A. K. A. Fudgepuddle Read online

  a.k.a.

  FUDGEPUDDLE

  by

  FIN J ROSS

  For Steve

  In memory of

  Idgy & Taya

  Morning is broken

  It's just like any other morning. I'm snuggled into her armpit under the quilt enjoying that sort of semi-conscious reverie and feeling that vague quiver that indicates she might wake soon. It's always the happiest time for me, because I know that soon I'll share that quivering as her soft strokes at once arouse and soothe my senses. Starting from my head and working down my back it awakens my oogies and I can't control myself.

  I start quirrelling and I turn up the intensity as I feel her body twitch and move sleepily. She presumes I do it for her pleasure, but that's just deuxjamb vanity. Deuxjambs recognise only a few of our feeliisms and they are haughty enough to believe we do it for their pleasure. Little do they realise that quirrelling is just a tiny part of a very complex language with which we communicate with our kisskies, our siblings, our parents, our friends and our rivals.

  It's also how we reminisce, how we educate, how we settle differences, how we comfort… oh, and of course, how we manipulate those tall creatures on two jambs into doing what we want them to do.

  Mind you, I have my deuxjamb well trained, but it took some time. For quite a while there she simply didn't understand what I wanted. She was forever picking me up when I had more important things to do, uncovering my secret hiding places just when I thought I had her really stumped, and putting all manner of ghastly-smelling things in front of me which I believe she actually expected me to eat.

  My favourite pastime when I was a kisskie was to sit and quirrel angelically until she picked me up and then I'd turn myself inside out and perform a schpitzo. It even amazed me how many claws I could muster at once and how loud I could yarl while simultaneously biting into her hands and arms.

  But what perhaps amazed me more was how ready she was to forgive me. Just half an hour later I could seek some fuzpah on her lap and she'd stroke me soothingly and apologise for being so bad to me. I'd curl my claws gently into her leg, just to remind her that I still had them and that they could be deployed into another schpitzo at an instant if the mood warranted it.

  Through an in-depth but crash course in feeliisms, I'd taught my six kisskies how to perform mini-schpitzos at any appropriate moment - but only for deuxjambs, not among each other. I'd also taught them how to be pussano and quirrel a lot so that deuxjambs would find them irresistible.

  But teaching them how to differentiate between nice deuxjambs and nasty deuxjambs took quite a bit of work. Most deuxjambs are so darn clever at disguising their real personalities.

  I wish I'd had more time with my kisskies. How was I to know they'd be taken away to Weeras in a box or a carrier with unknown deuxjambs and I'd never see them again? That, of course, was a few months ago. Now I have no idea where Ori, Arni, Erna, Arelli, Inda and Sizi went. I just hope they're with loving and accommodating deuxjambs like mine.

  Anyway, as I said earlier, I just love this time of morning because I can reminisce in comfort until Hayoo puts her head under the quilt to say good morning in her dulcet whisper. It's such a pleasant moment. It's the time when I think she's most able to understand feeli-speak and so I reply in the special quirrel dialect I reserve for her.

  Oh yes, she's rousing. I begin to stretch a little and turn up the quirrelling just as she's rolling over. And then-

  'Jeeeeeeeeezus Christ!' she screams, and flings off the quilt in one move.

  I leap two feet into the air and hover for a moment trying to decide which way to run. Every hair on my body stands erect as I contemplate a schpitzo, then realise that a spot of feelichatra might be better. In a split second I'm a quivering mess as far under the bed as I can get, just beyond the reach of Hayoo. I amaze myself with the speed at which I got here, since I'm usually a deft exponent of unvelocity.

  'We're going to be late, Darling. Come on, get up, get up,' Hayoo screeches. Her feet hit the floor on one side of the bed and a moment later, Darling's feet appear on the other and he shuffles into his scuffs. They start running around in all directions. And they say I can't make up my mind. I just curl my claws into the carpet, keep quiet and wait for my fur to flatten again.

  'Hayoo, we should've set the alarm for earlier,' Darling's voice booms from above the bed, 'then we wouldn't be running around like cut cats now.'

  He plonks down on the bed and I have to crouch lower so the springs won't hit me on the head. I watch as he works his socks on and then his shoes.

  They're obviously just late for work, again. I start to relax. It's just like every other morning. I crawl along on my belly and emerge from under the bed.

  'Hey, Megsy girl,' Hayoo says, as she bends down to scratch me on the head, 'I suppose we'd better get you organised too'.

  She bends down to pick me up and that's when I see the suitcase on the bed.

  Me? Organised too? Oh no! The panic sets in. Time for a schpitzo. I try to back out from her grip, to go backward up over her shoulder. My claws sink into her shoulder blades. It's her screaming that does it. If she just didn't scream so loud it wouldn't freak me out so much. Somehow I get her hair caught in my claws and she screams more.

  'Get her off me, get her off,' she shrieks. But before Darling gets anywhere near me I'm outta there. I make train tracks down her back and dive behind the chest of drawers where there's space on the windowsill to catch my breath and plan my next move. I feel the urge to sneeze 'cause it's so dusty and full of wobblycobs down here and I have to refocus my eyes to figure out what's tickling my nose. Humph, it's a daddy long- Actually, it's pretty small; it must be a baby longlegs. I eat it.

  I realise it's a bit squeezier behind here than the last time. And don't go thinking it's because I've put on weight. I'm guessing that Hayoo has merely pushed the chest closer to the window the last time she cleaned down here which, by the look of it, was a long time ago. It's getting a little hard to breathe, especially with all these wobblycobs.

  'I wonder why she did that. She never does that anymore,' Hayoo says querulously.

  'I dunno, maybe she saw the suitcase.'

  Yeah, like d'oh.

  'Oh, don't be silly, she wouldn't know what that is. It's not like we go away that often. When was the last time - six or seven months ago?'

  'I don't know, can't remember,' Darling replies.

  I peer out from my hidey spot and it's then that I realise he's standing there with that horrid plastic basket in his hand. I stay put and contemplate my fate. There are two awful possibilities and neither fills me with pussano.

  First: they're taking me to that place where we sit and wait and wait and wait. And I'm in my basket trying hard to look invisible, wishing I'd perfected the art of feelichatra, while all those snarly, bad-tempered quiffos sit around and drool and whimper and slobber. They've never learned the art of pussano and I'm sure not gonna be the one that offers classes.

  And that's not the worst part. When the waiting's suddenly over, the real trauma begins: I get dragged kicking and screaming backward out of my basket while I scrabble for a claw-hold on the slippery plastic. I try the octopus trick in which I appear to grow four extra legs to make it even harder for them to extract me from the relative safety of my plastic haven. But what hope has a feeli got when it's three deuxjambs to one feeli - even an intelligent and resourceful one like me?

  So I loosen my grip a bit and next thing I'm trying to get traction on that freezing, slippery slab, but my legs just go akimbo and I have to plonk myself in a most undignified fashion on the table. Oh the ignominy of it all. But I don't give in; hell, I never give in. It's just that sometimes, showing some fuzpah - even if it's just pretend fuz
pah - can make the whole tawdry episode move along a little quicker.

  But that does not mean that I in any way enjoy the prodding and poking and having that strange deuxjamb feeling me up, sticking things in my ooti, forcing my mouth open and checking out my tonsils and pearly whites. Not to mention staring into my eyes as though I'm gonna tell him something he doesn't know already - like why Catwoman only wears black.

  I can't figure it all out, really. I get a tiny prick in the back of my neck and before I've even thought about feigning an impending schpitzo, I'm being bundled back into the plastic basket. Go figure. So I s'pose if I really think about it, the first scenario ain't so bad. At least it's usually over and done with pretty quick. But it's just dawned on me: Hayoo and Darling wouldn't be packing suitcases, for themselves, if I were just going to Slippery Sam's.

  That means - oh god, no - that means it's horror possibility number two: they're going away-away and they're gonna take me to… to La Cage aux Chats or worse - alCATraz. I try to peer around the corner of the chest to see how many cases they're packing. If it's two, I'm in real trouble. It could be weeks, months even. Darling turns to approach me and I try really hard to attain feelichatra; to just dissolve and disappear completely. But I suspect it's too late since he already knows I'm here.

  The chest suddenly starts to move; I've got to think quick. I launch myself straight up in the air like a Harrier jump jet and manage to get a toe-hold on the top of the chest, figuring that a bit of catrobatics will enable me to fly over their heads onto the bed and from there to… well, anywhere out of reach.

  But I hadn't figured on Darling being such a good catcher. It's all over red-rover when he snatches me right out of the air. Before I can deploy my tentacles he's got me into the plastic basket and he's shutting the door behind me. He puts the carrier down on the bed. I run rings around the inside, trying to get traction and I yarl as loud as I can. If they think I'm going to take this sitting down they've got another thing coming.

  The panic starts to set in big time, and I realise my mouth is starting to go dry. Panting doesn't help, in fact it makes it worse. I'm getting all hyped, I tell you, and I reckon I'm about to indecorously let go a zilly. Actually - maybe that's not a bad idea…

  'Oh, Darling can you smell that?' Hayoo asks.

  'Yes, I can.' Darling's face appears right up close to the wire as he peers in. 'Oh Megsy, you haven't. Tell me you haven't piddled in there.'

  'Meh?' I try to look adorable, putting on my best fuzpah face.

  'Why do you do this every time?'

  'Meh?'

  'I'll get another towel, Darling, but you'll have to be careful not to let her out again.'

  Now that's a thought. I wait for Hayoo to return. As Darling opens the door, I grab his finger in my teeth and, just as he pulls his hand away, I leap out without even touching the sides. In one move I'm out the bedroom door and skidding down the hall into the kitchen. My jambs slide out from under me but just as I'm about to hit the corner of the cabinet, I manage to get traction. Darling is gaining on me, but he too starts to skid.

  I scuffle around in a circle and leap up on the bench and onto the yellum-box in two lightning moves. I skid and feel my back jambs starting to slide off the edge. I can't quite hold on - the top of the yellum-box is too slippery. But now I'm sort of all tangled up in this wiry stuff on the back of the yellum-box. I'm hanging there like the empty clothes Hayoo puts on the wire tree in the garden. I can hear a lot of grunting which I figure is Darling trying to work out what to do next. He puts his arm across the top of the yellum-box but can't quite reach me and then he disappears again. Then he comes back. Oddly, he's a bit taller now and he's looking straight into my eyes. I stare back. I lower my eyebrows and try to look mean.

  'Can you see her, Darling?' Hayoo is obviously right beside Darling now.

  'Yep, but I just can't grab her; she's fallen down behind. I might just be able to reach one paw,' he says, flailing his arms about.

  'Well, we'll have to pull it out.'

  Pull it out? Why would you want to pull my paw out? I shudder. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Next thing I know, the yellum-box starts moving in a sort of ziggy-zaggy motion and I'm hanging on for dear life. I can hear all sorts of funny noises coming from inside it. As it clears the wall beside me, I see Hayoo and leap off the back into her arms. She snuggles me up to her chin and I go all pussano; quirrelling loudly. I don't know why. It's not like I'm happy about this.

  'You silly sausage, what did you do that for? Now, hop in here and calm down.'

  Darling has the door of the carrier aimed at me and, after giving him an appropriately contemptuous look and an audible pfft, I oblige him by stepping in, turning around and plonking myself down. I guess I've just got to hike it or hump it.

  The Lap of Luxury

  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-'