Dodie Smith - The 101 Dalmatians

The Staffordshire woke them in good time—every pup must be ready to leap out of the van the minute the tailboard was put down.

“Not that my dear pets would hurt you if they saw you,” said the Staffordshire. “But it might cause delay. The van will stop in a big, dark garage. Streak out, turn sharp left, and you will be in a dimly lit mews—and on your way. We’ll say good-bye now.”

“Can we send you news on the Twilight Barking?” asked Pongo.

“Hardly ever get the chance to listen to it,” said the Staffordshire. “But I shall get news of you all right. I’m a great one for newspapers—they pass the time on the road. Always plenty of them in the van; we use them for packing. Well, here we are.”

The van stopped. The Staffordshire started to bark loudly.

“Let him out, Jim,” said Bill. “Before he breaks the Sound Barrier.”

Down came the tailboard. Out shot the Staffordshire. This time he managed to knock Jim right down, before turning to Bill, whom he tackled low.

“Just about winded me, he has,” said Bill proudly. “Grrh, you Flying Saucer, you!”

Jim got to his feet and spoke lovingly to the Staffordshire. “If England had six of you, we shouldn’t need no army,” he said. “Come home and get your supper, you Misguided Missile.”

Bill and Jim had been much too occupied to notice the black dogs streaming out of the van and out of the dark garage into the mews. Snow had been falling for hours, so that London was all white. The pups had scarcely noticed the snow while they were running away from Cruella’s car. Now they at once fell in love with this beautiful, feathery stuff—it raised their spirits wonderfully. And they felt well rested after their sleep in the van. They were still hungry, but they didn’t mind that much because they were expecting a wonderful supper. Hearing them counting on this, poor Missis felt more anxious than ever.

Bill, Jim, and the Staffordshire had gone out of the garage by another way, so Pongo let the pups play in the snowy mews for a few minutes. Then Missis persuaded the Cadpig to get back into her cart, and off they went. Because of the snow there were very few people about—which was just as well, as the army of black dogs was now very noticeable against the white streets. The only person who saw them was an elderly gentleman on his way to a late party. He rubbed his eyes, then shook his head and murmured, “And I haven’t even begun Christmas yet.”

It took only a few minutes to reach the Outer Circle. How beautiful Regent’s Park looked, snowy under the stars!

Pongo said, “Missis, do you remember what I told you when we said good-bye to the park?”

Missis answered, “You told me to think of the day when we would come back with fifteen puppies running behind us. And now we have ninety-seven.”

They had not come back to the Outer Circle by the way they had left it, but were at the other side of the park, close to Cruella de Vil’s house. As they drew near to it, Pongo saw that every window was dark, so he thought it would be safe to call a moment’s halt.

“Look, pups,” he told them. “That is our enemy’s house.”

Lucky said, “May we scratch it and bite it?”

“You would only hurt your nails and your teeth,” said Pongo, looking up at the huge house.

Missis was looking down into the area. Something moved there—something only a little less white than the show. It was Cruella’s Persian cat.

Her back was arched, and she was spitting angrily. Pongo said quickly, “Madam, none of us would ever dream of hurting you.”

The white cat said, “That’s the civilest speech I ever had from a dog. Who are you? There are no black dogs round here.”

“We are not usually black except for our spots,” said Pongo. “We once visited your house—”

He got no further because the white cat guessed everything—as well she might, after all the talk she had heard between Mr. and Mrs. de Vil.

“And you’ve rescued all the pups from Hell Hall! Well, bravo, bravo! I couldn’t be more pleased.”

Then Missis remembered what Cruella de Vil had said on the night when the puppies were born, and she spoke to the white cat very kindly, saying, “I might have known you would sympathize—for I once heard you lost many kittens in early infancy.”

“Forty-four, to the present date,” said the white cat. “All drowned by the fiend I live with.”

“Why don’t you leave her?” asked Pongo.

“I bide my time,” said the white cat. “I wait for my full revenge. I can’t do much on my own—I’ve only two pairs of paws. But I scare the servants away—any cat can make a house seem haunted. I let the place become overrun with mice. And, oh, how I scratch the furniture! Though it’s heartbreaking how little she notices it—she’s such a rotten housewife. Why not let your pups come in and do some damage now?”

“Oh, please, please let us!” clamoured all the pups.

Pongo shook his head. “Cruella will be back. I’m surprised she’s not home already.”

“Oh, she’s been back,” said the white cat, “and gone out to dinner. She had to, because I scared another batch of servants away this morning—as a little Christmas present for her. Do come in!”

“No, no, Pongo!” cried Missis. “This is no moment for revenge. We should get the pups home. They are hungry.”

But the pups clamoured louder than ever. “Please, please, please let us damage Cruella’s house!” They made so much noise that Missis could not hear what the white cat was now saying to Pongo. At last he turned, quietened the pups, and said, “Missis, I now feel that we should do as our friend here suggests. It would take me a long time to explain why, so will you trust me, please?”

“Of course, Pongo,” said Missis loyally. “And if you’re sure we really ought to be revenged on Cruella—well, naturally, I shall enjoy it.”

“Then follow me,” said the white cat. “There’s a way in at the back.”

Lucky and two big, loud-barked pups were left on guard. They were sorry to miss the fun, but duty was duty.

“Three barks if you sight the striped car or hear its horn,” Pongo told them, then marched all the other pups after the white cat. The little blue cart was left in the mews at the back of the house—the Cadpig insisted on going into the house and getting her fair share of the revenge.

The white cat took them in through the coal cellar.

“Nothing down here worth wrecking,” she said, making for the stairs. Up through the dark house they went, until she paused outside a bolted door.

“Now, if you really can undo that bolt!” she said to Pongo. “Goodness knows, I’ve tried often enough.”

“Oh, he’s splendid at bolts,” said Missis proudly. It was a nice chromium bolt, well oiled. It gave Pongo not trouble at all.

There was enough light from the lamps on the Outer Circle to show them a big room in which were many racks of fur coats.

“Why, Cruella must own dozens of them!” thought Missis. And there were many fur stoles, muffs, et cetera, too.

Pongo barked his orders. “Four pups to a coat, two pups to a stole, one pup to a muff. Present teeth! Tear-r-r!!!”

There was not space enough in one room to finish the whole job, so the pups spread themselves throughout the house. After that the fur flew with a vengeance—in every direction. Chinchilla, Sable, Mink, and Beaver, Nutria, Fox, Kolinsky, and many humbler skins—from kitchen to attic the house was filled with a fog of fur. And the white cat did not forget the ermine sheets. She did good work on those herself, moving so fast that it was hard to see which was clawed white ermine and which was clawing white cat.