, they saw a sleek young fork-tailed drongo pecking away, tucking in to the last of the spiders that Little Dream and Mimi had just dug up. The little bird looked at the crestfallen kits and gave them a wink.