Читать книгу A.K.A. Fudgepuddle - Fin J Ross - Страница 6

So I'm in the back of the car, yarling a bit just to let them know I'm not a happy girl, but otherwise trying to keep a low profile. I'm dreading that any minute now the ticky tack is going to start and we'll slow down to turn onto that gravel road. The road to hell. I flatten myself out until my ears are lower than my chin. Any feelichatra expertise I might ever have had is deserting me.

But the car isn't slowing down, we're not stopping. I raise my head and just manage to see the sign out the window:

AlCATraz Boarding Cattery - 2km

It whizzes by and in an instant is out of view. Phew. But that means- Eeek! It's going to be La Cage aux Chats. I've never actually been there, but I heard some really bad things from some of the others at alCATraz last time. I mean, at least at alCATraz you've got enough room to turn around and you don't have to sleep right next to your own toilet. Hamish, that gorgeous grey I met at alCATraz last time, told me that he'd rather spend a week at Slippery Sam's than ever go back to La Cage aux Chats.

Hamish said 'cages' really was the right word for the tiny pens there, because the deuxjambs just want to cram more of us in like those chooks with batteries. It'd be like a human trying to eat, sleep and zilly all in a space the size of their rainroom. Hamish was very descriptive.

And, ooh, he was a honey. Those gorgeous green eyes and that fluurffy tail. Enough to make a usually sensible she-feeli swoon. We talked and talked for days. He had so many fascinating stories and he was genuinely interested in everything I said, even if my life seemed dull compared to his. I wonder what he's up - Holy hell! We're slowing down.

The ticky tack goes on. I don't dare to look. But I have to. I at least have to know in advance if I'm about to become a sardine-wimby. Once again, I stretch my neck up for a glimpse out the window. My heart's pounding ten to the dozen and I'm about ready to make another unpleasant mess in here. Then I see the sign.

The Lap of Luxury Holiday Park

Deluxe accommodation for your contented cat

Pphatt. Oh yeah? So let's see then. Nobody makes me contented against my will! Holiday park! What do they think this is - Disneyland or something? I suppose there are rides and fairy floss and a swimming pool. Like, sure.

We go up a long driveway with lots of trees. I can even hear some queekees over the sound of the engine. Darling stops the car. Next thing the door's being opened and I take a quick look around to see if there's any hope of a getaway, but before I know it I'm being carried up the path and over the threshold and the door clicks shut behind us.

'So who do we have here, then?' an unfamiliar, but not intimidating, voice asks from behind the counter. I'm plonked onto the bench at eye level with the voice, which is coming from a pleasant-looking deuxjamb with long hair. I catch a glimpse of myself in her glasses and she smiles at me. Strangely, I feel relaxed. So maybe it's not the end of the world. Maybe this place will turn out to be better than either alCATraz or La Cage aux Chats.

'This is Megsy,' says Hayoo.

Uggh. Why must she call me that? How many times do I have to tell her my name is Juno?

'Oh yes, Megsy Campbell. Hello, girl,' the deuxjamb says, staring at me again. 'And who's a beautiful girl then?'

I'm starting to warm to her until she says: 'But you look like you could afford to lose a few pounds'.

Hey! I say what? I'm voluptuous, that's all. It's not like I eat too much or anything. I've just got heavy bones and I'm well insulated, thank you very much. Maybe my first impression of this deuxjamb was a bit generous.

Suddenly Hayoo's face appears over the top of the carrier. 'Bye Megsy, we'll see you on Thursday. You be a good girl now. Thanks Stephanie, I'm sure you'll take good care of her. You've been highly recommended.'

I give her a perfunctory snort. Wait a minute. Thursday, that's like, six days away. You mean I'm here for six whole days? I start to scream, just as I'm picked up and carried through one door and then another into a huge room. But my screams are soon drowned out by a cacophony of caterwauling.

Some smart-feeli from way down the back yells out at me: 'Don't forget, in a cattery, no one can hear you scream'.

Cripes, it's noisy in here. Too much noise for me to be able to think or to decipher who's saying what. There's a fire siren going off down the back, which is enough to make my hair curl and my claws straighten.

'This is your reception committee Megsy,' the deuxjamb says, 'they checking you out'.

I'm checking them out too as my hostess starts to parade down the centre of the large building. There's a veritable rogue's gallery of feelis, all lined up, one or sometimes two to a pen and they're all staring at me. She starts to reel off names, too quick for me to remember, so I make notes. The names will all be wrong anyway.

'First there's Lionel,' - a tabby - 'but you won't get much chance to meet him as he's going home shortly. Then there's Choux-Fleur,' - not surprising, with those cauliflower ears - 'and this is Blacky,' - wow, that's original, for a black feeli.

I spot two Siamese sitting side by side, very closely. Must be twins, I reckon. I'm almost past their pen when they introduce themselves. 'Hi, we're Thai and Tao, but our deuxjambs call us-'

'And this is Donald and Derek,' the deuxjamb says.

I crack up and they cringe. Why do deuxjambs give us such silly names? Why doesn't it occur to them to just ask us what we're called?

'Oh, and here's another Megsy. Look, she's a ginger like you, but she's going home tomorrow, so thankfully that will save me any confusion.'

What? Another Megsy? And hang on, she's nothing like me! She's wishy washy and long haired and I'm really more white than ginger, as you'll see that when I get out of this plastic handbag.

'And over there is Humbug,' - a black and white, okay - 'and beside him is Monty,' - a big grey blob of a thing with a square face who, I swear to God, salutes as I'm passing.

'Colonel Montgomery Enfield the Third', he says to me in a very regimented British accent.

'And you'll be in pen 23, right next to Zsa Zsa. Actually that's not her real name,' the deuxjamb whispers to me. 'Her real name's Belle, but I like to call her Zsa Zsa because she's quite the drama queen and thinks she's a bit special.'

The deuxjamb opens the pen and puts my carrier down on the floor. I sit still for a minute. After all, I can't look too eager, can I? Maybe I'll just make her wait. I could try the schpitzo trick just so she knows who's boss, but I notice she's got bare arms and figure that mightn't be very nice. So I emerge slowly, sniffing the floor and looking all around what will be my abode for the next few days.

The first thing that impresses me is the space. There's plenty of it, and three or four different levels. I have a bit of a stretch then jump up onto a ramp and run up that and jump down onto a shelf. Wow, there's a really comfy-looking bed and two food bowls. But wait, there's more. I crawl back onto the ramp and jump up another level. There's another bed and a window. Wow, I've got my own window? My own view out over a garden. I can even see queekees in the tree. I'm thinking Heaven, maybe I've died and gone to Heaven. This is luxury all right. No wonder all the other feelis look so happy. Not like at alCATraz where everyone's ears are flat and there's barely enough room to stick their whiskers out.

Then the unthinkable happens. Deuxjamb leans across and opens the window! She points outside and gestures that I can go through if I want. I give her a squizzical. What? You mean I can go out there?

She nods at me as though she understands my hesitancy. 'Yes girl, you can go out whenever you like. At least until curfew, anyway.'

I see a sort of feeliwalk (and now I realise why it's called that) which leads to a three or four-level enclosure outside. It's even got a hammock. A hammock! I poke my head around the window and as I look along the outside of the building I can see three or four other feelis lounging around in their hammocks. I half expect to be offered a pina colada and sunglasses. Yep, okay, I'll confess, I'm pretty impressed: my own condominium. But of course I'll have to wait to get the lowdown on the place from the others, once this deuxjamb's gone.

I figure Hayoo must have come into some money to be able to afford this spiffy place and I try to avoid breaking into a quirrel. It's a bit soon for that. After all, I haven't even sampled the menu yet. I can't let on how impressed I am. I turn around and look into the deuxjamb's eyes. She smiles at me and reaches out to pat me on the head. I let her indulge herself momentarily and even raise my head a little to show her it's okay.

'You are a fatty, aren't you? I think a good diet and some exercise might be in order.'

Oh great, there she goes again, picking on my very special rotundness. I do what any self-respecting feeli would do when offended and lash out. I hook a claw into her cheek and she gives a short squeal and backs away.

Oops, I've drawn blood. I didn't actually mean to do that. It was her, she's the one who moved.

'Ooh you're a naughty girl, aren't you?'

What, you think I'm going to answer you?

'I think some nail clipping might be in order, too, but I guess there's plenty of time for that.'

Wow, I can't believe she's still smiling and she doesn't even seem to realise she's got blood running down her cheek. Now I feel rotten. Guilty even. I try to give her a sympathetic look but I suspect that to her I just look like I've got wind. She bends down to pick up my carrier and backs out the gate.

'I'll just leave you to settle in then, girl,' she says quite cheerfully. And off she goes.

I stay on the top shelf and survey my surroundings for a bit. I can't actually see all that much except for the pens across the way. Directly opposite I can see a svelte grey feeli pacing up and down. She does a sort of pirouette before each turn. I can't figure out if she's bored or if she's practicing something.

'Hey there, watcha doing?' I ask her affably. She takes a look at me and smiles but doesn't answer. Must be a snob I figure.

'She's Russian, silly, she doesn't speak English; at least not much,' says the fluffy black number in the pen next to her. 'She thinks she's a ballerina. At least that's what we think she thinks; either that or an acrobat or gymnast. Y'know these Russians are always athletic, serious and single-minded. She only came in last night and none of us has figured her out yet. Anyhow, I'm Maharani Shani, but my deuxjambs call me Taya. What's your name?'

'I'm Juno, but I get called Megsy.'

"Hmmph and they wonder why we don't come when they call us. I mean you couldn't ever confuse Megsy with Juno, or Taya with Maharani Shani.'

'That's for sure. So how long're you in for?'

'Just a week. I came in last night, too. But I've been here before so I know what to expect. It's pretty good, really. You been here before?'

'No. I've only been to alCATraz, which was really horrible compared to this.'

'Yeah, I've heard that. Hey Rocky, you've been to alCATraz haven't you?'

'Yeah,' says a deep throaty voice a few pens down. 'Terrible place, really terrible. Literally no room to swing a- well, you know.'

'Yeah I was there for a weekend once,' a squeaky voice pipes up. 'I spent the whole time with my head in my armpit just hoping and praying it'd be over soon. I gave my owners the real cold shoulder for a few days after that ordeal, so I think they must have got the hint. I just knew this place was going to be better the minute we came in the front door. I'm Roger by the way, I'm the teezee in 17.'

'Hi Roger. You're still pretty young, I'm guessing.'

'Yep, just four months old. And yeah I know my voice is still a bit squeaky, but yours would be too if you'd just had your notties cut off.'

'Oh you poor boy. Is it still sore?' I ask.

'Nah, I'm tough.'

'He's not really, you know,' whispers Maharani Shani. 'He cries himself to sleep at night'.

'I do not,' Roger splutters.

'You do too, lad,' says Rocky in his gravelly voice. 'But hey, that's what all wussy pussies do.'

'Don't be so mean,' an even deeper voice says. 'The poor lad's just homesick that's all. Even the best of us get homesick. Hi there Juno, I'm Daniel Coon.'

'But we all just call him Big Dan,' Rocky says. 'He's a Maine Coon you know, so of course being American means he's big, and I mean reeaal big. I thought I was big until I met Big Dan.'

I realise I'm having trouble hearing what they're saying because of the incessant siren blaring. 'What's with that really arrgarg siren?' I ask.

Maharani tips her head to the side as though she doesn't understand. 'Sire… oh siren. Ha ha. That's not a siren, that's Juniper. Hopefully she'll shut up soon. She goes off every time someone comes in. It is really arrgarg isn't it?'

I jump down from the shelf onto the ramp and then to the floor and, as I do so, I catch Maharani trying to stifle a giggle.

'What are you laughing at then?' I ask, eyeballing her.

She titters. 'You just looked so funny when you did that; what with all that flab flopping around, I thought you were going to trip over yourself.'

'Yeah, well you're no anorexic either.'

'Maybe, but at least my belly's not dragging on the floor. Boy do you need some exercise or something. You'd better join us girls after catnap hour then.'

'After catnap? Why what happens then?'

'You name it: catisthenics, aerobics, line dancing, singing, drama. Or Red and Mars sometimes run tai chi or tae kwon do classes. It just depends on the expertise of who's in here. You now, everyone has a talent to share,' Maharani answers.

'Who are Red and Mars?'

'Huh, oh sorry Thai and Tao I mean.'

'Why do you call them Red and Mars?'

Maharani looks across to the two Siamese and shrugs. 'Can I tell her guys?'

'If you have to, we know you will anyway,' they reply in unison.

'It comes from their breeder's names.'

'What's a breeder's name?'

'It's the name a breeder gives to pedigree kisskies and it's usually a real mouthful.'

'What's a pedigree kisskie? I haven't heard of those.'

I hear Big Dan clear his throat. 'Maybe I could explain that. A pedigree relates to a kisskie's ancatsors and whether they're good specimens of the specific characteristics of the breed.'

'Uh huh, so how do you find out about your pedigree? I'd like to know about mine.'

Maharani, Red, Mars and Rocky all crack up laughing.

'What, what?' I ask impatiently.

'You're not an ecsotique, so you don't have a pedigree,' Maharani says.

'How would you know?'

'Well d'oh, I don't really think that a big fat blobby white and ginger puddn's going to have any very special relatives hiding in her background. More likely your umbi just got knocked up by the neighbourhood boss feeli.'

'Now wait a minute, my umbi wasn't like that. She was always very particular.'

'She may well have been particular, but that doesn't mean you've got any pedigree blood in you. You're just a wuzzer, so you'd better learn to live with it,' Maharani says.

'So what about you, do you have a pedigree?'

Maharani puts her head down and looks sideways. 'Well it's not always so simple… '

'Don't avoid the question, I presume either you have or you haven't.'

'Mmm, I've got a part pedigree. My umbi's umbi was a pure-bred Persian but she… well she, shall we say, had a liaison with a, um, boss wuzzer feeli. And then my umbi well she sort of did too.'

'So you're a quarter Persian?' I chuckle. 'Well at least I'm a full-blooded wuzzer; not a quarter of something special.'

Maharani huffs and turns away, flicking her tail at me.

'You didn't tell me how Red and Mars got their names.'

'So ask them,' Maharani says huffily.

'Our pedigree names,' Thai says, 'and don't laugh, our names are Hazelvale Mongkut King of Siam Mr Red Tulip and Hazelvale Mongkut King of Siam Mr Mars Bar.'

'Ha ha ha,' I crack up, and flop on my side laughing out loud. 'What's with the chocolate bars?'

'Obviously, we're chocolate point Siamese, so we can only suppose our breeder thought it was funny.'

'It sure is,' I splutter. 'But then Red and Mars are a whole lot better than Donald and Derek'.

'If you think that's funny, you ought to hear Zsa Zsa's pedigree name,' Mars says, obviously trying to change the subject. 'Let's see, it's Superstarz Hollywood Honeybunch Prissy Miss Delilah. That's right isn't it, Zsa Zsa?'

There's a momentary pause and a well-rehearsed Jane Russell sort of voice replies, 'Yes, that is correct, Mars. And I do wish you'd call me Christobel. My parents were both highly awarded at all the shows.'

'Yeah, born on a bed of blue ribbons, that one,' Rocky pipes up.

'Oh, don't be so insolent and unpleasant, you old wuzzer. There's nothing wrong with being proud of your lineage. Besides, I'm going to be a queen when I get out of here.'

'Oh sure,' Maharani chimes in. 'I can just see the pageantry, Queen Zsa Zsa of… where?'

'Oh shoosh, you silly girl. I'm really going to be a queen. My deuxjambs have an extremely handsome ecsotique chinchilla lined up for me to… well, you know. So with my beauty genes and his strength genes, our kisskies will be just purrrrrfect. Like me.'

'Hmm. Modesty's a curse you know. So's humility by the way,' I say. 'I just bet none of them will be as much fun or as easy going as my kisskies, bless their hearts.'

'Yes, well I bet they were a mixed bag.'

'What do you mean?'

'I just figure that if you had kisskies they'd probably be every colour under the sun but without a hint of symmetry or style,' Zsa Zsa responds in her haughty voice.

'Individuals, yes, every one of them. And I taught them to be independent. I bet yours will be spoilt rotten by deuxjambs and completely unable to do anything for themselves.'

'I'm tiring of this conversation,' Zsa Zsa huffs. 'Besides, it's time for my morning nap. So let it be known that Queen Christobel is retiring to sleep.'

'Jeebs, what a performance. Anyone would think she's vying for an Acatemy Award,' I say, somewhat wittily I think. I hear Big Dan and the other boys chuckling.

'She does run the drama classes here,' Big Dan says. 'Apparently her umbi and fuddy are also sought-after actors.'

'Sure, and mine are champion athletes.'

Just then I notice a white feeli move to the front of the pen next to Maharani. I raise my paw and nod in his direction. 'Hi there, Juno's the name.'

'You're wasting your breath on him, he's deaf as a post,' Maharani advises.

'So what's his name?'

'Apparently his deuxjambs call him Snowy. Yeah, really original. But his name's actually Oscar. We all call him Beethoven though.'

'Why, coz he likes music?'

'No, silly. Because he's deaf.'

'Oh, I get it. Why's he got his ear to the floor?'

'He feels the vibrations; he can tell when Miss Steph's coming way before any of us can hear her.'

'That's handy.'

'Yeah, it gives us a chance to stop what we're doing and put on our pussano faces so she won't suspect anything,' Maharani says.

'But what is it you do that you don't want her to know about? I mean apart from the exercise stuff.'

'Well, in the afternoons we have choir practice, bingo, reading group, music appreciation, ping pong, dizza, um, if it's warm enough we have luaus outside, or queekee spotting. It just depends on what we feel like doing. Or you can do nothing if you want. Some of the older ones just like to sleep all afternoon, but hey, that's up to them.'

'What's dizza?'

'Oh, that's a fun game. We'll show you later. Just make sure you don't eat all your kitzbitz, 'cos you'll need 'em for the game.'