Cats Undercover

by Ged Gillmore

  ‘Truffles? How can truffles be dangerous?’

  ‘No, I can smell truffles. Mmmm, truffles! Where are they, where are they?’

  Ginger ran around in front of Noreen, but the boar just sniffed her way right over her, like a hairy vacuum cleaner with tusks. Her eyes had glazed over and she was singing under her breath:

  ‘Oh, there might a scuffle!

  Or even a kerfuffle,

  But when things get tough, you’ll

  Just have to snuffle a truffle!’

  Ginger picked herself up and dusted herself down. Then she miaowed at the top of her voice, ‘I know where there are lots of truffles!’

  Well, that got Noreen’s attention. She stopped snuffling in the undergrowth and looked up at her.

  ‘How could you possibly know? A cat’s sense of smell is refined, but pigs, dogs and boars have far better noses. Despite the olfactory structure of the—’

  ‘Why is following the rats dangerous?’ said Ginger.

  ‘Oh,’ said Noreen, who, despite being a boar on any subject, was remarkably easy to distract. ‘Because they work for …’

  She looked around, coughed, and took a step towards Ginger. She didn’t look any less scary that she had before, and Ginger had to summon up her courage not to turn on her tail and flee to the safety of the nearest tree. Closer and closer Noreen came, until she could say in a tiny whisper.

  ‘They are not working alone.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ginger whispered back conspiratorially, ‘you said that bit already.’

  ‘They,’ Noreen looked around again, as if she was afraid the very trees were listening. ‘They’re working with the Riff Raff Sewer Rats on a job for …’

  The boar hesitated again, as if ellipses (look it up!) were going out of fashion. Finally, she swallowed and, clearly summoning up great courage, said ‘… for King Rat!’

  ‘King Rat!’ said Ginger with a laugh. ‘King Rat? Nobody believes in King Rat!’

  Noreen the boring boar put a trotter over her mouth, clearly shocked that anyone could say such a thing.

  ‘The evil king’s existence is a well-documented fact—’

  But she got no further, for now, with her foot near her mouth, she detected something hotter on her trotter than a regal rodent rotter.

  ‘Oh!’ she said instead. ‘Truffles!’

  And with that she turned away again, nose to the ground.

  Ginger let her go. She walked back slowly to the tree where she’d spent the night and climbed back up to her viewpoint.

  ‘King Rat!’ she said, resigning herself to hunger and settling down for a light snooze. ‘Nobody believes in King Rat.’

  But just the mention of his horrible name, now she was alone again, was enough to give Ginger a shiver along her spine.

  WHAT A DITCH!

  Well, no doubt you’re wondering what happened to Minnie. No? Well, tough, you’re going to find out anyway. What do you think this is: a movie where you can fast forward to your favourite bits? Well, you could, I suppose. I mean, why not flip forward a few pages and find out how Ginger singed her fringe? Or flip further and discover how Tuck, with more pluck than luck, felt yuck about a clucky duck’s muck? I’ll tell you why not. Because neither of those things happen. And serves you right if you jumped ahead before reading that last bit about how they didn’t. Ha!

  So, this is what happened to Minnie. Needless to say (but I’ll say it anyway), Minnie was fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurious after her argument with Tuck. She had never felt so undervalued or underappreciated in her whole life ever. Admittedly, this was because until then she’d never done anything worthy of valuation or appreciation ever, but earlier that night, watching television, she had discovered the most marvellous piece of news. She had, weeks before, applied for an audition on Kitten’s Got Talent. Since then, she’d exercised for at least three minutes every day, spending an equal amount of time writing songs and dancing. Then, just before her big fight with Tuck, as he held the aerial for her and the storm raged outside, she’d received the news she’d wanted for so long. Kitten’s Got Talent had selected her (and several thousand other cats) to come for an audition. That was why she’d been so excited! But had Tuck been excited for her too? Had he been grateful she’d set herself on the path to stardom? He had not. And had he shown any appreciation for how tough it was going to be for her, all that fame and glory? Nope. He had acted as if Ginger was more important. Poor Minnie, being a star is so tough! If you don’t believe me, you find a star and ask them. I bet they’ll say ‘Bells, yes! It’s SO tough!’ And if they don’t, they’re probably just being sarcastic—you know what famous people are like.

  Anyhoo, Minnie was still not in the best of moods when she woke up early the next morning. In fact, she was in the worst of moods. Or at least in the worst mood since the day she’d seen her reflection in a piece of bent metal in the farmyard, and laughed at how much rounder it made her look, until Ginger came along and pointed out the metal wasn’t bent at all. Ouch! That had been an eight-out-of-ten bad mood. But her mood on the morning after the fight was even worse, eight-point-nine-out-of-ten at least, which is very high on the Kicked-Her Scale. So when she woke up in the drawer beside Tuck, just the sight of him set her seething again. Without a second thought she jumped out of the drawer, grabbed her teeny-tiny suitcase (which was always packed in case of a need to flounce out), padded down the stairs, strode across the farmyard and stomped up the overgrown driveway. Shocking, I know; she hadn’t even washed her face! And when she reached the road, did she pause to peruse the pores in her paws? She did not. She turned left and carried on stomping along the road.

  ‘Maaah,’ said the sheep in the fields as she passed.

  ‘Get lost,’ said Minnie, as she stomped past.

  ‘Oh hello, you beautiful darling,’ called out a scarecrow.

  ‘Lick my tail!’ said Minnie, as she stamped on down the road.

  In fact, she stomped and stamped all morning long until, finally, she was stumped.

  ‘Oh, what am I going to do?’ she said. ‘How am I going to get to my audition?’

  Poor Minnie. She was tired and hungry, down and depressed, a fat cat and a flat cat all at the same time. She sat by the roadside and had a little cry, just a tiddy-tiny one because no one was looking, but a proper cry all the same.

  But if you think Minnie sat in this slump of self-despair for long, then you don’t know Minnie at all. For Minnie Themoocha Ripperton-Fandango was, let us not forget, a cat whose cunning had careered her from cattery to countryside. A moggy whose mentality had mangled mighty monsters and made mincemeat out of massive men. Or, at least, that’s what she’d tell you if you asked. For when they were handing out self-confidence, chutzpah and optimism, Minnie had cheated her way to the front of the queue each time. So, now, after no more than eight minutes and thirty-two seconds, she stood herself up, shook out her fur, picked up her teeny-tiny suitcase and carried on walking.

  ‘Minnie, me gal,’ she miaowed out loud, ‘you din’t get where you is today by relying on no one else. If you ‘as to walk, you ‘as to walk. So you may as well put a brave face on it and remember how good walking is for your figure.’

  Minnie was practising brave faces to see which one felt the bravest when she heard a noise and looked up at the road ahead of her. She couldn’t see very far as the road went around a bend, but the noise was definitely that of an approaching vehicle.

  ‘Oh!’ she said to herself. ‘It’s probly some ‘oomans what will find me irresistible and will take me to the city. I’ll play ‘ard to get, but, ooh, it’ll be nice to get off me paws.’

  The noise got louder and louder and still there was no vehicle in sight.

  ‘Must be a right flash car to make so much noise,’ thought Minnie. ‘There is justice after all!’

  Then, at last, the source of the noise appeared. But it wasn’t a car at all. It was a huge high-sided truck driven by a short dumpy woman, with a tall thin man in the passenger seat.


  ‘Cor,’ thought Minnie. ‘It’s them ‘oomans again! They must’ve spotted me yesterday and found me irresistible. Now they’ve come back to get me!’

  She bristled her huge fur coat so that she looked like an old-fashioned movie star or a fat pom-pom on legs, depending on your point of view. But as the lorry approached, did it slow down for her? Oh rudely ripping rubber, no! If anything, it seemed to speed up and even head a little in her direction as if it meant to run her over.

  ‘Cor, limey lummocks!’ screamed Minnie, throwing herself at the last minute into a ditch beside the road to avoid being flattened. And then she said, ‘Coorrghi limechy lumoccchs,’ as she coughed up the dirty ditch water she’d swallowed. Climbing slowly back up to the road she was so upset she couldn’t even raise a clenched paw to shake after the lorry as it sped back the way she’d come.

  ‘Oofee!’ she wailed. ‘Look at me, I’m fill-fee! Ooh, me beautiful coat, it’s gritty, not pretty, it’s not lush or plush, it’s just a mushy bush!’

  And it was true: she did look quite a sight. She was a daggy, claggy, baggy, saggy, boggy, soggy moggy. And, worst of all, there was nothing she could do about it. Her teeny-tiny suitcase, with all her combs and ribbons and hairclips and bows, had burst open when she dived into the ditch, and now its contents were floating in the dirty water. All she could reach—apart from the teeny-tiny suitcase itself—was a tube of paw-paw lotion.

  ‘Oofee,’ she said out loud. ‘Sometimes life can be a real ditch!’

  She stood looking at her belongings floating in the dirty water and thought for a second that maybe she should give up on her ambitions and head back to the farm. Maybe she should accept she was never going to be a star and settle for the quiet life of a country cat. But, thoughts being far faster than words, she’d already rejected those ideas before you even got to read about them.

  ‘Nah!’ she thought. And then, just to be sure, she miaowed it out loud. ‘Nah!!! I’m going to get to that audition if it’s the last thing I do. And I’m going to get through it, and I’m going to be a star! Watch out world, Minnie is on the way, and you might want to get your tickets early because it’s going to be a sell-out show.’

  And on she walked again, not even thinking about crying.

  WHAT A PONG!

  A few minutes later, Tuck also heard the lorry approaching. He was, by this time, only a short distance behind Minnie. He had run all the way back to the farm, realised his mistake and then run all the way in the right direction, while Minnie had just plodded and stomped and dawdled and huffed and puffed and done her hair a few times. Indeed, had the lorry not approached, Tuck would probably have caught up with her in a matter of minutes and this whole story would have taken a very different turn. But the lorry did approach, and the story didn’t turn. Nor did Tuck, which you have to agree has a certain splat potential.

  Have you ever heard the expression ‘a rabbit in headlights’? Well, you have now. It’s a metaphor to describe someone so frightened by something approaching that they stand still and stare at it instead of jumping out of the way. I’ll be honest and say I’ve never seen a rabbit do this, but I have seen Tuck do it. And on this day, when the huge high-sided lorry came charging around the bend towards him, he did it again.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ he thought.

  He sat watching the lorry getting bigger and bigger and listening to its brakes hiss and squeal and its tyres screech and scream until it came to a stop right above him. That’s right, above him. The lorry’s front left wheel had gone to the left of him and its front right wheel had gone to the right of him and now its juddering, spluttering, vibrating cabin sat right above him.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ he thought again.

  Then he heard the lorry’s doors opening and saw a long pair of thin human legs climb down to the road on one side of him and a rather dumpy pair of legs climb down on the other. Then, on the first side, he saw the pale long-nosed face of the male human bending down to look under the lorry. It was at this point that Tuck started to think something other than ‘Uh-oh’.

  ‘Agh!’ he thought. ‘Eek!’

  The male human reached in one of his long thin arms and stuck out his long thin fingers towards Tuck’s fur.

  ‘Miaow!’ said Tuck. ‘Eek, eugh, miaow, help!’

  Now, at last, he started moving. He crawled slowly backwards as he miaowed, wondering what this evil being with its hideous tentacles was going to do with him. But before he could wonder any further, or wander any further come to that, he felt himself grabbed firmly from behind. He’d been so intent on escaping from the male human that he’d forgotten about the female human and he’d crawled backwards to within her reach.

  ‘Oh furry-purry-dumkins!’ she said as she grabbed him, her voice deeper than you’d expect. ‘My, aren’t you beautiful! We nearly ran you over you, silly pussycat.’

  Tuck tried to stick his claws into the road to stop himself being picked up, but, of course, that didn’t work, and within seconds he found himself pulled out into the brightness of the day. Then he was lifted up and held tight. Well, Tuck hadn’t been held by a human since he was a tiny kitten. What a strange, frightening and rather high-up sensation! He closed his eyes tight, miaowed even louder and was about to stick out all his claws again and even bare his teeth too, when something stopped him. Was it:

  a) Because the woman smelled very nice, like your best friend’s mum when she’s getting ready to go out?

  b) Because his flight/ fight/ freeze mechanism had set itself to ‘freeze’ again?

  c) Because the woman immediately started rubbing his neck with the knuckles of one hand and tickling his tummy with the fingers of the other?

  d) Because it was so nice not to be under the lorry?

  The answer, dear reader, we will never know. Not because I haven’t done my research—how very dare you—but because Tuck himself has never worked it out. It might well have been:

  e) All of the above.

  Whatever the correct answer, suffice to say Tuck did not stick his claws through the woman’s bright yellow and surprisingly-light-for-the-time-of-year dress. Instead, he lay in her arms, looked up at her narrow green eyes and said, ‘Ooh, purry-purry purr-purr. Hee, hee, hee, that tickles.’

  ‘OK, William, open the door,’ replied the woman in her thick and throaty voice.

  Except, of course, this wasn’t a reply at all. It was an instruction to the man who’d walked around from the other side of the truck and who—I’ll save a lot of time by telling you now—was her husband. His name was William Pong, and he was, as you may have noticed, very tall and very thin. He was so tall and so thin, in fact, that if you passed him in the street you would probably say to a friend, ‘Staggering stick insects, look at how tall and thin that man is!’ In fact, he was taller and thinner than that. He was so tall and thin that if you saw him in the street, and you weren’t with a friend, you’d have grabbed a random stranger just to point out his height and his thinness. Which would be quite rude, but there you go; sometimes you just can’t help yourself, can you?

  ‘Yes, dear,’ said Mr Pong.

  Then, as Tuck watched, he pulled a face as if he’d just smelled a pool of vomit. He walked in a very wide circle around his wife, and started opening a large door in the side of the trailer behind the lorry’s cabin. Actually, thinking about it, I better tell you the woman’s name too, hadn’t I? Her name was Frances Pong, and she was the prettiest human being in this entire story (there aren’t any others). As stated, she had narrow green eyes and bright red hair. She also had a lovely strong nose and generally all the bits of her face in the right place. The only downside to her appearance was her teeth, which were shockingly yellow. None of which particularly interested Tuck at that moment.

  ‘That’s enough now, thank you,’ he said.

  Something was ruffling his feline sixth sense, and he thought it might be time to think about rescuing Minnie and Ginger again. But Mrs Pong ignored his miaowing, and moved from rubbing his tummy to tickling th
e top of his head.

  ‘Ooh, stop it, that’s lovely’ said Tuck. ‘I mean—don’t. Put me down! Ooh, up a bit, just there … purr, purr. I really should be going—try the ears.’

  As Tuck tried to resist Mrs Pong’s gentle yet firm fingers, he could hear Mr Pong opening the side of the trailer and pulling something down to the roadside. When Mrs Pong tickled under his chin, so he could put his head back and see what was happening behind him, Tuck saw it was a set of metal steps. And now, as he watched in an upside-down (and not entirely unpleasant) kind of way, he saw Mr Pong’s tall and skinny frame climb the steps and enter the trailer. Tuck couldn’t see much more, but suddenly he could smell ever so much, because coming out of the trailer was the unmistakeable odour of cats. Lots and lots of cats. Whether it was these scents, or his sixth sense, which sent him back to his senses, Tuck did not know. But what he did know was that all of a sudden he was finished with fuss.

  ‘Thank you very much for having me,’ he miaowed politely, ‘but I have to go now.’

  And he wriggled and turned in Mrs Pong’s arms hoping to get away. But Mrs Pong merely held him tighter, and then tighter still, until it really was quite uncomfortable. Tuck twisted and turned and wriggled again, until, at last, without thinking, he stuck out all of his claws, piercing Mrs Pong’s plump pale person ten times through her thin dress.

  ‘Aaah,’ she screamed, her yellow teeth on full display. ‘This little monster just scratched me!’

  Which wasn’t strictly true, given that Tuck’s super sharp claws had all gone straight into her flesh with not a scratch in site. Still, Mr Pong seemed to understand. He reappeared in the doorway of the trailer wearing a huge pair of green oven gloves. He descended the steps in two strides, reached out with a nauseous look on his face and pulled Tuck from his wife’s grasp. Mrs Pong screamed as his ten claws came out of her body less cleanly than they’d gone in.

  ‘Eugh, foul thing!’ shouted Mr Pong in a nasty nasal voice, as Tuck stuck his claws out again, each of his four paws searching for something else to scratch and help him get away. ‘Oh, how these things disgust me!’