by Alan Dapré
I yawned.
Friday beckoned.
Fergus McFungus was about to stir up Trouble with a capital T. He was going to need a very big bowl!
20
Far-out Friday
Early Friday morning, the twins heard a loud squeaking on the landing and sprang out of bed to investigate. I did too.
“Sounds like a giant mouse,” said Isla.
Mmmm. Mouse.
Ross crept onto the landing with a rolled-up comic in his hand.
“Are you going to teach it to read?” giggled Isla.
“Very funny,” he said, swishing the comic under the bookcase. “Nothing down there.”
“It might be in the loft,” said Isla, pointing to a trapdoor in the ceiling.
As they looked up, it slowly and squeakily began lowering like a ramp on an alien spaceship. Ross stumbled back in surprise, landing on the landing.
“I’ve been expecting you,” boomed a mysterious figure in a shiny silver spacesuit. He slid up his gold face visor to reveal a one-eyed alien called Frank.
Just kidding.
“It’s only me,” said Gadget Grandad, who wasn’t a one-eyed alien called Frank after all. We clambered into the loft, and I curled up on a comfy sofa made from the back seat of an old car.
Around us, funky bulbs swirled and chunky dials whirled, and in the middle of all this computerised chaos Gadget Grandad flitted about like a moth at a twinkling funfair.
“Nearly ready,” he said, bending a coat hanger to make an aerial for his spacesuit.
“Where did you get your intergalactic gear?” asked Isla.
“I made it,” Gadget Grandad called back, “but first I sent a smaller suit into space. It worked perfectly with its wee jam-jar helmet.”
He held up the silver test suit. It was no bigger than me and it looked warm and cosy, so I climbed in.
“That suit suits you, Porridge,” chuckled Ross.
Gadget Grandad beckoned us into a huddle. “Let me explain why we are in the loft. Last night I couldnae sleep so I tried to play a lullaby on my bagpipes but they were blocked. I blew harder and guess what shot out?”
“What?” chimed the twins.
“The Splotter’s Guide To Cooking Up Trouble!”
Me-wow!
“It must have been sucked up with the spies!” gasped Ross.
Gadget Grandad opened the battered book. “The bad news is: Fergus tore out page 99, the deadliest page in the book. The good news is: we still have the contents page at the front, so we can work out what his plans might be.”
He ran a finger down the contents list.
How To Make A Rotten Rain Machine 97
How To Make A Despicable Invisible Cloak 98
How To Make A Deadly Giant Clootie Dumpling That’s Out Of This World 99
“A clootie dumpling!” giggled the twins. “What’s so deadly about that? Dad makes them all the time.”
“Not as big as this one,” warned Gadget Grandad. “Think of all the ingredients Fergus has filched. No wonder he stole that giant banner when I was Walter-skiing – he had to have a clootie rag big enough to cook it in. His clootie dumpling will be huge – too huge to hide here on Earth! Last night I saw something launch into the sky. It looks like we don’t have much time.”
Och, I saw it too!
Isla had a question. “What is Fergus McFungus up to?”
“The Moon, by now.” Gadget Grandad chuckled at his own joke. “Our mission today is to race into space and save the world and volcanoes and fishy biscuits and elephants.”
“We don’t have a rocket,” said Ross.
“We don’t need one.” Gadget Grandad patted a white cube with small silver panels. “We have this.”
Isla carefully examined the object. She concluded it was a solar-powered bread maker.
“Aye, but it disnae just make bread any more,” said Gadget Grandad.
“What else does it do?” Isla asked, curious as a cat.
(So was I, because I’m a cat.)
“Lift-off!” chuckled Gadget Grandad. “When its yeasty bubbles pop they will shoot this loft into space! And you’ll be the first twins in orbit together! Och, I’ve already put in my super-strong yeast mixture, so there isn’t a moment to lose. Buckle up, kids! It’s going to be a bumpy ride!”
“Do we need spacesuits like you and Porridge?” asked Ross.
“No, no, you’ll be fine as you are in the airtight loft.”
Grandad jabbed a button to retract the ramp and shut the steel door to make everything airtight. In seconds, the bread maker began counting down in seconds.
10. 9. 8.
The whole loft jugglebuggled…
7. 6. 5. 4.
flizzerlubbled…
3. 2. 1.
and blasted OFF!
Mavis Muckle was walking Basil by the house when she heard a tremendous whoosh!
A drainpipe fell away as the pointy loft rocketed into the air, leaving the rest of the house behind.
Bursting with excitement, she watched the yeast bubbles burst with excitement.
Soon all she could see of the roof was a wee dot just like this one.
“Och, there goes the roof,” she muttered to Basil. “I hope it disnae rain.”
21
Far Far Out Friday
What a glorious glibblefribbling ride it was into space, full of crazy loops and words and finally, at the end of this long sentence, there was a mighty DING!
Then all was quiet and the air was full of silence and freshly baked bread.
“Och, we made it,” said Gadget Grandad. “The launch is the hard part. Floating safely in space is a weight off my mind.”
“And the rest of you,” giggled Ross.
“I can fly like an eagle,” whooped Isla, flapping up to the ceiling then down to the carpet.
“The eagle has landed,” chuckled Gadget Grandad. “Right, we’re looking for Fergus. He’ll be somewhere big enough to mix a giant mixture.”
He somersaulted onto the sofa and pulled a periscope down from the ceiling. It was made from a long plastic pipe and lots of old pairs of glasses. The far end keeked out of the chimney like a shy Santa and swiveled as Gadget Grandad glanced about.
“Let’s take a look at the Man In The Moon. His left eye is an old crater,” he said, fiddling a dial to get the image less blurry. “My guess is Fergus will use the crater as a mixing bowl and cover it with the giant clootie banner he stole while I was Walter-skiing. Then he will bake everything rock hard in the rays of the sun.”
When the crater came into focus, Gadget Grandad bounced off the sofa in shock and tartan slippers.
“What’s wrong?” asked Isla.
“The crater is empty! Fergus must have already taken his clootie dumpling off the Moon to cool down in space!” He rushed to the window. “Behold! A super-sized suet pudding set to collide with Planet Earth!”
The twins gawped like goldfish as soon as they saw it.
Mmmm. Goldfish.
“It’s amazing,” said Ross.
“It’s moving,” said Isla.
“It’s a meteor,” warned Gadget Grandad, “full of peril and sultanas! In two minutes it will shoot past us and plummet to Earth.”
“If only we could hit it out of the way,” said Isla.
“I’d need a bigger comic,” sighed Ross, swishing his so hard he burst a milk carton and a delicious white weightless blob bobbled out.
I spun my tail like a propeller and floated towards the milky treat.
Mmmm. Milk.
Me-slurp.
Unable to stop moving, I bounced against Gadget Grandad’s brawsome bagpipes and rebounded out of control. Isla dived to her left and caught me like a furry football.
“That catapulted cat has given me an idea,” cried Gadget Grandad, flipping down his gold visor and slipping on two seaside flippers. “With a bit of luck – and a lot of bounce – my bagpipes can boing the clootie dumpling away from Earth! You’re a genius, Porri
dge!”
Aye, I am!
22
Dumpling Danger
Gadget Grandad connected the bread maker to his bagpipes with a stretchy vacuum-cleaner hose. He filled the machine with yeast and carried everything to the ramp.
“You cannae breathe in space, so while I’m out here in my space suit you’ve got to keep the loft airtight.” Grandad’s voice crackled through a tinny helmet speaker cannily made from a tin can. “Lock the door after me.”
The twins shut the steel door to the airlock and lowered the ramp, then Gadget Grandad somersaulted into space. We rushed to the window to see him float by and turn the machine up to full.
A stream of yeasty bubbles bobbled through the long hose into the bagpipes, which gobbled them greedily and doubled in size.
Then doubled once more.
Then again and again.
Soon Gadget Grandad was a wee silver speck beside a huge tartan blob. Still it grew.
Suddenly I saw a chilling sight – so chilling it cooled my blood and a nearby flask of tea. The deadly clootie dumpling was close now. It was as big as the biggest thing you can imagine, and it was picking up speed (because of gravy or gravity or something). A ragged clootie rag streamed behind it.
The stupendous suet comet streaked past the window and missed us by a whisker.
Me-phew.
But the danger wasn’t over! All at once the loft shuddered and started to move. It was being dragged through the inky darkness by the comet!
“That pesky clootie rag has snagged on the chimney!” warned Gadget Grandad through his visor radio. “It must be cut free!”
“It’s dragging us like a fish on a line!” yelled Ross.
Mmmm. Fish.
“Someone has to go outside,” said Isla. “Gadget Grandad’s already reached the clootie dumpling.”
I was already wearing a wee space suit and jam jar helmet. So it had to be me! It was time to save the day – and the world!
I needed a way to cut up the clootie and spotted the answer in a box of junk. Groovy Gran’s old false teeth!
I picked them up and bounced into the airlock.
“Good luck, Porridge!” said Ross, closing the door behind me.
I didn’t hear him as I had jam in my ears. The ramp quickly lowered and I saw the Earth spinning before me like a muddy blue ball.
I climbed up the steep roof like a mountaineer climbing Everest (which was now just a pimple on the Earth’s bahookie).
At the top of the roof, I spotted the problem. One end of the Clootie rag was wrapped around the chimney, too tight to unwind. I clacked the false teeth like a castanet and swiftly chopped the cloth in two.
The loft spun away, free at last.
“Well done, that cat,” crackled Gadget Grandad. “Time for my bagpipes to BOING that dumpling away from Earth.”
He detached the hose…
…and the BRAWSOME BAGPIPES jetted towards the DASTARDLY DUMPLING. I’ve just invented those nicknames, cool eh?
I clung to the chimney and crossed my tail for good luck.
3… 2… 1…
The BRAWSOME BAGPIPES struck the DASTARDLY DUMPLING! For one brief moment they both embraced like giant sumo wrestlers. Then the BRAWSOME BAGPIPES boinged the DASTARDLY DUMPLING back the way it had come.
Off it zoomed – straight back to the Moon – into the crater – and onto a larch shed. And that was the moment Fergus McFungus got his just desserts.
Och, and a very sore head!
23
Just In Time!
“Porridge!” yelled Isla. “You’ve got to get back on board quickly.”
“You too, Gadget Grandad,” roared Ross.
While I pulled myself towards the airlock ramp, the old man waited anxiously for the loft to spin near him. As quick as he could, in slow-motion, he inched up the ramp and dawdled to safety. It started to close automatically behind him.
“Where’s Porridge?” said Ross.
Here, I hissed, floating through the closing gap.
Two gloved hands pulled me inside —
CLANG!
Just in time! Gadget Grandad cuddled me like a much-loved tartan teddy bear.
The twins hurriedly let us in.
“You saved the day,” they whooped.
“Porridge,” said Gadget Grandad, “is the bravest tartan cat I’ve ever seen.”
Aye, that’s because I’m the only one.
“Do you think anyone on Earth noticed the deadly dumpling danger?” asked Isla.
“Doesn’t look like it” muttered Ross, peering down at the wee round ball. “It’s just an ordinary Friday for them.”
“And for me,” chuckled Gadget Grandad.
“We’ve foiled Fergus for now.”
“Will he be back?” asked Ross.
The old man shrugged, “Who knows?”
Well I do actually, and I’m not going to tell Gadget Grandad, or the twins – or you – that fiendish Fergus will probably maybe definitely turn up again. It’s my wee secret.
Er, did I just tell you?
Me-oops.
OK – don’t tell anyone else. Not even your brother or sister or your imaginary friend or a dug. NEVER tell a dug any secrets because it will bark them to every other dug in town at twilight, every night, forever!
Maybe longer.
24
The Last Chapter
After breakfast the next day, the twins picked up their rucksacks to go home and we joined Gadget Grandad by the front gate. He was perched on a homemade trandem bicycle, which boasted three wheels and three saddles.
“Look, three sets of pedals,” said Ross.
“Enough for those of us with two legs,” said Gadget Grandad. “Porridge can sit in the front basket.”
I leapt in – no pedalling for me. The wobbly contraption was soon whizzing through the streets, picking up speed and funny looks. Gadget Grandad fell off outside the opticians, but that was ok because he needed new glasses anyway.
“I’m a bit rusty,” he explained.
“So is this bike,” said Isla.
We rattled home as fast as their legs could carry me.
***
Mum opened the door because we don’t have a cat flap or a twins flap.
“Did you have a nice time?” she asked in that Did-you-have-a-nice-time? mum-voice that mums do.
“It was brilliant!” said Ross.
“The best week ever!” added Isla.
Mum was so surprised her mouth fell open and she swallowed a wee midgie.
Gadget Grandad tickled my ears. “Now you know why I don’t do anything on Sundays,” he said to the twins. “I need a wee rest after an adventurous week.”
“We’d really very much definitely love to come round more often,” said Isla.
Ross nodded urgently in agreement.
A magical smile crinkled Gadget Grandad’s face. “Maybe Gran can take you out with her next time? Her awesome adventures really rock!”
Ross hopped like excited popcorn. “What does she do?”
“Last week she popped out to get ice for her lemonade.”
“Where?” asked Isla.
“The North Pole!”
Isla gasped. “That’s incredibly cool!”
“Exactly,” chuckled Gadget Grandad.
This news was just what the children wanted to hear. Things would never be boring again, apart from electric drills and woodworm.
When he was halfway down the road, Gadget Grandad was still waving and saying, “See you soon!”
Slowly he cycled out of sight – and this story. But it was nearly the end anyway so that’s OK.
There was just enough space at the end of the chapter for Ross and Isla to find me a fishy biscuit treat.
Me-yum yum yum yum!
I love fishy biscuits.
To Jack and Phyllis, the grooviest grandparents ever! – A.D.
To my three adventurous boys: Philip, Peter and Paul – Y.S.
1
Hi, I’m Porridge the Tartan Cat.
Once upon a table, I tumbled into a tin of tartan paint! So now I’m the planet’s first ever tartan cat. See? I’ve got more stripes than a tiger on a deckchair.
I live here in Tattiebogle Town with the fantastic McFun family. There’s Gadget Grandad, Groovy Gran, Mini Mum, Dino Dad, and the twins: Roaring Ross and Invisible Isla. I’m their owner and look after them all day! At night, I curl up and cat-a-log their brawsome adventures. I call them the Big Yins, and they’re full of surprising secrets. Why not curl up with me and read all about Groovy Gran?
But please turn the pages quietly.
It’s time for my catnap.
Me-yawn.
2
The Chapter After Chapter 1
One morning, just after this chapter had begun, Ross heard a terrifying growl outside the back door.
GRRRRR!
“What was that?” he cried, hiding under the kitchen table.
“That was Porridge growling like a wee dug,” giggled Isla.
It wasn’t all of me, just my grumpy belly roaring, FEED ME NOW! I was outside and my food was inside, so I dashed hungrily towards the cat flap —
Then I remembered there wasn’t one.
Me-owch!
Ross opened the door and peeled me off it with his fingers and a sigh (but mostly with his fingers). He took me inside and soon I was doing my morning exercises – one hundred laps of a milky cat bowl.
Me-licious!
The twins were on the lookout for Gran. She was coming to stay with us because Mum and Dad were going on holiday.
