The Adventures of Pelle No-Tail

by Gösta Knutsson

  And then the train pulled out. Papa and Mama and Birgitta and Olle and Pelle had a compartment to themselves. Papa read the papers, Mama crocheted and Olle looked out the window, while Birgitta stroked Pelle, who was lying in her lap. Pelle’s motor was on full throttle, as Olle would say whenever the cat would purr.

  It so happened that after a while, the train stopped at a big station. Birgitta and Olle begged their Papa to give them twenty-five cents so they could hop off the train and choose something from one of those chocolate vending machines you find at every railway station. They each received their twenty-five cents and Birgitta lifted Pelle off, onto the seat, telling him to stay put while she was gone, and then she and Olle ran off.

  But Pelle thought, ‘Why can’t I go out and have a little look around too, while the train is stopped?’ and without anybody noticing, he jumped down from the seat and wandered out of the compartment and out onto the landing (because the door was open) and then down onto the platform. The guard was standing there, waving a red flag.

  ‘He’s probably celebrating his birthday today,’ thought Pelle, ‘seeing as he’s waving his flag. I suppose I had better congratulate him.’ And so he went right up to the guard and said, ‘Allow me to congratulate you on the occasion of your birthday Mister Guard!’

  But guards have such difficulty understanding cat-speak and this guard didn’t understand a word Pelle said. Instead, he said to a sooty signal man who was just passing by:

  ‘Have you seen this cat who doesn’t have a tail?’

  Pelle felt hurt at that and trotted off down the platform.

  But what was this? The train was pulling out! Pelle jumped quickly onto a step and only just managed to hop up onto the landing of the caboose.

  Then – too late – he realised he had jumped onto the wrong train. A train that was heading in a completely different direction. There was the other train still standing at the station – he just caught a glimpse of Olle in the window.

  Poor Pelle was off, destination unknown!

  12

  Old Mister Karlsson

  Destination unknown – lonely and alone on the caboose of a big and terribly unfamiliar train!

  The guard with his birthday flag disappeared into the distance. Pelle sat down and looked pensive. He licked his nose a bit. How terribly windy it was out here on the caboose. But there was a big satchel sitting there filled with newspapers. ‘It must be lovely and warm in there,’ thought Pelle. ‘I’m jumping in.’ And that’s what he did.

  It didn’t take long before a boy dressed in green came out onto the landing. He took the heavy satchel and started making his way through the train with it, shouting, ‘STOCKHOLM PAAAAAPERS – HOT OFF THE PRESS! WEEKLY MAGAZINES, BOOOOOOKS!’

  ‘I’ll take the Evening Post!’ said a fat old man, whose whole head was taken up by the parting in his hair (that’s to say, he had no hair at all).

  ‘Evening Post for you, then,’ said the newspaper boy and was just about to pluck an Evening Post from his satchel when Pelle No-Tail stuck his frightened little face out of the pile of Evening Posts.

  The newspaper boy started; he couldn’t believe his eyes. But the fat old man was a kind old man. He picked Pelle up gently and patted him carefully.

  ‘And who are you, my little chap? Are you the free Sunday giveaway with the Evening Post?’

  ‘Miaow,’ said Pelle.

  ‘Ja, I’ve seen them give away worse,’ said the old man. ‘And I see this Sunday giveaway can lick as well.’

  Pelle was giving the man’s hand a thorough lick with his rough tongue. He rather liked this fat old man.

  ‘What a nuisance I have neither herring nor milk on me,’ said the man, whose name, by the way, was Karlsson, so from now on we’ll call him old Mister Karlsson. ‘I only have cigars, and I don’t suppose you smoke?’

  ‘Nee-aow,’ said Pelle.

  ‘No, I didn’t think so,’ said old Mister Karlsson. ‘But wait – I have a packet of lozenges. Perhaps you’d like one of those?’

  Pelle sniffed at a white lozenge, but it wasn’t for him.

  ‘In that case, you’ll just have to manage, there’s nothing else for it,’ said old Mister Karlsson. ‘But maybe you’re not very hungry?’

  No, Pelle was not at all hungry. Not a bit. Far too many peculiar things had happened for him to have time to worry about being hungry. In any case, he was lucky to have come across this kind old man, Mister Karlsson. But what would happen next? Would Mister Karlsson take Pelle with him when he got off the train, or would he leave him behind? Would he ever get back to Birgitta?

  ‘What are you worrying about, puss?’ asked old Mister Karlsson. ‘It’ll soon be time to get off and then we’ll go home to my place and have some herring. Perhaps I could also organise a spot of cream from the larder.’

  Yes, he was a kind old man, that Mister Karlsson. It sounded like he meant to put on a real feast back at his place. And now, he gathered up all his bags, took Pelle under his arm and got off at the station where the train had just pulled in.

  But just then something truly terrible happened. An enormously big dog, as big as a calf, came rushing towards old Mister Karlsson, and Pelle got such a fright that he scrabbled free and disappeared like a little whirlwind into the town beyond the train station. And he didn’t stop until he found himself safely in a small lane where there were several basement doors to slink into at a pinch.

  13

  The dainty Miss Ingrid

  Suddenly, from out of one of the basement doors stepped a dainty little girl-cat. She was almost the sweetest girl-cat Pelle had ever seen. ‘I’d better smarten myself up,’ thought Pelle, and gave himself a quick lick over before he stepped out and said:

  ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Pelle.’

  ‘My name is Ingrid,’ said the girl-cat, and they sniffed at each other. Then they were silent for some time.

  ‘It’s a nice town, this,’ said Pelle finally, because something had to be said.

  ‘It’s alright,’ answered Ingrid. ‘Although there aren’t too many rats here.’

  ‘What’s the herring like?’ asked Pelle.

  ‘Good enough,’ said Ingrid, ‘at least when it comes in fresh. On Fridays there’s always fresh fish in town. Mama and I usually go to market and help ourselves. There’s one particular woman who wears purple called Miss Scales who’s always so kind to us and picks out some herring for us, as much as we want.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re on to a good thing here,’ said Pelle. ‘But tell me this: there are quite a few dogs, aren’t there?’

  Hardly had Pelle finished speaking, when a brown dog with a wrinkly face appeared from a side street right in front of him and Ingrid. Quick as a flash, Pelle darted into the doorway to a basement. He stuck out his head and whispered to Ingrid:

  ‘Quick! Come over here! Don’t you see what’s coming?’

  ‘Phooey,’ said Ingrid, smiling a little. ‘He’s not dangerous, that one. That’s just old Dux. Hej! How’s it going, Dux!’

  ‘Hej,’ said Dux a little morosely, and sniffed at Ingrid indifferently. Pelle sat in the basement door and quivered in suspense. How did Ingrid dare?

  Once Dux had had a sniff around, he went on his way.

  ‘Say hello to Charlotta!’ called Ingrid after him.

  ‘Thanks,’ mumbled Dux. He didn’t look particularly friendly. He made his way along the uneven cobblestones, and only now did Pelle finally dare come out from his opening.

  ‘How could you be so brave as to let that Lux sniff around you with his wrinkly face!’ said Pelle, full of admiration.

  ‘His name isn’t Lux. It’s Dux,’ said Ingrid.

  ‘What sort of a name is Dux?’ said Pelle. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I believe it’s Latin,’ said Ingrid. ‘One of those Angora cats lives in the neighbourhood. He’s called Catiline, and he can speak Latin, and I asked him one day what Dux meant, and he thought it meant “wrinkly face”, but he wasn’t reall
y too sure about it.’

  ‘But that fits well,’ said Pelle, ‘because he was wrinkly. I’ve never seen anything so wrinkly.’

  ‘Once when I was little,’ recounted Ingrid, ‘Dux was about to rush up to me, but Mama jumped up onto him and scratched him, so he had no choice but to slope off with his tail between his legs. Talking of tails, where did you leave yours?’

  ‘We aren’t talking about that, we’re talking about Lux,’ said Pelle.

  ‘Dux,’ corrected Ingrid. ‘Well, ever since that day, Dux hasn’t dared go for a cat, and every cat in town knows it, so nobody’s scared of him.’

  ‘Well, I couldn’t be expected to know that,’ said Pelle. ‘In any case, it would be nice to meet your mama.’

  ‘We’re not far from home,’ said Ingrid. ‘We live in the fourth basement door to the left off Ågatan. I hope Mama’s home.’

  Jo, Ingrid’s mama was home. She was sitting in a cosy rocking chair with headphones on when Ingrid came into their little apartment with Pelle following shyly behind.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Ingrid. ‘Are we disturbing your program on the radio, Mama?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said her mama and took off the headphones. ‘It was just a show about “Different ways to catch rats”, and there was nothing new in it for me. But who’s this you’ve brought in?’

  ‘I’m Pelle,’ answered Pelle and bowed.

  ‘Welcome!’ said Ingrid’s mama. ‘Ingrid, will you go into the kitchen and put the milk pot on?’

  (See, it’s like this: cats don’t drink coffee, so they never put on a pot of coffee. Instead they put on a pot of milk and warm up the milk until it’s lukewarm, because cats think that really is the best way to drink it.)

  And then Ingrid set out three saucers and all three drank some milk – Ingrid, her mama and Pelle – and when they had had their fill, and licked themselves beautifully clean, Ingrid’s mama asked Pelle to tell them a little bit about his adventures.

  And so Pelle did.

  14

  Pelle finds his way back

  You can just imagine how upset Birgitta was when she came back to the train from the chocolate vending machine and couldn’t find Pelle. And Olle was sad too, he just didn’t to show it. Papa and Mama were also worried.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Papa. ‘The cat was sitting on the seat just a moment ago.’

  ‘And I would have said that I heard him purring the whole time,’ said Mama.

  Birgitta was crying.

  ‘My poor little Pelle,’ she said. ‘What if I never see him again!’

  ‘Perhaps he has just ended up in another compartment,’ said Papa. Just then the conductor came by. Papa whispered something to him; the conductor was a kind man, as conductors for the most part usually are. He gave a friendly laugh, and then went off, calling into every compartment: ‘HAS ANYONE HERE SEEN A CAT WITHOUT A TAIL?’

  Usually, conductors call out ‘TICKETS PLEASE!’ or ‘NEXT STATION LINKÖPING’ or some such thing, but this conductor was calling out ‘HAS ANYONE HERE SEEN A CAT WITHOUT A TAIL?’

  ‘Yes, we did,’ said a couple of boys who were sitting in another carriage. ‘We saw him jump out at the last platform and onto another train that pulled out quite some time before we did. And it was heading in another direction. It said “Krylbo” on the board.’

  ‘Well, at least we have a lead, then,’ said Papa when the conductor came back to fill them in. ‘Don’t cry now, little Birgitta, we’ll find Pelle, you’ll see. We’ll put out an announcement for him in the morning.’

  ‘Can’t we put out a “Wanted” notice on the radio about him?’ said Olle. ‘That would be great.’

  ‘You know, I’m not so sure the folk on the radio would agree to that,’ said Papa. ‘I think we’ll have to be happy with a notice in the papers. Just think how lucky it is he doesn’t have a tail, because now that’s a definite distinguishing feature!’

  *

  And so back to old Mister Karlsson, the man who looked after Pelle on the other train, and who wanted to invite him back to share a herring supper with him that night. He was terribly upset when Pelle leapt out of his arms at the station when that big dog came rushing up to them.

  ‘So unfortunate!’ said old Mister Karlsson. ‘Now what’s to become of the poor lost cat?’

  But when Mister Karlsson went for his usual walk the next morning, he was pleasantly surprised, because there in the middle of Ågatan was his little friend from the day before. ‘Hurray!’ cried out Mister Karlsson, so loudly that at least ten little old ladies’ faces poked out of just as many windows, and Policeman Pettersson, who was standing with his hands behind his back further down the street, turned around to see what the matter was. But Pelle came over and butted up against him, rubbing against Mister Karlsson’s leg – he recognised the kind old man from the train instantly – so Mister Karlsson picked Pelle up, went home with him and then called the fishmonger right away to ask for some fresh herring, followed by the grocer to get some thick cream. It was time to celebrate! And celebrate they did. It was such a fine feast that Pelle came up with this song about old Mister Karlsson:

  Mister Karlsson,

  Mister Karlsson

  Is an honourable man.

  In his pantry

  Are yummy treats,

  Which together we eat up,

  Which together we eat up.

  Mister Karlsson,

  Mister Karlsson,

  A jolly fellow is he.

  He gives me herring

  What a good friend.

  Followed by beautiful cream,

  Followed by beautiful cream.

  Mister Karlsson,

  Mister Karlsson

  Thinks I’m rather fine.

  He’s kind to cats

  And I’m ready to bet

  He wants me to be his pet,

  He wants me to be his pet!

  *

  And then everything worked out in the best possible way. Old Mister Karlsson happened to see a notice in the newspaper about a cat with no tail who had ended up on the wrong train. It took no more than five seconds for Mister Karlsson to realise it was referring to the same cat he had brought home. So he called the telephone number in the notice and spoke to Birgitta’s Papa. And do you know, it was the funniest thing; it turned out they knew each other, although they hadn’t seen each other for a very long time. Once upon a time, old Mister Karlsson and Birgitta’s Papa had gone to school together.

  ‘If you’ll let me have the cat for another two days,’ said Mister Karlsson, ‘I’ll bring him back in my car on Wednesday. The cat won’t get carsick being in the car for such a long time, will he?’

  ‘No, he has been in a car before,’ said Birgitta’s Papa and laughed, ha-ha-ha, thinking back to the time when he himself had had no idea he had given Pelle a lift – before he was even called Pelle.

  *

  And so it was that little lost Pelle found his way back home again. Old Mister Karlsson delivered him into Birgitta’s hands in due course two days later. You can just imagine the cuddle Birgitta gave her Pelle!

  ‘And may I give you this ball as a little memento?’ said Mister Karlsson and he gave Pelle a blue and yellow ball that could be seen from miles away.

  Old Mister Karlsson then wiped a tear from the corner of his eye because he was very upset at having to leave Pelle behind. And so he set off on his homeward journey.

  As for Pelle, he thought it was lovely and peaceful to be back home again. But he did rather miss Ingrid and her mama and their cosy flat through the fourth basement door on the left. And, of course, he missed old Mister Karlsson!

  15

  It’s autumn!

  Birgitta was sitting at her desk, working. She was writing a poem about autumn. And this is how much she had done:

  Summer is gone, and the leaves in the park Turn yellow and fall to the ground.

  Flowers are wilting, now autumn is here …

  But she had come to a stop. Ugh
, this was difficult. Birgitta chewed on her pencil and thought hard. Now she had to come up with a good rhyme for ‘ground’. There was ‘pound’ and ‘mound’, but she couldn’t make either fit in. This really wasn’t very easy.

  ‘Can’t you help me, Pelle?’ asked Birgitta.

  Pelle No-Tail sat on the floor and looked knowing. ‘I know what I’d write,’ he thought. ‘I’d write: “And there are rats in the cellar to be found!”’ But he didn’t say that. He just looked knowing, and tilted his head to one side.

  Birgitta pondered and chewed her pencil and looked out of the window. It was almost dark outside, but you could see the yellow autumn leaves dancing in circles around each other. The wind blew and whistled and suddenly, down on the street, a gentleman’s hat was whisked off his head. The hat rolled away across the street; from up here, it looked just like a hedgehog running away on its little legs. Pelle had jumped up onto the window sill and peered out, very curious. He craned his neck as much as he could and followed the hat until it disappeared out of sight. The gentleman hurried after it with big steps.

  ‘It would be such great fun to be down there, chasing after that silly hat,’ thought Pelle. ‘That man must be having such a good time!’

  But really, the man hardly thought it much fun to be running headlong down the street after his hat. And do you know who the man was? Jo, it was none other than Birgitta and Olle’s Papa, but neither Birgitta nor Pelle had recognised him from up at the window.

  After a while, Papa came in, breathing hard. And bareheaded.

  ‘Can you believe it!’ he said, panting like one of those old-fashioned locomotives puffing out smoke, ‘Can you believe my hat just flew off my head and tumbled down into the stream, and now it’ll be on its way to Lake Mälaren.’

  ‘Well, maybe some ducks will find it and build their nest in it,’ said Birgitta. Pelle thought that was funny, and laughed as much as he could. Not so that anybody could hear him, of course, because cats never laugh out loud: they just look terribly satisfied.