by Andrew Cope
The crowd nodded while the professor chewed the end of his spectacles. ‘Although it’s interesting that the police weren’t sure what to charge him with. There’s no law against inventing a flying wheelchair. The best they could do was charge him with criminal damage for shooting down the satellites, plus five diamond robberies and being in charge of a flying wheelchair without a pilot’s licence.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be on his best behaviour and be out in a little while,’ smiled Sophie. ‘He held on to me ever so tightly.’
‘Apparently he’s working in the prison workshops, with the younger inmates, on a jet-powered mobility scooter. It seems that popping to the shops may soon be much quicker!’
‘Coolio,’ beamed Ollie, revving his hands like a motorbike. ‘The wheelchairs could do wheelies. Maybe they could do a Fogeys’ Formula One?’
‘And,’ noted the professor, ‘we all owe a huge debt to the new cat on the block. If it wasn’t for Agent CAT here, there would have been nobody to save the day.’ He shuddered as he recalled Sophie shooting off into the London sky. ‘Things could have turned out very badly indeed.’
‘He’s such a perfect puss,’ said Sophie, squeezing her cat in her arms, her love spilling over into a silly scrunched-up face.
‘You’re a hero, Agent CAT,’ agreed the professor. ‘In fact, “Classified Animal Trainee” doesn’t seem right any more. I mean, you are now a fully fledged qualified spy.’
Star and Spud wagged like mad. ‘Welcome to the club,’ yapped Spud.
‘Proud to have you aboard, Agent CAT,’ agreed Star. ‘May you have many more successful missions.’
Shakespeare was busy thinking up a possible new name. Classified Animal Spy. CAS? Or how about CAP? Classified Animal Puss. CAS is probably better. Or, if James Bond is 007, how about 00CAT?
‘So,’ continued Professor Cortex, ‘I’ve got a more appropriate name for you.’
Agent CAT held his breath, his collar and eyes blinking at the professor.
‘I think we should call you … “Spy Cat”.’
Turn the page for a sneak peek at another exciting
adventure …
Andrew Cope
SPY DOG: SUMMER SHOCKER!
Second-in-Command
Shakespeare woke with a start, his green eyes instantly wide and his claws extended. He scanned the room and his heart gradually stopped pounding. When you’d spent weeks living rough like Shakespeare had, you learnt to always be alert and ready to run – or fight. After the last few weeks I’ve had, thought the cat, I’m lucky to be alive at all! He looked around at Sophie’s bedroom – pink curtains, cream walls and a pair of fluffy slippers. Perfect. Shakespeare stretched out luxuriously, hooking his claws into the super-soft bedding. Peace and quiet and a nice comfy duvet, at last. What more could a feline want?
The window was open and Shakespeare could hear some barking outside. His whiskers twitched nervously. Bad memories. He leapt effortlessly up on to the sill, being careful to stay hidden behind the curtain, and spied on the meeting below. What a strange gathering of animals. He looked at the black and white dog standing at the front of the group, clearly in charge. She’s the one who lives in this house, Shakespeare realized. He always scampered away before she came back into the house, but he’d seen the children playing with her and petting her. He’d tried not to pay too much attention to the obvious love between them all. Shakespeare had no time for that sort of thing.
Her name was Lara. Strange markings, he thought. And an even stranger ear arrangement, he noticed as Lara’s bullet-holed ear stood proudly to attention. Shakespeare listened intently. So she was a Spy Dog – whatever that meant. He wasn’t even sure what a ‘neighbourhood-watch team’ actually was, but what appeared to be a competition to choose a leader to look after things while Lara was on holiday would be interesting to watch either way. It was always good to know who the competition was on your patch. He scanned the group below; there didn’t seem to be anyone worth Shakespeare’s attention. But then, thought the cat, a life of action and adventure isn’t really my thing. Shakespeare was a loner. He only looked out for number one now. He cast an eye back to the warm bed that seemed to be calling him. That’s my thing!
He listened to Lara’s instructions, stretching a back leg and licking between his claws while he did so. ‘The test is very simple. It’s a feline versus canine challenge. We need to see who’s cleverest, bravest and most energetic.’
Shakespeare continued listening and licking, his sandpapery tongue cleaning between his toes. ‘Imagine there’s a fire on the first floor of number 22. And there’s a child asleep in the upstairs bedroom.’
‘Yikes!’ woofed the soppy-looking chocolate Lab. ‘Best get there quick,’ he said, bounding off towards the garden gate.
‘Archie,’ Lara bellowed. ‘Heel, boy. I said imagine. Come back here and listen carefully to the instructions.’
Shakespeare sniggered. Dogs are so stupid.
‘Yes, boss,’ he woofed apologetically. ‘But what about the fire?’
Lara sighed and shook her head. Shakespeare was surprised to see her eye the tortoiseshell cat with what looked like hope. Interesting, not automatically rooting for her own species.
‘There’s an imaginary baby at number 22,’ Lara continued. ‘And an imaginary fire. The first one to get into the house, upstairs, rescue the child and bring it back here is the winner, right?’
Archie looked chastened. ‘Yes, boss.’
‘I’m ready,’ miaowed Connie, giving Archie a competitive sideways glance.
‘Then what are you waiting for? Go!’ woofed Lara as the cat and dog sprinted off in opposite directions.
Thirty seconds later Archie came panting back. ‘Which is number 22?’ he woofed.
Lara jabbed her paw after the cat, who was already halfway down the street. Archie bounded after her, a chocolate-brown bundle of enthusiasm.
Shakespeare watched lazily from above. He’d stopped licking but his back leg was still outstretched, in striking distance if the race got boring. The competition had become slightly less interesting now it was clear that the cat was going to wipe the floor with the daft dog. Shakespeare had no time for dogs – not stupid ones, not bossy ones like Lara, not vicious ones on the street and especially not the dog that got me evicted from my family. It hurt him to think about it but sometimes he couldn’t do anything else. Bad memories just popped into his head. The little girl had loved him so much. A bit too much, he considered. So much that the dog got jealous. I just wanted a quiet family life but the mutt picked a huge fight, and when we were pulled apart I accidentally caught my owner with my claws and that was pretty much it.
Shakespeare winced as he remembered being shouted at by the lady. And the little girl was crying. He’d then been palmed off on an elderly relative, far away from the little girl and his family. They probably meant well but meals were scarce and it just wasn’t the same. Shakespeare had decided there and then that he would go it alone. He was going to survive all by himself. So I left.
He remembered catching sight of himself in a shop window two weeks later. A stray! he thought. Imagine! Pampered puss to mangy moggy. Skinny ribs showing through my ginger fur. Homeless. Loveless. Living on the streets.
Shakespeare shook his head, getting rid of the memories. He’d soon learnt to toughen up. There were some angry dogs and very territorial cats in the neighbourhood to help him do just that. He looked in the bedroom mirror and admired his tummy, now puffed out with pride. His glossy fur – ginger except for three white feet – gleamed, and his green eyes and perky whiskers shone with health. There’s always an upside, he considered, raising an eyebrow and giving a throaty yowl. I’m a streetwise moggie, he thought. Grown up fast! I steal what I can, when I can. I don’t need friends, or people, or a family. I’m a ginger ninja, it’s me against the world.
He was pleased with his current ‘home’. Three days and nights here, he thought. And nobody’s rumbled me yet. He’d deci
ded to keep the family at arm’s length. The little girl, Sophie, seemed friendly enough and had petted him in the garden, but so far so good. It was better that he didn’t make attachments like before. Best to blend into the background. Hunt at night and find a nice snuggly duvet during the day.
Shakespeare looked back at the indentation in the duvet, imagining it might still be warm. In a minute, he promised. The action below is just hotting up.
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Books by Andrew Cope
Spy Dog series in reading order
SPY DOG
CAPTURED!
UNLEASHED!
SUPERBRAIN
ROCKET RIDER
SECRET SANTA
TEACHER’S PET
ROLLERCOASTER!
BRAINWASHED
MUMMY MADNESS
STORM CHASER
Spy Pups series in reading order
TREASURE QUEST
PRISON BREAK
CIRCUS ACT
DANGER ISLAND
SURVIVAL CAMP
Spy Cat series in reading order
SUMMER SHOCKER!
BLACKOUT!
SAFARI
SPY DOG JOKE BOOK
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First published 2014
Text copyright © Andrew Cope, 2014
Illustrations by James de la Rue
Illustrations copyright © James de la Rue, 2014
Cover Illustrations by Andrew Farley
All rights reserved
The moral right of the author and illustrator has been asserted
Typeset by Jouve (UK), Milton Keynes
ISBN: 978-0-141-34723-3