Dog owners have to find the lead, and then untangle it. They have to find a couple of plastic bags in case the dog leaves a mess. (Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!) Half of the owners even have to stuff their pockets with treats just to get the dog to the park and back.
Dogs hate it when we laugh at them. But, really! It’s a bit pathetic to be that size and not be trusted even to cross a road all by yourself. Or find your own way home.
Still, it was daft of me to get in that argument when I saw Mrs Pinkney dragging Buster away from the nastiest lamppost in town.
‘Diddums still wearing his baby rein?’ I couldn’t help jeering.
Whoops! I hadn’t noticed Buster’s great-aunt Tilly coming the other way.
‘Just watch it, Fatso,’ she growled.
‘Don’t pick on Buster or I’ll pick on you.’
I looked down my right side. Then I looked down my left. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I can’t see myself trembling with fright. But that may be because I think I have the edge on anyone being tugged around on a long piece of string.’
‘You think you’re so clever?’ she snarled. ‘If cats are so wonderful, where are the guide cats for the blind? Why don’t the police have sniffer cats?’
‘Yeah!’ Buster jeered. ‘All you lot do is go around stalking songbirds.’
‘Better than barking at them all day like a squirty little lame-brain.’
He lunged and, startled, Mrs Pinkney dropped the lead.
I took off like a rocket.
‘You wait,’ threatened Buster’s great-aunt Tilly as I shot past her. ‘Our gate isn’t always properly shut. I’ll get you one day.’
‘When poodles fly!’ I yowled back from the safe side of the wall. But I was glad that Tiger had put his paw down about having no dogs at the party.
6: Not long now
I DIDN’T FORGET to invite Misty.
‘Yo, dude!’ she yowled. ‘A party! Excellent! That rocks.’
Then I remembered Muff and Puff. ‘Why bother to call it a party?’ they asked me when I told them. ‘Isn’t that what we do all the time? Stay out all night and make a noise?’
‘You’re not invited,’ I reminded Pudge the terrier. ‘No dogs at this party.’
‘Oh, boo woofing hoo,’ he jeered.
‘Will there be games?’ asked Fluffball.
‘Only the usual,’ I said. ‘Hide in the Hay Bale. Shred the Straw. Cry Mouse! Oh, and we’ll probably have races round the rafters.’
Together we strolled along to the barn. Up in the hay loft, Georgie was ignoring the spiders’ grumbling as he scooped up their cobwebs and draped them around the rafters in attractive festoons. ‘I’m going for a natural, no-frills look,’ he explained to us. ‘Folksy. Naive. And I am tending to stick with the earth tones.’
‘Do you mean brown?’ asked Fluffball.
Georgie gave her a stern look. ‘Come on!’ he scolded. ‘Look around. We’ve a style rainbow here. Khaki and chestnut; oatmeal; toast, mushroom and rust; biscuit; bran and tobacco leaf; coffee and fawn–’
We left him reeling off his precious shades of muddy brown and went to look at the food.
Snowball was standing proudly in front of a hay bale spread with delicious goodies. ‘Most of it comes from KeenKost,’ he explained. ‘Today is their clear-out day. And I have laid my paws on some excellent pate only a day past its date stamp.’
I peered into one of the tubs. ‘Well, whisk my whiskers! Is this double cream?’
‘Nothing’s too good for the birthday boy!’
I peered over the edge. Below, the horses were shifting from hoof to hoof.
‘Getting excited, guys and gals?’ I asked them. ‘Well, it’s not long now!’
7: Spooking the horses
IT WAS A brilliant party. It absolutely rocked.
First we played Boomerangs.
Then we did races round the rafters. I chose Tiger’s cousin Marmalade as my partner for the doubles because she looked as if she’d corner well. And I was right. We won our heat by a mile, and then we waltzed away with the main race.
We ate all the grub. Boy, was that tasty! Better than anything they were eating back at the Halloween party. And when we were all feeling totally stuffed out and bloated, we played Spook the Horses. That was a little mean, considering that it was past their bedtime. But it’s a good laugh. All you have to do is wait till the poor old dears are nodding off in their stalls, and then you drop on their big fat bottoms from a great height.
No claws. That would be cheating.
They wake up, startled, and they neigh.
Neeeeigh! Neeeeeeeigh!
Five points for a single neigh. Ten for a double. Two extra points for any hoof clattering. And there’s a bonus of ten if all the horse’s hooves lift off the ground at the same time.
Great game!
The problem is we played it for much too long, and woke the farmer. She wasn’t in the world’s best mood when she came stomping into the barn in her boots and pyjamas.
We all laid low while she went down the line of horses in their stalls, patting and soothing. ‘Hey, fellas? What’s the problem? Are you all right, Dolly? What’s all the fretting about?’
She glanced up at the loft. I thought she might climb the ladder and see the mess we’d left on our makeshift hay-bale table. But we were lucky. She just stood listening.
Not hard enough, if you want my opinion. If she’d been doing a proper job, she would have heard those tiny footfalls across the straw.
She would have turned, to see what we saw.
Buster and two of his rough little terrier mates creeping in through the stable door that she’d left open.
And by the time the farmer turned to leave the barn, they were as safely hidden behind the wheelbarrow as we were up there in the loft.
8: Here comes Ugly Club
HATE ME FOREVER if you like, but I’m still going to say it.
I hope your mum and dad keep you inside on Halloween!
And if you manage to nag them long enough to let you go out to show your brand-new monster mask to all the neighbours, I hope they’ve taught you how to shut a gate. The kids in our town must have let out every dog for miles around while they were Trick or Treating. By the time we cats sneaked out of the barn to get away from Buster and the terriers, the place was swarming with dogs of every shape and size and description, all running up to join the fray and all barking their heads off.
‘Hey, pussies! Don’t even bother trying to escape! We’re going to eat you up and spit you out as fur balls!’
‘Quick, Rusty! Head them off!’
‘Grrrrr!’
‘Max! Wolfie! Don’t let the wee sleekit beasties get away over that wall!’
I tell you, if I had known that I was going to have to leg it all the way back into town at that speed, I would never have finished up that tub of pate.
Or the last three fish heads.
Or that cream puff.
We took the shortcuts, over the walls those four-footed slugs can’t jump. Most of my party guests peeled off as we shot past their homes.
‘Night, Tuff! Thanks for an ace bash!’
‘Volcanic night, Tuff! See you around!’
‘Roll on same time next year!’
By the time we turned the corner into our street, there were only me, Bella and Tiger left.
Bella glanced back over her shoulder to check for dogs. ‘I think we lost the dandruffy little creeps.’
‘Way, way behind,’ agreed Tiger. We skidded to a halt in front of my house and stared. The place was humming – bursting with party people. We could see them all through the windows, holding their glasses high, and talking and laughing.
We watched for a moment, and then I asked the other two, ‘What do you reckon? There’s bound to be someone in there who’s allergic to cats. We could have a good laugh. Shall we creep in?’
But they were no longer looking at the people inside the house. Tiger and Bella were staring at the big bright circle thrown on the house wall by our brand-new floodlight.
‘Groovy!’ said Bella.
‘Seriously cool,’ Tiger agreed.
I looked at the gleaming ring of light.
‘It is good, isn’t it?’ I found myself admitting.
‘Hey!’ Tiger said. ‘We mustn’t waste it. Let’s play Guess the Shadow.’