Читать книгу A.K.A. Fudgepuddle - Fin J Ross - Страница 8

'Shh, she's coming,' Beethoven calls out. 'Miss Steph is coming.'

He runs up his ramp to the top shelf and curls himself in a tight ball, feigning sleep. Maharani is quick to follow. I can't figure this out. When I arrived this morning everyone was up and screaming; now they're all pretending to be asleep.

'Psst Maharani,' I whisper 'how come we're all pretending to be asleep?'

'D'oh Juno, you know that all deuxjambs think we sleep all afternoon. We just like to live up to their illusions - you know, play along. That maintains the cattus quo. They think they're in charge and we go along with it so they think they've got us sorted out,' Maharani says.

'I see. That's clever. I mean, I do that at home but I didn't realise it was part of some grander scheme.'

'There's a bit of reverse psychology there too,' Big Dan whispers, 'because if we make them think we want to sleep all afternoon, they'll think we're being yawny and they'll go away and leave us alone, which gives us cat blanche to do whatever we want.'

I purse my lips and nod, my head tilted slightly. 'Makes perfect sense to me.'

I follow the others and curl myself into a pretzel shape. But I keep one eye open just enough to see what's going on. I see Miss Steph tiptoeing past, carrying a cage. Two green eyes the size of dinner plates peer out of a face, the likes of which I've never seen before. It looks like a cross between a spoffum and a hootle. Certainly I haven't seen a feeli that looks like that before.

'Here we are then, Raffles, number 25 for you. Now you settle in there and I'll be back in a tick with the camera, oh, and maybe I'll get a photo of Miss Fudgepuddle while I'm at it.'

Fudgepuddle! I crack up. Who does she call Fudgepuddle? What a scream. I roll on my back and try hard to stifle a big giggle just as she's walking past again, but I can't help accidentally letting out a raspberry.

'What's up with you then, girl?' She stops at my gate and peers in. I roll back over, give her a benign smile and put my head back under my armpit. I can't help wondering which poor sucker it is that she calls Fudgepuddle and I titter again. A few moments later I hear her coming back. I keep my head down and hear her footsteps pass by, followed by the click of a gate opening.

'It's okay boy,' she says soothingly. 'Now, smile for the camera, c'mon, stay still, no stay still. Oh c'mon, just for a second, will you? No, don't come towards me, just stay there. No, c'mon look at me, look at me. Ohh…'

She sounds exasperated so I guess this new boarder is giving her a hard time. Maybe he's camera shy. Not like me. I just love having my picture taken and I love all the gushy noises my deuxjambs make when they look at the pictures. They obviously think I'm some sort of screen goddess. I hear a click and then another.

'Good boy, Raffles, that should do me nicely,' Miss Steph says.

Which gets me to wondering. If deuxjambs think we don't understand what they say, how come they don't feel really stupid talking to us? They might as well be talking to themselves. I mean it's not like we're going to answer them. At least not in a language they understand.

I start to ponder about how misunderstood we feelis are. I mean, if TS Eliot had understood Mr Mistoffolees better, he'd have realised there was nothing 'magical' about him. He was just the master of feelichatra; which apparently just takes a lot of practice, not magic. But at least he acknowledged that we feelis all have our own name, which is ours to conjure up and ours to keep.

Really, not many deuxjambs do understand us. The Egyptians had it right. I mean it's obvious in the way they revered their feelis. After all, you don't see many quiffo mummies, do you? Yes, we were worshipped and adored just as some of us are today - if our deuxjambs have been properly trained. Emily Bronte, my favourite author 'cos she invented Catty and Heathcliff, knew what she was talking about when she wrote: 'A cat is an animal which has more human feelings than almost any other.'

And it's common knowledge that many well-regarded statesmen owe their greatness to their feelis. I mean Winston Churchill's feeli, Jock, actually directed most of the negotiations at wartime cabinet meetings. And Theodore Roosevelt's feeli, Slippers, made it his mission to ensure that guests to the White Home followed the right protocol. I know all this stuff 'cos I like to sit on the back of Hayoo's chair and read over her shoulder.

But when you think about it, it's obvious: we feelis only want to associate with good and kind deuxjambs. That's why Napoleon Bonaparte was terrified of us; because somehow he knew that we knew what he was up to. And we swore we'd tell everyone unless he was kind to us. We made him cross his heart and hope to die - that's why he always had his hand in his jacketfront.

I'm disturbed from my reverie by Miss Steph.

'Hellllooo Fudgepuddle,' she says as though introducing a quiz show contestant. My hair stands on end when I realise she's addressing me - and opening my gate.

'Whaaat,' I let out an agonising groan, or maybe it's a yarl. I can't quite tell. And then I'm drowned out by a dozen feelis all cacking themselves with laughter.

I'm mortified. And petrified - literally; I've turned to stone. I just sit like a statue with my mouth gaping. Miss Steph approaches me and raises the camera up to her eye.

'In your bloody dreams,' I spit. I snarl. I schpiff. I'm on the verge of a schpitzo and then I decide that a pfutt is a more appropriate gesture. So I huff, I turn around, I show her my back. I ignore her. Completely.

'C'mon Fudgepuddle, that's not very sociable.'

I continue to ignore her, stare at the corner and contemplate my next move. Burying my face in the pillow in ignominious shame feels like the most logical thing to do.

Fudgepuddle! Why me? Why Fudgepuddle? It's Juno, JUNO, don't you understand? I want to cry. And to think I thought she was nice.

'Okay, girl, I can see you're not ready for the camera yet. I'll come back when you're a bit more settled,' Miss Steph says. And then my whole spine shivers as she runs her hand down my back. If I were prepared to acknowledge it I'd have to admit it feels really good but I can't forget myself. I swish my tail from side to side and issue a low growl. She gets the hint and leaves me alone.

'Oh shut up you lot,' I schpiff when Miss Steph's gone.

'Fudgepuddle ha ha ha,' Maharani splurts. 'Fudgepuddle, Fudgepuddle…' she starts to sing and before long Rocky, Rabbit, Zsa Zsa and even the Colonel start to join in. I just want to shrivel up and die.

'What's so funny? Who's Fudgepuddle?' a tiny, cheeky voice asks. 'Hi everyone, I'm Riley. I'm the new one.'

'Hello Riley, I'm Maharani Shani, but you can just call me Maharani if you like. And I gather they call you Raffles, yes?'

'Yes that's right.'

'Why's that? Do you know? And, if you don't mind me asking, where did you come from? You don't look like any feeli I've ever seen. You're so tiny and you've got such big eyes. Actually you look like your umbi or fuddy was a ringtail spoffum or a slow loris. A-ha-he-hee,' Maharani titters.

'There's nothing slow about me. I'm a Singapura if you must know and I come from Singapore. Well I don't come from Singapore but my grandifeelis did. That's where we originated and that's why we look so ecsotique. No idea why they call me Raffles though.'

'Oh,' says Maharani. 'Anyway, you were asking about Fudgepuddle. Well, Juno over there, known by her deuxjambs as Megsy, has just been dubbed Fudgepuddle by Miss Steph… and, well,' she starts to chuckle, 'we think it's really funny but she's not too happy about it'.

'Ha ha ha, I wouldn't be either. Why, is she fat or something?'

'No I'm not fat,' I blurt out, 'I'm voluptuous. And voluptuous, for those of you who don't know, means sexy.'

'In whose thesaurus?' Maharani asks.

'Oh shut up. Shut up the lot of you,' I pout.

'Don't take offence, girl,' Big Dan croons, 'some of us do like a girl with a bit of meat on her bones'.

It's a pity I can't see Big Dan, because I'd love to know if his face matches his voice, which is just so dreamy.

'Thank you, Big Dan. At least someone has good taste around here.'

'Well actually, I'm a bit partial to a well-built girl too,' says the Colonel, 'I never could understand why the lads in my regiment got so besotted with all those bony bits of fluff, there's just no substance to them. No, I like a girl with plenty of flesh-'

'Stop drooling Colonel,' says Rocky, 'you're forgetting your good breeding.'

'Oh yes, yes, of course, excuse me, lad,' Monty apologises and changes the subject. 'So how long are you in here for, Raffles? And Raffles, for those of you who don't know, is known as the Father of Singapore. He was a British colonial official who founded Singapore. It's no shame to be named after him. So, just so long as you demonstrate the utmost integrity, I shall, from here on in, call you Raffles.'

'The 'father' of Singapore,' Raffles says in awe. 'I had no idea at all. And integrity is my middle name now, sir. I think I'm here for a couple of weeks. That should be long enough.'

'Long enough for what?'

'Long enough to escape.'

'But you've just got here, why on earth would you want to escape lad?'

'Why? Because I hate these places. They shove you in here and forget about you while they go off and see the world. It's not fair.'

'I should inform you, Raffles, that around here I'm the instigator and leader of the escape committee.'

'Oh, so what have you worked out?' Raffles asks cheekily.

'Well. I have worked out that these pens are impenetrable, so making an escape from inside here is impossible. The enclosures outside also are escape proof so that's out of the question and, ah… Miss Steph spends most of the morning in here, so that's no good. I think it would have to be a midnight run, but I'm still pondering the modus operandi.'

'So how long have you been here?'

'Two months.'

'Cripes! Two months and you haven't figured out anything yet. Glad I wasn't in a POW camp with you! You'd still be thinking about getting out six months after armistice was declared. Let me tell you in the last joint, they all called me Houdini, coz there's nothing I can't escape from,' Raffles boasts.

Something doesn't ring true to me. 'So how come you didn't escape from the last place you were in?' I ask.

'I did. I did! I got almost all the way home and then thought, d'oh, the deuxjambs aren't going to be there to feed me, so what's the point.'

'So what did you do? Did you go back?'

'Hell no. Why would I go back when I was so desperate to get out of there? Actually, and I'm a bit embarrassed to say so, but while I was sitting on the side of the road just minding my own business and thinking about what to do, up rolls a deuxjamb all dressed in green, grabs me in a net, shoves me in a cage and carts me off to the AFAQS. And if I'd thought AlCATraz was bad, well the AFAQS was worse. I'm shoved into this tiny little dark cage, barely enough room to turn around and I'm surrounded by all these feral feelis who'd sooner spit at you than give you the nod.'

'Ohh, so you were in AlCATraz too? We were talking about that before, it sounds terrible,' Maharani says.

'Yes, just awful,' Raffles agrees, 'but, as I said, not as bad as the AFAQS'.

I confess I'm a bit bewildered. 'What's the AFAQS?'

'D'oh, it's the Abandoned Feelis and Quiffos Shelter of course.'

'Oh, of course,' I nod like I should have known that.

Zsa Zsa pipes up. 'So what happened then?'

'Well I was there for a day or two and I'd just figured out how to blow the joint. I had it all planned, when suddenly my deuxjambs turn up and bail me out.'

'But how did they know you were there?' I ask.

'I dunno. Maybe it was the device that was secretly implanted in my neck a couple of years ago. They thought I didn't know it was there, but I knew I wasn't paranoid when the greencoats waved their telephone over me and it beeped. Clearly my deuxjambs like to keep track of my movements.'

'Hmm, you're not the first feeli I've come across who thinks they've had something implanted? This sounds like a conspiracy to me,' the Colonel says in a low thoughtful voice.

'Anyway, the one good thing is that at least my deuxjambs know that AlCATraz isn't escape proof. So I guess that's why they've brought me here this time,' Raffles says. 'But I'm sure I'll be able to figure out a way out in a day or two.'

Suddenly Rabbit interrupts. 'Psst - okay whose deuxjambs drive a dark blue sedan?' he calls out.

'Not mine. Not mine. Mine neither,' a chorus of voices rings out.

'Oh, oh must be someone coming to look then. Okay everyone, assume pussano positions, quick,' Rabbit advises.

'What's happening?' I ask. I obviously still have some protocol to learn.

'Just sit and look happy and appealing because if they like the joint, we might get to meet someone new before long,' Rocky whispers.

'Oh, okay,' I say obligingly as I wander back up the ramp and start pronkledonking my bed.

'Maybe, when they're gone, we can get back to our drama lesson,' Zsa Zsa says.

'Nah, it must be about time for tai chi, isn't it, Mars?' Rocky asks.

'Yes, we could if you like,' Mars replies.

I get to thinking about our earlier conversation and how Maharani said that everyone has a talent to share. My mind starts to race. Talent?

I could um… no, maybe… nah, they'd just laugh, um… oh I know, I could… no. Oh cripes. I don't have a talent, there's nothing I do well. Except eat, maybe. I could teach them how to scoff your food so quick that you always get a second helping. No, maybe not. They'd just make fun of me.

I start to panic. What if they ask me what I'm gonna teach? What'll I do? Do I just admit that I don't have any talent? I start to break out in a sweat. I lick my paw and wipe behind my ear, more to make myself look busy than from any sense of vanity.

I hear footsteps and Miss Steph's now-familiar voice.

'Oh yes, it's very comfortable, and as you can see they're all very happy,' she explains as they approach Zsa Zsa's cage.

'Oh look darling, isn't she a beautiful girl, so elegant and self-assured,' a male deuxjamb says.

'Oh yes, she's not unlike our girl,' says the female deuxjamb. They linger a bit longer in front of Zsa Zsa's gate and then glance in at me.

'Oh look, what a fatty,' the strange she-deuxjamb squeals.

'Yes, she is,' says Miss Steph. 'She just came in this morning so I'm still getting to know her. Her name's Megsy, but I'm going to call her Fudgepuddle, because that's just what she looks like: a big puddle of fudge.'

Oh the ignominy of it all.

I turn to face them, plonk myself down, raise one leg and start licking my ooti. That's about what I think of them. They seem to get the message and keep going.