5_The Killer Cat's Christmas
1: Horrible, horrible, horrible!
OKAY, OKAY! SO run off sobbing, but I did not kill that moth on purpose. It was not my fault. I do agree that I reached out to biff it once or twice. But it was annoying me, flapping round and round my face.
And I’m not sure that it’s dead anyway. I mean, I saw it sort of flapping off, looking a bit lopsided. But after that it disappeared. For all I know, the thing’s still somewhere in the house, minding its own business and mucking about wherever it wants.
Unlike me, locked in this garage in disgrace, after a horrible Christmas.
So go on, ask me. ‘Dear, dear Tuffy, why was your Christmas so horrible?’
And I’ll explain: because it is a festival that wasn’t made for cats. Just think about it. There’s a tree we’re not allowed to climb.
And there are tempting dangly decorations we’re not allowed to touch.
And there are glorious glittering strands of bright, bright tinsel hung far too high for us to reach. Shiny wrapped presents we have to keep our paws off.
And, if we’re really unlucky, horrible cold white snow all over the garden.
No. Not my favourite time of year.
So go on. Ask the next question. ‘But, Tuffy, what on earth happened? How come you’ve ended up locked in the garage?’
I’ll tell you. It was because this Christmas was even worse than usual. This Christmas was terrible.
Frightful.
Awful.
Miserable.
All wrong.
Horrible, horrible, horrible. That’s what it was.
I’ll tell you the whole story.
2: ‘Oh, goody gumdrops! Hoppers!’
THE CAR DREW up outside and out they all spilled, as usual. Our Christmas visitors. That’s Ellie’s Aunt Ann, her husband, Brian, and the soppy twins.
I hate having visitors. They park their bottoms in the comfiest chairs. They dump their suitcases in all my favourite corners. They rattle their clothes around in the cupboards I like to use to take a quiet nap. Their stupid great feet keep stumbling over my food dish.
But Ellie loves company. She couldn’t wait to rush out of the house to greet her cousins. ‘Lucilla! Lancelot! Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!’
She might have been glad they were here. I have a forkful of brain inside my head so I wasn’t quite so keen. As she ran one way, I sneaked off the other to find somewhere good to hide.
I heard them wheel their suitcases inside. ‘Where’s Tuffy? We must say hello to darling, darling Tuffy!’
They searched the house. But I was stretched out flat on top of the cupboard in the hall. They couldn’t find me, so they finally gave up.
‘Forget Tuffy for a moment,’ said Lancelot. ‘Let’s do something else. Let’s play on the bouncy hoppers.’
‘Oh, goody gumdrops! Hoppers!’
The three of them rushed off. Phew! I jumped down from the cupboard and went upstairs. The bathroom window was ajar, so I crept out and spent a quiet half hour on the garage roof, secretly watching the three of them bounce up and down the drive, clutching the sticky-up ears. It was a laugh. Ellie kept falling off. But then Lucilla started to sing some half-baked bouncing song that she’d made up about ‘sweet little mousies in housies’.
It got on my nerves, so I took off. I picked my way along the tree branch and jumped down on the fence.
Lucilla saw me. ‘Tuff-eee! Tuff-eee!’
She bounced towards the fence so hard she couldn’t stop. Is it my fault the fence is wobbly? I didn’t mean to stick my sharp little claws out quite so far to get a grip as I swayed this way and that.
Or keep them out when I fell off the fence, on to her hopper.
Poooooooooooooooooooooof…
Okay, okay! So pump me up with air, and tie a knot in me. I clawed a hole in her hopper. For heaven’s sake, it was an accident! How was it my fault that it sort of shrivelled under her, and she fell off?
I hurried under the thorn bush. Lucilla rolled over on to her hands and knees and started wheedling into the greenery. ‘Oh, Tuffy, dearest! Don’t you remember us? It’s me, Lucilla. Lancelot’s here too. Oh, please come out so we can cuddle you.’
‘Yes,’ Lancelot echoed. ‘Oh, darling Tuffy. Please come out.’
Oh, I came out all right. But on the other side, and straight back up on the fence. From there, I jumped on the garage roof, and into the house through the bathroom window.
So go on! Boil me in bubble bath! Maybe I wasn’t quite as careful as I should have been, walking along the sill. Perhaps some of the fancy bottles of shampoos and lotions did get tipped on to the floor. But it wasn’t me who left the tops off. So how was I supposed to know that they were going to make a mess like that – a huge, foaming, slimy puddle of froth and goo and gel? All I was trying to do was get away to somewhere I’d be left in peace.
And maybe choosing to hide under Ellie’s mother’s best silver party frock was not the smartest idea. But I didn’t pull the stupid thing off its hanger. It fell off by itself as I rushed in the closet. Okay, so maybe I did root about a bit, trying to make myself comfy. But how was I to know I’d pop off all those sequins? All I was doing was trying to take a little nap. Can’t a pet take a nap in his own house without Ellie’s mother ending up sitting in a heap on the carpet, picking the cat hairs off a ruined frock and sobbing her heart out?
I ask you. Honestly! How wet is that?
3: ‘The whole of Christmas in a cattery!’
IT WOKE ME up, though, all that boohooing from Ellie’s mum. Then Mr Grumpy rushed up the stairs to find out what was going on, and things turned nasty. There were some harsh words.
‘You furry vandal!’ Ellie’s father snarled. ‘You foul and spiteful beast!’
I played it cool, raising an eyebrow at him.
He hates it when I put on my ‘not bothered’ look, and flick my tail at him. ‘Look what you’ve done!’ he fumed. ‘You’ve turned a beautiful and expensive frock into a filthy rag!’ He waved it in my face. ‘Look at it! Torn to shreds!’
Now Ellie had arrived, with Lucilla and Lancelot in tow. They all stuck up for me. ‘Oh, please don’t blame Tuffy!’ begged Lancelot.
‘He didn’t mean to spoil the frock!’ insisted Lucilla.
‘He’s just unsettled from having visitors,’ Ellie explained to her father.
But Mr Blame-The-Cat-For-Everything was not having that. He wagged his telling-off finger. ‘Don’t you believe it! This whiskery little waster knows full well what he’s about. And I tell you this house would be a far, far better place if we just made the sensible decision to ask the vet to simply –’
I didn’t catch the last few words. Ellie had let out a fearsome screech, and clapped her hands over my ears.
I wriggled free in time to hear the end of his next threat: ‘– or spend the whole of Christmas in a cattery!’
Up came Ellie’s hands again. This time, when I tugged back my head enough to hear, the only words I caught were: ‘– in some strong cage!’
Ellie was almost in tears. And so were Lancelot and Lucilla.
‘Oh, please don’t say that, Uncle George!’
‘No, don’t say that!’
But Ellie’s father was still in a rage. ‘Well, it’s my view that –’
‘No!’ Ellie cried. ‘We three will look after Tuffy! You needn’t worry. We’ll keep him well away from you.’
Her father was still scowling. ‘And well away from all the clothes in the cupboards? And the tree? And all the food? And all the presents and the decorations?’
‘Yes! Tuffy won’t spoil anything, I promise!’
Ellie pounced on me. And since for once I felt I would be safer out of there, I let her scoop me up and carry me off, down to the living room, well away from Mrs Still-Red-And-Weepy-Eyes, clutching the torn shreds of her ruined frock, and Mr Total-Grump.
4: Surprise, surprise!
SO THAT’S HOW I ended up sitting like Goody-Two-Shoes on the sofa in the front room, while Lucilla and Lancelot drooled and drivelled over my brains and beauty.