The
Cat Who Swam the English Channel
The
Cat Trick
Toby
was a trumpet-playing cat. He played the trumpet better than any cat in the
whole up and down world. He practiced every single day, sometimes tooting the
toot from early morning until late at night. And all over England, Toby was
famous for his marvellous toot-tootings.
Toby lived in a
large wooden box just outside a small seaside town. It was afternoon and he decided
to go down to the beach and play his trumpet. The holiday season had just
begun, and there were hundreds of kids making sand castles, splashing about in
the waves and laughing like mad. Toby walked by, tut-tutting quiet cat
tuttings, and shaking his head in disapproval.
You see, Toby
wasn’t fond of children. When he was a little kitten, he’d lived with four boys
and three girls and their mother and their father. The kids always
wanted him to play with balls of wool. And they always wanted to pick him up
and stroke him. And they always wanted him to be awake—even in the middle
of the afternoon. Toby hated that kind of stuff. So, one night, even though he
was still very young, he climbed out of an open window and ran away.
Now, Toby walked
along the beach until he came to a nice quiet corner. He sat himself down, took
his trumpet and played a tune with lots of twiddle notes. He didn’t know it,
but all the fish swimming in the sea were listening, and they danced a fishy
dance. And every time they heard one of those famous twiddle notes, they jumped
out of the water and looped the loop.
After a while,
Toby sat looking out to sea. It was a clear day, and Toby could just see France on the other side of the English Channel, like a faint pencil line.
Just then his best
friend, Cod Eye, arrived.
“Hello,” Toby
meowed. They both gave each other a quick lickety-lick, which is a cat’s way of
asking, “How do you do?”
“You look bored,” Cod Eye meowed.
“No, I’m not
bored. I was just wondering what it’s like over in France.”
“Well, I know one
thing: all the cats meow French.”
“Don’t they meow English?”
“Nope. Not a
single word.”
“That’s strange.”
"And any way, you might not be bored, but I am,”
Cod Eye meowed with a big smile. Cod Eye was a cat who always smiled—though he never meant it.
“Well, why don’t
we go into town and do the fire truck trick?” Toby meowed. Cod Eye’s cod eyes
lit up.
“We haven’t done
the fire truck trick for ages,” Cod Eye meowed
excitedly. “It’s a great idea!”
“I know it is,” Toby meowed back.
The fire truck trick
is a trick all cats know, but only the trickiest cats dare to try. There’s
nothing a cat likes more than to see a fire truck, flying down the street, its
siren screeching, with all the firemen on the back with their bright firemen costumes.
“Who’s going to
climb the tree?” Cod Eye meowed.
“You can, if you
want.”
“Yahoo,” Cod Eye
meowed.
And so they walked
into town and chose the highest tree in the park. And while Cod Eye climbed up,
Toby went to a nearby telephone box. He jumped up onto the shelf, and, leaning
over, he managed to lift up the receiver and called 999.
“Police,
ambulance, or fire service?” the operator asked.
“Fire service,” Toby meowed. The line went click, click, clickety-click, and then a voice said:
“Fire service. Can
I help you?”
Now Toby tried to
sound like an old lady and meowed, “I hope so. My poor little cat, Twinkles, is
stuck up a tree in the park. He’s been there all night, and I’m worried to
death he might fall. The tree’s so high. Please come and
rescue him. He’s my only friend in all the world.”
“Very well,” the
voice said, “we’ll be there soon. Don’t worry, Madame.”
When Toby got back
to the park, he saw Cod Eye sitting on a branch in the middle of the tree. He
was meowing, “Meeeooow, meeeooow,” as if he really was a cat called Twinkles
and as if he really was stuck and scared of falling.
“They’re coming,” Toby meowed to him, and sat on a bench to watch the show.
After a few
minutes they heard the fire truck siren going:
“Yheee-yhaaa,
yheee-yhaaa, yheee-yhaaa.”
It was a wonderful
sound that cats absolutely love. And then they saw the fire truck, speeding
down the street.
“Yheee-yhaaa,
yheee-yhaaa, yheee-yhaaa.”
All the cars
pulled in to the side of the road. The fire truck ran through all the red traffic
lights.
“Yheee-yhaaa,
yheee-yhaaa, yheee-yhaaa.”
Next, it was in
the park.
“Yheee-yhaaa,
yheee-yhaaa, yheee-yhaaa.”
Finally, it
stopped beside the big tree and all the firemen jumped out and looked up for
the cat. Cod Eye meowed a twinkly, “Meeeooow, meeeooow.”
One of the firemen
pointed and called out, “There he is, poor little thing.”
Toby laughed.
“We’d better get
the ladder up,” the captain of the firemen said. One of the firemen pushed a
red button, and the magic fire truck ladder grew and grew, up into the sky like
a beanstalk. Toby loved this part, and began to clap his paws. The magic ladder kept
growing until it reached the middle of the tree and then stopped just beside
Cod Eye.
This was an
important job, and the captain of the firemen himself began to climb the
enormous magic ladder.
“Meow, meow,” Cod
Eye meowed, still pretending to be scared.
Higher and higher
the captain climbed. A crowd of people began to gather, and they all strained
their necks watching the treetop show.
“Don’t worry,
little cat,” the captain said. “We’ll soon have you down, safe and sound.”
At last the
captain reached the top of the magic ladder. He was right beside Cod Eye.
“There you are,” he said, reaching out to grab the poor helpless cat.
But Cod Eye
meowed, turned around, and climbed higher up the tree.
The crowd began to
giggle.
“Take me up
higher!” the captain ordered, and the magic ladder grew.
“Stop!” the
captain ordered, and the magic ladder stopped.
“Meow, meow,” Cod
Eye meowed, still pretending to be scared.
“Now then, you
silly cat, stay still this time,” he said, reaching out to grab the poor
helpless cat.
But Cod Eye
meowed, turned around, and climbed even higher up
the tree.
The crowd began to
chuckle.
“Take me up
higher!” the captain ordered, and the magic ladder grew.
“Stop!” the
captain ordered, and the magic ladder stopped.
“Meow, meow,” Cod
Eye meowed, still pretending to be scared.
“Now then, you stupid-silly cat, stay
still this time.” The captain was getting angry. He reached out to grab the
poor helpless cat.
But Cod Eye
meowed, turned around, and climbed even even higher up
the tree.
Now Cod Eye was at
the very top of the tree.
The crowd began to
laugh.
“Take me up
higher!” the captain ordered, and the magic ladder grew.
“Stop!” the
captain ordered, and the magic ladder stopped.
“Now then, you
simply-stupid-silly cat, stay still this time.” He was mad. He was madder than
mad. He was crazy. His face was as red as the fire truck! This time,
reaching out to grab the poor helpless cat, Cod Eye turned around, meowed
another meow and climbed down the tree, hopping expertly
from branch to branch like a famous circus performer. In just a few seconds,
Cod Eye was at the very bottom.
The crowd laughed
like it was the funniest show they’d ever seen. And they cheered, “Encore!
Encore! Encore!” Meanwhile, the captain was still at the top of the magic
ladder, looking down and feeling like a fool.
Cod Eye ran over
to Toby, and they both rolled around on the grass, laughing so hard their
bellies began to ache.
“After all that
fun, I think it’s time for a snooze,” Toby meowed.
“That’s a good
idea,” Cod Eye meowed.
“I know it is,” Toby meowed back.
They went to Cod
Eye’s home. It was an old wooden barrel on the flat roof of a
near-by pub. The pub was called, “The Cat and Dog.”
Soon they were snoring
loud cat snores.
The
Giant Bathtub
When Toby opened
his eyes, he noticed two things. First, that he was awake. Second, that he was
alone. Cod Eye had completely disappeared.
Cod Eye was back
down on the beach looking for something tasty to eat. He walked along, leaving
a trail of paw prints in the wet sand, and then seemed to spy something very interesting.
“I spy something very interesting,” Cod Eye meowed to himself.
Now Cod Eye was
called Cod Eye for a very good reason: he had an eye for cod. Cod Eye thought
cod was the most delicious, easy-to-see fish in the world.
And that was exactly what he’d seen. Far away, at the very end of the beach, a
cod fish was laying on the sand. Cod Eye began to run towards the fish, and
soon he could smell the fishy fish smell, and licked his lips. And then, for
some reason, Cod Eye suddenly stopped and began to look around, this way and
that way—and just about every other way. There was a small rowboat just
behind the fish, but the beach was completely deserted. Everyone had gone home.
“Meeoow,” Cod Eye
meowed, looking at the fish, but still not moving any closer. It seemed too
good to be true. There was something not right about that tasty cod fish lying
on the sand waiting to be eaten. There was something fishy about that
fish. But Cod Eye couldn’t resist any longer, and he began to take the last few
cautious cat steps.
But the feeling
that something bad was going to happen grew with every step. And then, just as
he was finally about to take a bite, three big men jumped out from behind the rowboat.
“Attrapez-le!” one
of them shouted, which is French, and means, “Catch him!” Cod Eye, the cat who
always smiled—though he never meant it, was so scared he couldn’t even
move a whisker. One of the men was on him in a flash and threw a sack over his
head. Another of the men kicked him inside. All at once Cod Eye seemed to
realise what was happening and began fighting for his freedom. He kicked with
his paws, pushed out his sharp claws, and began scritch-scratching and tearing
at the sack. But it was no good. He was well and truly trapped.
Toby, the
trumpet-playing cat, suddenly appeared on the sand. He’d been walking on the
promenade beside the beach, looking for his best friend, and had seen the whole
thing. He ran towards the catnappers, meowing a terrible meow, bearing his
sharp pointed teeth. An ordinary cat might have thought twice about fighting
with three big catnappers, but Toby was no ordinary cat. Toby was a
trumpet-playing cat. One of the men was busy tying a knot in the top of the
sack. The other two were pushing the rowboat out into the sea. Toby was leaping
giant leaps towards the man with the sack. Just as he was about to bite a bite
out of his leg, the man jumped into the rowboat and the other two quickly followed.
They began to row row row the boat away, leaving Toby alone on the beach. He
meowed a great sad meow that was heard all through the town, and then stood in
silence, watching the catnappers rowing out into the English Channel. And every
now and then he heard the distant sound of Cod Eye, inside the sack inside the rowboat, meow for help.
“They must be
going over to France,” Toby meowed to himself. But France was nowhere to be
seen now. The sky had clouded over, and the sea seemed to go on and on for ever
and ever.
“What can I do?” he meowed.
But Toby knew
there was only one thing he could do: swim after them. Now
Toby was an extremely brave cat. Everyone knew that. But there was one thing
that scared him. Toby decided to test the water. He put his right front paw
into the sea, and then pulled it out quicker than you can say:
“Rapskaggledinkledomplegigglegagglemenosmellybum.”
The one thing that
scared Toby was water. Seawater, river water, bath water, he hated every kind of water. He looked out to sea, watched the rowboat rowing further and
further away, and the English Channel seemed like a giant and terribly terrible
bathtub.
Just then a wave
crashed, and cold spray splashed all over him. Toby ran back on the beach and
stopped at a safe distance. The rowboat was now even further away, and he stood
watching and thinking of his friend Cod Eye, the cat who always
smiled—though he never meant it. Toby knew he had no choice. He had to
rescue his friend. But the sea was so wet. But he had to
rescue his friend. But the sea was so wet. Toby meowed a
strange meow. Then, all at once, he dashed forward, leaping more of those giant
leaps across the sand towards the crashing waves. And then, one two three, he
dived into the sea.
The Catty-Paddle
It was wet. It was
cold. It was splashy. All the things Toby didn’t like. He lifted his head and
looked for the rowboat. There it was. He began to swim. Maybe it looked like
he was doing the doggy-paddle, but of course he wasn’t. He was doing the
catty-paddle. Slowly, he began to leave the beach behind, disappearing out into
the English Channel. And as he swam, Toby thought of his best friend, Cod Eye,
otherwise the cold wet water would drown him with
fear.
Toby paddled and
paddled and paddled and paddled and paddled and paddled and paddled and paddled
and paddled and paddled and paddled and paddled and paddled and paddled and paddled.
But no matter how hard or how fast he paddled, he couldn’t catch up to the
rowboat. And slowly, ever so slowly, it sneaked away.
The sky was
growing dark. The rowboat was gone. Toby turned over onto his back and looked
towards England. It was a good thing Toby wasn’t wearing any socks, because
what he saw would have scared them off. Toby saw that
England was gone as well.
With the rowboat
gone, and with England gone, Toby wasn’t sure which way to swim. He turned
around and around in the cold water, and every direction seemed to be forward.
“Meow,” he meowed a tiny meow, and the tiny meow lost itself in the emptiness of the open sea. Toby began to swim in the direction he hoped was really forward.
The waves were
growing bigger and stronger and Toby was growing weaker. He was scared one of
those big black monster waves would swallow him in a single gulp.
Now it really was
dark. It was darker than dark. It was so dark the moon and stars were afraid to
come out.
“I’m going to
die,” he meowed. “I’m going to die.” He knew it. There was no doubt about it.
He was lost in the middle of the English Channel. He was exhausted in the
middle of the English Channel. He was freezing cold in the middle of the
English Channel. Toby could smell death in the sea breeze. A big black monster
wave crashed over his head and he sank under the water. He scrimbled and he
scrambled towards the surface, but Toby was in such a panic, he didn’t
know which way was up. He scrimbled and he scrambled. Soon he had no breath
left and his lungs were ready to burst. He scrimbled and he scrambled. “I have to breathe,” he thought. Toby was about to drown, which means he was about to
take a big breath of cold water.
Just as the first
few bubbles left his mouth, his head suddenly splashed above the surface and he
gulped the air as if it were fresh cream.
Once again he
began to paddle forward, but now he was more tired than ever. And, as if things
weren’t bad enough, he knew he’d just used up one of his nine cat lives.
Every second now
seemed to last a million minutes. Everything was in slow motion. It took him
two hours just to blink his eyes, and nearly a year to paddle one paddle.
A long time
passed. His cold legs were hardly moving, and his cold body was sinking lower
and lower in the water. Toby was just about to give up, when he seemed to
glimpse a small light ahead. He stretched his cold neck, trying to see over the
tops of the waves, but it was gone. Then he saw the light again. Then it was
gone again. Then he saw it again. Then it was gone again.
“I’m going mad!” he meowed. Then he saw the light again. Then it was gone again. Then he saw it
again. Then it was gone again.
“Just one terrible
minute,” Toby meowed. “I’m not going mad!” He was
talking to the light that was there one second but not the next. “I know what
you are, you naughty little light. You’re a lighthouse! You thought you could
trick me, didn’t you?” Now Toby didn’t normally talk to lighthouses, especially
when they were too far away to hear, but right now he was so happy he couldn’t
stop himself. Now he knew he was swimming the
right way. Now he could see how much further there was to swim. The flickering
light was like a flickering of hope. Some small strength came back to his cold
legs, and he began to do the catty-paddle in style.
Time seemed to
return to its normal speed, and quite soon Toby could see the shadowy coast of
France, stretching out to his left and right. And then, at last, the moon came
out to say hello and showed him a silvery beach just ahead.
Finally, Toby
crawled out of the crashing waves onto the sand. He’d done it. He was the first
cat ever to swim the English Channel. But he was too exhausted to think of
that, and, with the last of his strength, he crawled to the back of the beach
and tumbled down in the sand dunes and fell fast asleep.
Bonjour
“Bonjour.” Toby
heard someone meow. He opened his eyes. It was morning and a beautiful lady cat
was looking down at him.
“Bonjour,” she
meowed again.
“Ah?” Toby meowed
back.
“Bonjour. Comment
tu t’appeles?”
“I’m sorry,” Toby
began. “I don’t meow French. Do you meow English?”
“Oui. I mean, yes,
a leetle bit,” she meowed. “What is you name?”
“Toby.”
“I am calling
myself Minou. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine.
I’m just tired. Last night I swam the English Channel.”
“Pardon?”
“I meowed, last
night I swam the English Channel.”
“You is swimming
across ze sea? From England? Why, zat is impossible. You are pulling my legs!”
“No, it’s true.”
And then Toby meowed the whole story about Cod Eye and the catnappers. “So you
see,” he concluded, “now I have to try and find my friend, Cod Eye, and rescue
him.”
“I am sorry, but I
tink he is—how you meow?—dead.”
“Dead?! How?”
“In ze village
near here, ze peoples is eating ze cats. Zey is tinking zat cat taste—how
you meow?—diddleicious.”
“Delicious?”
Toby was shocked. “That’s terrible. You think my friend has already been
gobbled up for breakfast?”
“Yes, and in
France ze peoples break very fast. But now we must
leave zis place. It is not safe. Ze peoples in zis village is crazy for eating
ze cat.”
“But do you know
where they might have taken my friend? After swimming all that way, I have to
be sure . . .”
“Yes, I am
knowing,” Minou meowed. “Follow me.”
It was twelve
o’clock, and most of the people in that strange French village were busy buying
food for lunch. Toby and Minou sneaked through all the back streets, hiding
whenever they saw any of the cat eating people. Soon they arrived at a small
restaurant. They crouched behind a bush, underneath an open window, and listened
to some very greedy slip-sloppy sounds.
“Schlip, scrosh,
smosh. Gobble gobble. Slock, mlock. Gobble gobble. Burp, burpety-burp. Burp
hick. Burp hick. Hick hick hick. Ssshhhllloooppp.”
“I’m sorry,” Minou
meowed.
“What’s wrong?”
“Zis is ze cat
food restaurant.”
“The people eat cat
food in there?”
“Mais no no
no—zey eat cats. I tink zey is eating your friend
right now.”
Toby looked at
Minou, and then up at the restaurant window, and then back at Minou, and tears
filled his eyes.
“Come,” Minou
meowed, “we must go, before we are—how you meow?—dotted.”
“Spotted,” Toby meowed sadly.
As they sneaked
off, back down the street, Toby left a trail of big tears, like puddles after a
shower of rain.
Soon they were out
of the village and heading back towards the beach.
“Where are we
going?” Toby asked, though he didn’t really care. Toby was too sad to care
about anything.
“Zere is a big
cave in ze cliffs. When ze cat food restaurant first opened, all ze cats in ze
village must had to run away. Now we is all living in zat cave.”
They walked along
the beach. After a while, steep cliffs began to rise into the sky. The two cats
clambered over some rocks until they came to a hidden trail.
“We must for to be
careful now,” Minou meowed. “Zis trail is doing zig, and doing zag, and taking
us high up ze cliff. Ze safe way is never to be looking
down.”
“All right,” Toby
answered, and with Minou leading the way, they began to follow the narrow
zig-zag trail. And of course, Toby, the brave trumpet playing cat, always looked
down. Higher and higher they climbed up the cliff face, until at last they arrived
at the cave.
A
Sad Tune
Before Toby noticed that there were twenty-seven cats in the cave, he noticed that there was one trumpet. It was standing in a corner, leaning against the wall. And as the cats came up, one by one, to give him a lickety-lick, he kept glancing at the trumpet and wondering how it would sound.
After all the
greetings were over, Toby asked Minou, “Who does that trumpet belong to?”
“It is belonging
to no cat body. Ze cat who was doing ze puffing and ze blowing, and making ze
music was my friend. But now he is gobbled up by ze peoples.”
“Oh. I’m sorry," Toby said.
And then, after a few moments silence, "Can I try it?”
“You is knowing ze
puffing and ze blowing? You is knowing ze music?”
“Yes,” Toby
meowed.
Minou got the
trumpet and gave it to Toby.
Toby was thinking
about his best friend Cod Eye all dead and gone forever. He played a very sad
tune. And it was so sad, all the cats in the cave sat silently and cried silent
cries.
The
Demonstration
Later, Toby and
Minou were sitting at the mouth of the cave, looking out to sea.
“I wish there was
something we could do to stop those people eating cats,” Toby meowed.
“I am wishing zat
too. Most of zese cats is house cats. Zey is not used to a life like zis.”
“Were you a house
cat—before?” Toby asked.
“Moi? No
no no. I am not licking ze children much. I am definitely not licking ze children much. Zey always make for to play wit’ ze
balls of wool, and ze stroking, and ze staying awake—even in ze afternoon.”
“Ha,” Toby laughed
his first laugh since the fire truck trick. “I know what you mean,” he meowed.
“Is it like zat is
ze England?”
“Yes.”
“Do zey eat cats
in England?” Minou asked.
“Eat cats? Of
course not.” Toby shook his head. “English people only eat fish and chips.
They’d never eat cats.”
“But what would
you be doing if zey tried?”
“I suppose all the
cats would demonstrate.”
“Demonstrate?
Mais, what is zat?”
“Well, you march
in the main street and make lots of noise and carry big signs to show everyone
what you think. So, all the people would watch us and then realise it’s wrong
to eat cats.”
“Mais, would it
work?”
“It might. People
are always doing that kind of thing in England.”
“Oh. It is
sounding like a funny country.”
“It is. And I just
had a funny idea. Why don’t we try it? Maybe it could
work here as well.”
“But ze peoples
might be catching us, and making us for to be their supper,” Minou meowed.
“Not if we all
stick together!” Toby meowed. “That’s what we have to do.
Stick together.”
Minou meowed to
all the other cats, who couldn’t meow English, what Toby had meowed.
“Oui, c’est une
bonne idée!” they all meowed, excitedly.
“Zey is meowing
zat it is ze good idea,” Minou translated.
“I know it is,” Toby meowed back.
And so, every cat
was soon busy, preparing for the big demonstration.
It was five o’
clock, and most of the people in the village were busy buying food for supper.
Suddenly, twenty-nine cats appeared at the top of the street. Toby was standing
at the front, playing the trumpet. He was playing marching music with all kinds
of marching notes. Behind Toby, two cats were banging drums. The other cats
were all carrying big signs and marching in rows of three. This is what they’d
written on the signs:
“EAT
DOGS—NOT CATS”
“GIVE YOUR CAT
A BREAK—EAT A KIT-KAT INSTEAD”
“CATS ARE
PEOPLE TOO”
“PEOPLE ARE
CATS TOO”
“A CAT INDEED
IS A FRIEND IN NEED”
“A CAT IS A
WOMAN’S BEST FRIEND”
One cat, who
wasn’t very good at writing, had written:
“CATS NOT IS
GOB-GOB NO”
All the people in
the street stopped and stood staring in shock with their mouths wide open as if
they were at the dentists. One lady was so surprised, she dropped a packet of
eggs she’d just bought, and they all went crack crack crackety crack on the
ground. Another lady was so surprised, she gasped a giant gasp and her knickers
fell down to her ankles and tripped her up. A small greedy boy, eating a
cornet, was so surprised, he missed his mouth and stuck the ice cream up his
nose.
Down the street
the cats marched, trying not to look as scared as they felt. One, two, three,
they marched, with the drums drumming, the trumpet trumpeting. And then they
began to chant:
“Cats can sing
and
Cats can dance.
Cats can jump
and
Cats can
prance.
Cats can even
be your mate
So do not put
one on your plate.”
All the people
watched. Quite a few were reading the big signs and nodding their heads. And it
really seemed that they were starting to understand that cats were people too, and that it wasn’t right to gobble them up. And then, suddenly, the
village butcher jumped out of his butcher’s shop. He was holding a big
butcher’s knife. He was licking his lips, and spit was dripping down his fat
chin.
“Cat steaks!” he
cried in French. “Walking talking cat steaks!” The butcher was too fat to run.
But the thought of all that fresh cat steak made him the fastest butcher alive.
He rushed towards the demonstrating cats, the ground trembling beneath his fat
stomping feet, and in the time it takes you to say:
“Rapskaggledinkledomplegigglegagglemenosmellybum,” he’d covered half the
distance. The cats all came to a dead stop. They were so scared they couldn’t
think what to do and were waiting for someone to tell them. The butcher stomped
closer, the knife held high and flashing in the sun. Suddenly, Toby meowed:
“Run for it! Run
for your lives!” All at once the other cats seemed to understand English. They
ran in all directions, and they ran as fast as they could, and maybe even
faster. Toby was halfway down the street when he realised the butcher was
coming after him. He ran and he ran, but the butcher was catching up fast. Toby
glanced over his cat shoulder and saw him swinging the knife. And then the knife
swished past his ear with a swish. Toby was so busy looking over his shoulder
trying to dodge the knife that he accidentally ran into an alley with no way
out. There was a high brick wall straight ahead, and when he saw it, he knew he
was caught. Toby stopped running. He turned to face the butcher. The butcher
stopped running as well—and started smiling.
Trapped
“Now I have you,
you tasty English cat,” he said, in tasty English. Toby glanced at the high
wall behind him, hoping to see some way to climb over. There was no way. Toby
knew that this was the end. There was no escape. Quite soon, people would be
eating him for supper. They’d be chewing him up and saying, “Yum yum, this cat
is delicious. English cat and French wine is a perfect combination. Yum yum.”
The butcher was still smiling. He loved killing cats, and wanted to take his
time and make the most of it. Toby looked around the alley to see if there was
something he could use to defend himself. There was nothing. He was well and
truly trapped. But then he realised he was still holding the trumpet, and suddenly
had a crazy idea.
“If you’re going
to kill me,” he meowed to the smiling butcher, “can I have one last request?”
“What is it?” the
butcher asked.
“Let me play one final
piece of music on this trumpet.”
“All right, but
make it quick. I want to chop off your head.”
And so Toby, the
trumpet-playing cat, put the trumpet to his lips and blew the first note. And
what a lovely note it was. It was about the finest first note he’d ever played.
He blew a very lively tune, and the butcher, though he was impatient for it to
be over so he could get on with his butchering, soon began to enjoy the music.
First he tapped his foot in time to the rhythm. Next he clicked his fingers. Next
he tried to whistle the melody. Finally, he was loving it so much, he started
to dance. Toby, the trumpet playing cat, was, after all, the best trumpet playing cat in the whole up and down world. The butcher was really
going crazy for the music. He was spinning and hopping and shaking it all over.
He was jiggling and jaggling and rocking and rolling. Toby knew that this was
his chance. The butcher was doing a fat belly dance and jumping up and down
when Toby ran out, between his legs, down the alley and into the street. The
butcher was so busy dancing, he didn’t notice anything had happened until ages
later, when a crowd of people arrived, saw him there, dancing all alone, and
started laughing.
Another Plan
Back safe in the
cave, Toby meowed, “It wasn’t such a good idea, after all.”
“Ze idea was good,
but ze butcher was bad,” Minou meowed to him. “And anyway, we all got away.”
“Yes, but I’m sure
I used up another cat life.”
“Zat is what ze
lives is for. Zey is for using,” Minou meowed.
It was dark out and
time for bed. Toby and Minou snuggled down for a tossing and turning night’s
sleep.
The next morning,
just as dawn was breaking, Toby woke up with a start. “Why of course!” he
meowed to himself. “Of course! That’s it!”
Minou was already
awake, and she was watching him with a puzzled look. “Zat is what?” she meowed.
“I had a wonderful
dream,” Toby began. “I dreamed a dream of a dream.”
“What was it being
about?”
“About how we can
stop the people from eating cats.”
“How?” Minou
meowed. But Toby didn’t hear. He was thinking about the dream, and the more he
thought about it, the more he thought about it.
“Yes! Yes!” he
meowed to himself, growing excited. “I think it could really work.”
Toby was soon so excited there was only one thing to do. He picked up the
trumpet and played a tune with lots and lots of little jumping up and down
notes. Then, abruptly, he stopped and stood silent for a moment. “There’s only
one problem,” he meowed.
“What?” Minou
meowed. Toby had completely forgotten about Minou during the trumpet playing,
and looked at her as if he was surprised she was there.
“I’m not sure the
other cats will listen to me—after what happened yesterday.”
“But will ze plan
work?” Minou meowed.
“Yes, I’m sure.
I’m sure I’m sure.”
“Well, please to
tell me what it is zen,” Minou meowed.
Toby meowed the
plan, and then Minou meowed in French to all the other cats.
“Oui, c’est une
bonne idée!” they all meowed, excitedly.
“Zey is meowing
zat it is ze good idea,” Minou translated.
“I know it is,”
Toby meowed back. “Let’s do it then.”
It was eight
o’clock, and most of the people in the village were buying food for breakfast.
A certain lady had just bought another packet of eggs, but she suddenly saw
something that gave her such a shock, she dropped them and they all went crack
crack crackety crack on the ground. Another certain lady was so surprised, she
gasped a giant gasp and her knickers fell down to her ankles and tripped her
up. And a certain small and greedy boy, eating a cornet, was so surprised, he
missed his mouth and stuck the ice cream up his nose. And then everyone in the
street stopped and stared.
A moment later,
ladies were screaming, men were running indoors, and big kids were sucking
their thumbs like cry-babies. Everyone was as scared as scared can be.
Coming down the
street, like a raging brown river, were 27,342 mice and rats. Mean mice. Rotten
rats. The cats had been busy in the fields, sniffing them out and making them
run for their lives, straight into the village. Soon the mice and rats were every
where: in the shops, scuttling through houses, running up men’s trouser legs,
nibbling on ladies toes, making nests in childrens' hair. Everyone was shouting
and screaming and crying and going berserk with terror. The fat butcher, who
had a special fear of mice, was standing on a chair and calling, “Mummy, mummy.
I want my mummy.”
Toby was standing
in the high street with all the other cats, who were laughing big meow laughs.
“Now zis plan
really is a plan,” Minou meowed. Toby smiled.
A single solitary
man appeared in the middle of the street. He was wearing a top hat, and a rat
was sitting on top of the top of the top hat. The man looked very worried and
very serious.
“Zat’s ze Lord
Mayor,” Minou meowed. The Lord Mayor is like the boss of a village or town, and
when things go wrong, the people blame him, call him bad names, and sometime
pour cold rice pudding over his head.
“Monsieur Cat,” he
said in English, stopping just in front of Toby. “I am the Lord Mayor of this
village, and I am asking you to please make go away all the little beasties.
Please, I do beg of you, on behalf of all the people.”
The Lord Mayor was really thinking about all the cold rice pudding all the
people would pour over his head if he didn’t sort things out.
He hated cold rice pudding being poured over his head.
“We’ll make the
mice and rats go away, but only if you promise there’ll be no more cat eating,” Toby meowed.
“I promise,” he
said in a sad voice.
“And that from now
on, every cat in the village will have fresh fish for breakfast.”
“I promise,” he
said in a sadder sad voice.
“And all the dogs
in the village will go to obedience school, and learn to chase their tails
instead of cats.”
“I promise,” he
said in a sadder sadder sad voice.
“Cross your heart
and hope to die?”
“I cross my heart
and hope to cry.” The Lord Mayor crossed his heart and hoped to cry.
“Very well then,” Toby meowed.
“You’ll make the
beasties go away?” The Lord Mayor suddenly perked up.
“Yes.”
“Yoody-hoody-ha,”
he said—in a serious kind of way.
Minou meowed to
the other cats all the promises the Lord Mayor had made. They all meowed for
joy, and then began to round up all the mice and rats and chase them back into
the fields where they belonged.
The
Smile
“And now, about
your friend . . .” the Lord Mayor began. Toby and Minou looked at each other.
“Yes?” Minou
meowed.
“No, I don’t mean
Madame Minou,” the Lord Mayor said, turning to Toby. “Your English friend.
The one who was catnapped.”
“Oh,” Toby meowed,
remembering how Cod Eye had died. Suddenly the glory of victory seemed like the
sound of a broken trumpet.
“I will take you
to him,” the Lord Mayor said.
“Ah?” Toby meowed.
“I will take you
to him. He will be happy to see you.”
“You mean he’s
still alive?” Toby could hardly believe his ears.
“Mais oui. The
butcher was keeping him for a special occasion. Follow me.”
Toby and Minou
went with the Lord Mayor, down the street to the butcher’s shop. The butcher
was still standing on a chair, trying to keep a single miniscule mouse from
running up his trouser leg and crying like a baby. At the back of the shop,
there was a big basket. The Lord Mayor unfastened a strap and opened the top.
Sitting in the corner, looking very afraid, was Cod Eye, the cat who always
smiled—though he never meant it. When he saw Toby, he jumped out and they
began to hug each other and dance around for joy. Cod Eye, the cat who always
smiled—though he never meant it, was smiling now—only this time he really
did mean it.
That night, in the
cave, all the cats had a big party. They shouted, “Three cheers for Toby,” and
meowed he was the best bravest brightest cat they’d ever met. He played some
music on the trumpet, and everyone danced and drank too much milk.
The
Cat Kiss
The next day, all
the mice and rats were out of the village, and most of the cats had gone back
to their old homes. The Lord Mayor was so happy to see everything in order
again, he hired a big ship to take Toby and Cod Eye back to England.
Minou walked with
them down to the dock. Just before going on board the ship, Toby turned to
Minou, who was looking very sad, and meowed, “I suppose this is goodbye.”
“Yes,” Minou
meowed.
“Unless . . .” Toby began.
“Unless what?” Minou meowed.
“Well . . .”
“Well what?”
“Unless you want
to come back to England with me,” Toby finally meowed.
“Yes, yes,” Minou
meowed. “I am loving ze idea.” And then she gave Toby a big cat kiss. “It
is—how you meow?—an instanding idea.”
“Not instanding. Outstanding,” Toby meowed.
“Yes, zat as
well.”
During the voyage
over the English Channel, Toby and Minou were married by the captain of the
ship. Cod Eye was best cat.
After the
ceremony, the three cats went up on deck.
“You know what we
should do, as soon as we get to England?” Toby meowed, looking out to sea.
“What?” Cod Eye
meowed.
“What?” Minou
meowed.
“Have a nice
snooze,” Toby meowed and yawned at the same time—which, of course, is
something not many cats can do.
“That’s a good
idea,” Cod Eye meowed.
“Is being ze good
idea,” Minou meowed.
“I know it is,” Toby meowed back. |