Читать книгу More Meerkat Madness - Ian Whybrow, Tony Ross - Страница 8

Chapter 1

Skeema, Mimi and Little Dream were thrilled with their new home. Far Burrow was dark and safe and wonderfully smelly. It was roomy, with comfortable chambers and plenty of secret entrances and exits. Above all, it was theirs – a home of their own that they shared with their dear old, mad old, lovely old, one-eyed… Uncle Fearless.

At the first coming of suntime, they made their way along the dark tunnels to the Upworld and stood together at the main entrance for Warm-up. Meerkats can’t really get going until they have warmed up their minds and muscles properly. To do this, they have to point the little pads on their tummies towards the rising sun for a while. So there they were, tummy-pads in the air, feeling a bit shivery, a bit tired… but happy.

Uncle stood beside the kits, mumbling to himself. He had been doing this a lot just lately. In fact, lately he had become even more eccentric than usual. For example, he had taken to dashing off by himself for quite long periods. And he was always popping down into the burrow, even in the suntime, declaring that he was “just checking that all the escape tunnels were in good order, don’t ya know?” If he had checked them once, he had checked them more times than he had teeth and claws.

And now here he was, mumbling to himself: “Hmmm… get a grip, Fearless. Whup-whup, now! Not so much shilly-shallying, you fool! Get in there before it’s too late. Just pop the question before she dashes off again, what-what…!”

“What is he muttering about?” whispered Mimi to Little Dream. “...before she dashes off again...?” Mimi usually thought of herself first and imagined that others did the same. “She? But I haven’t dashed off anywhere lately, not me, not Mimi!”

Little Dream said nothing. He still hadn’t woken up properly.

Uncle began to lick his paw and slick back his whiskers, mmyim-mmyam. “Quite honestly, Fearless, old boy, you’re not looking too bad for an old battler,” he said aloud. “You may be a bit bent and bashed-up in places, but you’ve got your health and strength. So get on with it, laddy! Pounce before the beetle buries itself, as they say!”

Mimi’s big brother, Skeema, pricked up his ears and looked sideways at Uncle. Being rather keen on plans and schemes himself, he too was curious to know what Fearless was up to. “Pounce, eh?” thought Skeema. “Old battler…? Hmmm. I wonder if he’s planning to have a fight with another meerkat mob. Prrrrr! Perhaps he’s found out that the Ruddertails are planning another attack on Far Burrow!”

For several suntimes now, Uncle had been exercising furiously. He had taken to doing press-ups, and making energetic sprints to and from a nearby shepherd tree. He would come back all breathless and fluttery, running his paws over his face and arms to smooth them and looking down to see if his fat tummy had got any smaller. Now and then he would throw himself on his back and kick all his legs in the air, making strange yip-yip-wheeee! noises and shouting, “I’m all yours! Come and get me!” He did a lot of waggling his eyebrows and clacking his teeth. Skeema felt pretty sure that he was getting himself fit for a scrap!

On this particular early-suntime, Uncle was taking unusual care with his grooming. He suddenly seemed to notice a wayward tuft in his fur and nibbled at it furiously. “Lie down tidy, now!” he growled. “Disgrace! This’ll never do! Hmmm, nip nip! Must keep meself neat and handsome, what-what!”

“Aha! I get it!” said Skeema. He had suddenly thought of another possibility. “Are you making yourself look nice for the Chief of the Click-clicks, Uncle?” he asked.

The Click-clicks were a small tribe of Blah-blahs who lived fairly close to Far Burrow. They were strange, giant creatures who had accepted Uncle as their king. They were not unlike monkeys, but smoother and they usually stayed out of trees and walked on the ground. They often came up quietly and left gifts of food for the Really Mad Mob. They bowed down to the meerkats and let them climb up on to their heads. Being as tall as young thorn trees, they made excellent look-out posts.

To show how much he admired Uncle, the Chief of the Click-clicks had given him the special collar that he always wore with pride. Like all Blah-blahs, the Click-clicks talked in blah-blah-blah noises instead of squeaking and chattering to one another in the normal way. The only time they didn’t go blah-blah-blah was when they got excited. Then they sounded like hyenas… hee-hee-ha-ha-haaah!

The Click-clicks had plenty of strange and silly habits. For example, instead of building proper, safe burrows deep down under the sands, they made pointy white mounds above the ground! These were so flimsy that you could see them flapping whenever the wind blew. The Click-click tribe was so called because they were very shy and often hid their eyes behind special eye-protectors whenever they came to admire the meerkats up close – which was often. Sometimes they used their tongues to make click-click noises as a greeting.

“No, no. The Click-clicks have gone, I’m afraid,” said Uncle, staring outwards. “The rains will be here soon; I can smell ’em. And Blah-blahs get very nervous about storms, don’t you know. Those feeble pointy mounds of theirs won’t keep them safe from sky-crash and fizz-fire. That’s why they’ve all jumped into their Vroom-vrooms, d’you see? I expect they’ve gone to find a safer place to live.”

The Click-clicks were not clever enough to think of building lots of different escape-tunnels. Instead, they relied on enormous travelling burrows that moved on spinners. At the first sign of danger, they would jump into them and vroom-vroom! – off they would roar in a cloud of dust.

“Oh, dear! That means no more nuts and eggs for me-me, then,” sighed Mimi. “No more standing on their heads and having my tummy tickled.”

At the mention of the word tummy, Uncle slid his paws under his rather fat one and hoisted it up with a “One-two-three… HUP!” It was a habit of his. Skeema and Mimi giggled and did a “One-two-three… HUP!” immitation of him. He took no notice, and just kept on gazing into the distance, sighing. After a while he sang a little ditty to himself:

“Fleabites are red, my love.

Blue skinks are blue.

Lizards are yummy, love

And so, my fluff, are you.”

The kits stood and stared as Uncle fiddled with his helmet, tilting it across his good eye and saying quietly to himself in a strange, low voice, “Not too bad for an old soldier, eh? How do I look, my dainty Itchy-Kitchy?”

“You don’t think he’s going potty, do you, Skeema?” said Mimi.

“I hope not,” said Skeema. “Although, come to think of it, he has been doing some very peculiar things lately. He kept me awake for ages in the darktime, talking in his sleep, giving me hard squeezes and saying strange things to me in a soppy sort of voice.”

“What sort of things?” asked Mimi.

“Well… like: You’ll be quite safe with me, you fabulous creature.”

“What do you think he’s on about?” said Mimi.

At that moment, Mimi heard something behind her and, turning round quickly, saw something moving in the shadows. She let out such a dreadful shriek that Little Dream leaped up and gave a shriek himself.

“WUP! WUP! WUP! ACTION STATIONS!” cried Mimi.

“Wh-what?” growled Uncle. “Enemies, is it? TAKE COVER! DIVE-DIVE-DIVE!”

In one sweeping movement, Skeema grabbed his trusty lime-green Snap-snap – a powerful weapon he had acquired from the Click-click tribe – and held him at the ready.

Tails up, claws out, the kits braced themselves, ready to run to safety or fight for their lives.

For a moment they stood rooted to the spot, for there, behind them, something was making its way steadily towards them from the darkness of their very own burrow!