DEDICATION
For Matt, Asha and Dusty.
And for Dexter, who was not only a pet,
but a member of our family.
CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter 1: The Talking Cat
Chapter 2: Twenty-Five Words or Less
Chapter 3: Rusty Mulligan Is Not a Winner
Chapter 4: Why Bother?
Chapter 5: Taking Care of the Talking-Animal Problem
Chapter 6: And the Winners Are . . .
Chapter 7: Mr Popular
Chapter 8: Proud as Punch (Not)
Chapter 9: Meeting the Boys
Chapter 10: Meeting the Girls
Chapter 11: The Boat Arrives
Chapter 12: Secret Agents on Their Tail
Chapter 13: Arriving at Docens Animalis
Chapter 14: The Pink House
Chapter 15: An Itchy Cow
Chapter 16: At Home With the Rodericks
Chapter 17: The Grand Tour and a Talking Cat
Chapter 18: Algebra 101
Chapter 19: The Dining Hall and a Sea of Sharks
Chapter 20: Recess
Chapter 21: An Apple for the Teacher
Chapter 22: Speaking 101
Chapter 23: Let’s Sing
Chapter 24: The Budgerigar Speaks
Chapter 25: Kyle Loves Llamas
Chapter 26: The Rodericks Get Packing
Chapter 27: Cute Puppies and Winston Churchill
Chapter 28: A Clever Bird, Artistic Dogs and an Unusual Goat
Chapter 29: Table Tennis and Choc-Chip Cookies
Chapter 30: Pigs Might Fly
Chapter 31: A Talking Dog and a Human Hedge
Chapter 32: The Golden Hall
Chapter 33: A Really Big Announcement
Chapter 34: Stuck in the Mud
Chapter 35: An Invisible Lizard
Chapter 36: A Chameleon on the Fence
Chapter 37: A Lovesick Spy
Chapter 38: Lady Roderick Is a Lizard-Hater
Chapter 39: Music and Mud
Chapter 40: Porky Loves Pizza
Chapter 41: Humans Are the Weirdest Creatures
Chapter 42: Rusty Mulligan Calls His Father
Chapter 43: A Foggy Start
Chapter 44: A Worrying Development and a Couple of Eavesdroppers
Chapter 45: A Plan Is Hatched
Chapter 46: Pigs Really Can Fly
Chapter 47: Rusty Hears a Secret and Tells a Secret
Chapter 48: Ass-em-bellee
Chapter 49: The Arrival of the Bad Guys
Chapter 50: The Even Badder Guys
Chapter 51: Lord Roderick Demands to Know the Secret
Chapter 52: Rusty Needs a New Plan
Chapter 53: A Lizardy Revelation
Chapter 54: Bongo to the Rescue
Chapter 55: A Happy Little Pilot
Chapter 56: Bongo’s Secret
Chapter 57: A Surprise Arrival
Chapter 58: Another Lizard Becomes a Hero
Chapter 59: The Secret
Epilogue: Six Months Later
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
THE TALKING CAT
Rusty Mulligan first heard a cat talk at four-past-seven on a wintry Monday morning, while sitting at his kitchen table, idly watching the morning news as he poured milk over his cereal.
‘Good evening, humans,’ said the talking cat from the other side of the world, purring with satisfaction on the TV screen.
Needless to say, Rusty spilled quite a lot of milk. It dripped from the table to puddle on the floor.
Normally, such behaviour would result in stern words from his father, a gruff man who couldn’t remember what it was like to be a clumsy twelve-year-old boy. But instead, on this occasion, Rusty’s father dropped the knife he’d been using to butter his toast. It clattered to the linoleum to rest in the milk like a silver ship in a shallow milky sea.
‘Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,’ said Mr Mulligan with more expression in his voice than Rusty had heard for a very long time.
It was a white fluffball of a Persian cat with a squished-in, cute-but-also-a-little-bit-ugly face.
Now with the full attention of Rusty and his father and no doubt millions of others watching — for the first time ever — the astounding sight of a real, live, talking animal, the cat continued in a very posh voice. ‘Yes, I am a cat. A talking cat.’
He sounded like the Queen of England’s cat might, but his accent contained a hint of the exotic too. The cat spoke just as Rusty supposed a fancy cat from London might speak. He wondered if Rodney, the cat from next door, would sound the same. Probably not. Sydney was a long way from London.
‘Though we prefer to be known by our Latin name, Felis catus. It is more dignified, you see.’
He cleared his throat, as though nervous. Or perhaps he had a fur ball to dislodge. It was hard to tell.
‘I am, as you can see, a Felis catus of majestic Persian heritage. My name is Nader Heydar, which means “Rare Lion” in the language of my ancestors. A most suitable name, I’ve always believed.’
Nader paused and lifted his head, looking slightly up and to one side as though suggesting those watching admire his profile. Which, Rusty had to admit, was rather majestic — despite its squished-inedness.
The camera zoomed out and Rusty could see the cat — sorry, the Felis catus — was perched on a tall stool beside a slim woman who had wild black hair sticking out from her head in every direction. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties and wore a rainbow-striped summer dress with yellow hi-top sneakers. Both the cat and the crazy-haired woman faced a female TV host wearing lots of make-up. The made-up woman stared at the cat with her mouth hanging open. Her shocked face mirrored those of Rusty and his father, and probably the millions of others watching too.
The Felis catus — that is, Nader Heydar — waved a delicate paw in the direction of the colourfully clothed woman with the untamed hair.
‘This female human beside me is Miss Alice Einstein. You might have heard of her great-grandfather, the brilliant scientist, Mr Albert Einstein. Miss Alice Einstein is, if she doesn’t mind me saying so, every bit as much a genius as her great-grandfather.’
‘It must be a puppet,’ Rusty’s father muttered. ‘No, what’s that thing they use now in the movies, CG-something? You know, the computer fakery stuff?’
‘CGI,’ Rusty whispered.
‘I’m real enough,’ said Nader in an aside, as if hearing Rusty’s father through the TV screen. ‘No special effects. No magic. I am a flesh-and-blood creature, you can be sure of that.’
Rusty could have sworn Nader raised an eyebrow — though, as a cat, he clearly did not have eyebrows.
‘Miss Alice Einstein is the headmistress of a unique and very special educational institution, which, until this moment, has remained a secret known only to a select few.’ Nader paused dramatically. ‘It is my pleasure to introduce Miss Alice Einstein’s School for Talking Pets.’
CHAPTER 2
TWENTY-FIVE WORDS OR LESS
Rusty’s eyes widened and he stopped breathing for a few seconds.
A secret school for talking pets? It was the most unbelievable thing he had ever heard of! The most ridiculous. The craziest. But also, very definitely, the greatest. Talking animals. He would have found it impossible to believe were it not for the cat currently chatting politely on the TV in front of his goggling eyes.
‘Miss Einstein, would you like to continue?’
‘Thank you, Nader. Yes, I would.’ The wild-haired woman turned to face the camera. Her enormous brown eyes seemed to look directly
into Rusty’s smaller hazel ones. ‘As Nader has so beautifully explained, I am the headmistress of Miss Alice Einstein’s School for Talking Pets.’
Rusty was surprised to hear Miss Einstein speak with an American accent. Her matter-of-fact tone suggested it was no big deal to have a school for talking pets.
‘We operate on a small, hidden island we named Docens Animalis, which means “Teaching Animals”. This week is our fifth anniversary. It took only two years of hard work and study — which was wonderfully fun and exciting too, of course — before we welcomed our first graduates, and at the top of that very first class of talking pets was Nader Heydar.’
The cat seemed to grow in stature as he heard Miss Einstein’s words. Rusty thought he detected a hint of a self-satisfied smile.
Miss Einstein continued. ‘Now, after another three years and many more talking-pet graduates, we are ready to present our school to the world. With that in mind, and to celebrate our anniversary, I have decided to run a competition.’ She paused, sharing a conspiratorial look with Nader before continuing. ‘I would like to invite five children — and their pets — to spend a week at Miss Alice Einstein’s School for Talking Pets. The children will learn the basics of animal-speaking and meet other graduates. And, perhaps, with a little hard work and a great deal of fun, they may return to their homes with a pet who is able to speak to them, even just a little.’
Rusty’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘Bongo!’ he exclaimed, peering around the room.
Now, in case you were wondering, ‘Bongo!’ wasn’t an expression of surprise. At least not in this case. ‘Bongo’ was Rusty Mulligan’s pet blue-tongued lizard. Rusty spotted him on the kitchen windowsill, his favourite early-morning sunbathing location.
Rusty walked over and scooped Bongo into his arms, bringing him closer to the TV so he could see Nader, who was explaining some of the terms and conditions attached to the competition. ‘Look, Bongo, a talking cat! Can you believe it?’
Bongo’s pink mouth opened, and his vivid blue tongue poked out. It seemed as if he too couldn’t believe his eyes; though, of course, Rusty couldn’t know what Bongo’s mysterious reptilian mind was thinking.
‘I would love to win that competition, Bongo,’ Rusty whispered as he stroked his pet’s soft, dry scales. ‘Then we could really, properly talk to one another.’
Rusty tuned back in as Miss Einstein continued. ‘. . . so, any interested children should to go to the website www.schoolfortalkingpets.com and fill in their details. I would like the most deserving and pet-loving children to win my competition. Therefore, I have asked them to tell me, in twenty-five words or less, why they and their pet should be chosen to come to Docens Animalis. The website will remain live for precisely twenty-four hours from . . . now.’ Miss Einstein peered at her watch and pressed a button on it. A small beep sounded.
Rusty’s heart sank. He wasn’t smart or lucky. He’d never win a competition as huge as this one.
Nader spoke again. ‘Please, children, enter only once. We look forward to meeting those youngsters and their pets who submit the best entries. We’ll announce the winners one week from today.’
The camera view changed. Now two news reporters appeared on screen, talking over one another in their excitement. Rusty ignored them, his mind picturing a talking dog. No, a talking rabbit. No, best of all, a talking Bongo! He sighed, scratching the top of Bongo’s head in that way he knew — well, he thought he knew; it wasn’t as if Bongo could tell him — his lizard liked.
Mr Mulligan pushed his chair back from the table and scooped up his milk-coated knife. ‘Time for school, Rusty. Hurry up and finish your cereal. And clean up that mess before you slip in it.’
‘Do you think I should enter the competition, Dad?’ Rusty asked in a tentative voice.
Mr Mulligan turned to him and Rusty thought he saw a flash of something in his father’s eyes, but then it was gone. ‘No. Don’t waste your time, boy,’ he said bluntly. ‘Get ready for school.’
CHAPTER 3
RUSTY MULLIGAN IS NOT A WINNER
Rusty stepped off the bus at the gates of Gundarra South Public School. He walked through them, oblivious to the excited chatter of the other kids.
‘Did you see the news this morning?’
‘— talking cat!’
‘I’m definitely going to win!’
The bell rang and Rusty’s feet automatically carried him to Miss Chester’s sixth grade classroom. He sat in the middle of the room and to one side, at a desk where he could usually remain unnoticed.
‘OK, children, settle down please,’ said Miss Chester in her familiar high-pitched voice.
Miss Chester was OK, as far as teachers went, but her voice could be hard to take. There were times when it was so shrill and piercing — say, on a Friday afternoon, or after a particularly long maths lesson — that it grated on his ears worse than that time the school band played at assembly and beginner violinist Jamie scraped his bow across the strings in an off-key, ear-splitting wail that made even the principal wince.
‘I can see, children, you’ve been watching the television this morning and saw the talking cat,’ Miss Chester continued, and the class broke out in an even bigger hubbub.
‘QUIET!’ she screeched.
They were instantly silent. Miss Chester pushed her hair behind her ears, a gesture that told Rusty his teacher was about to speak about her own cats. He knew Miss Chester was the proud owner of three cats because she talked about them.
A lot.
They featured in her algebra equations (If two cats each drank two bowls of milk and one cat ate three mice . . . ?), her stories (Once upon a time, in a magnificent castle, lived three equally magnificent tabby cats . . .) and even in her history and geography lessons (Did you know, children, in countries such as Egypt, cats were once worshipped as gods?).
‘Children,’ Miss Chester began. ‘I am as intrigued as you are by this talking-pet competition. I’m sure you all know how dearly I would love to hear the first precious words uttered by Princess, Bubbles and Professor Fluffypants.’ She frowned and pursed her lips, her round cheeks flushing a vivid shade of pink. ‘But, for some reason, adults are forbidden from entering. Why? I do not know,’ she added, her voice growing sharper than the thumbtacks pinning her laminated ‘Classroom Rules’ (Rule No 1: Keep Your Hands and Feet to Yourself) to the wall behind her. ‘Children aren’t the only deserving humans in this world, are they? I’m only twenty-seven myself. Not much older than a child, really, when you think about it.’
Miss Chester glared at the class, apparently suggesting that, as children, they were personally responsible for this slight. The clock tick-tocked loudly in the silence. Miss Chester cleared her throat. She took off her glasses and rubbed at them with the bottom of her jacket before carefully setting them back on her nose. She took a deep breath then exhaled a whoosh of air. When she spoke next, she sounded calmer.
‘Anyway, I know you’re all excited about the school for talking pets. But it’s our school time now, so let’s put aside such things and get ready to learn. First up: maths. Emily, you can start by reciting the twelve times tables.’
The children groaned.
‘Twelve times one is twelve,’ started Emily in a clear voice, as she was one of the few kids who knew all of her times tables by heart.
Rusty spent the morning with his chin resting on his hand, imagining what Bongo’s first words might be. ‘G’day, mate’ or ‘Greetings, human-child’ were the best he could come up with. Fortunately, Miss Chester didn’t call on him. But then, she rarely did.
When the class broke for recess, the children sat in the playground eating apples or sandwiches or packets of potato chips as they discussed the marvel of Nader Heydar the talking cat.
Of course, they also argued about who was more likely to win the competition. Some children pulled out notepads and worked on their twenty-five-word competition entry. Others thought the whole thing was a hoax. Nader must be a pup
pet, or maybe a hologram, and Miss Alice Einstein was probably just a crazy cat-lady who wanted to be famous.
But mostly the children discussed what their pet would say if it could talk to them. The very idea thrilled them to the core. Their very own pet, talking directly to them.
Incredible!
Rusty sat with his best friend — his only friend — Charlotte. Charlotte was popular, much more popular than Rusty, but for some reason she often came over to sit with him at lunch or recess. Charlotte was outspoken, with flaming, curly red hair and always — always — at least one broken bone as, unfortunately, she was extremely clumsy. Currently, Charlotte’s left wrist was in a cast and her arm in a sling. She held a tub of yoghurt in her bandaged hand and awkwardly dug into the container with a spoon she held in her right.
Her lunchbox was filled with calcium-rich snacks — a tactic her mother had recently implemented to try to improve Charlotte’s bone density.
‘I’m going to enter, for sure,’ Charlotte said, thrusting her spoon in the air. ‘I’m dying to hear what Bear has to say. Though, being a Labrador, I’m pretty sure he would just say something about how hungry he is. Bear is always hungry. Are you entering, Rusty?’
‘Nah. There’s no point,’ Rusty replied in a quiet voice. ‘I won’t win.’
‘Well, you won’t with that attitude,’ scolded Charlotte. ‘You’ve got to be in it to win it.’
She prodded him with her spoon and drops of mango yoghurt splattered his shirt. Tutting at him, Charlotte looked away and caught sight of Miss Chester, who was on playground duty. The teacher stood with her back to them, watching the younger kids play handball.
‘Miss Chester,’ Charlotte called out. ‘We were just discussing the talking-pet competition. Don’t you think Rusty should enter?’
Their teacher held an uneaten apple in one hand, but when she turned they could see chocolate biscuit crumbs littering her white shirt. Miss Chester tried to be a healthy role model for them, but she didn’t always succeed. She took a bite of the apple and made a face, but her other hand suspiciously remained in her jacket pocket.
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