by Alan Dapré
“That’s the last we’ll see of her,” whooped Ross, really quietly because he was still wee.
“Great teamwork,” said Mini Mum, giving us a wee hug. “I love happy endings.”
So do I. But this isn’t the end yet. We still have to go to the next chapter and hope Vijay can make everyone big again.
See you there.
24
A Recipe For Success
Back at the café, all was calm. Vijay was quietly tidying up after lots of baking. He had re-stocked his kitchen, and it was now cluttered with open cookbooks. There were stacks of sticky stuff in the sink.
“It’s a bit of a mess,” he mumbled happily to himself, then he clapped with delight when he saw me come in and vanished in a cloud of flour.
“Porridge! You’re free at last!” He reappeared with a bright smile that lit up the café. When he saw Moggiarty, his bright smile lit up the whole street! “What a gorgeous wee pal you’ve made too!”
Moggiarty stuck his tail up, jumped onto the counter and padded over to Vijay, leaving a trail of floury footprints. He rubbed his whiskery chin against Vijay’s whiskery chin, and purred like a happy motorbike.
So that was that. Moggiarty winked at me, curled up in a cake tin, and made himself at home!
“How did you get on?” asked Ross.
“All my recipes were half-baked at first,” said Vijay. “Then I found one that might do the trick. It’s ma great-great granny’s great-great recipe for self-raising shortbread.”
I keeked through the glass oven door.
Me-yum!
“It looks baked to purr-fection,” said Moggiarty, stealing my line. Fortunately humans can’t speak Cat anyway.
Vijay pulled on his oven gloves and took out a hot tray. The self-raising shortbread smelt delicious. He put it down and Moggiarty fanned it with his tail.
Cool.
The Wee Yins quickly picked a chunk each. They didn’t want to be the size of a mouse any more.
Mmmm. Mouse.
“I hope it works,” squeaked Mini Mum.
So did I. We were running out of flour. And chapters.
Vijay shrugged. “Super-short shortbread made you all small, so I’m hoping self-raising shortbread will make you all tall!”
He moved a few tables and stacked some chairs, making a space in the middle of the room. Then he scooped up the Wee Yins and placed them gently on the floor. He wished them luck and took a step back.
“Let’s take a nibble and see what happens,” said Isla.
After nibble number one, they said they felt a pleasant fizzing and a bit of a stretch. With more nibbles the feeling grew and so did they – from both ends like a blown-up party balloon – until they were all as tall as me.
“So far so good,” muttered Ross. “This recipe is magic.”
Vijay winked. “So was ma great-great granny.”
Moggiarty watched, wide-eyed, as his earlier prey stretched like a piece of pulled chewing gum.
Soon the twins were the size of twins.
Purrfect.
Ross and Isla dropped their leftovers into the bin. Meanwhile, Mini Mum crunched the last chunk of her self-raising shortbread. It went straight down and she went straight up until she wasn’t mini any more. She was the size of a mum.
Me-phew!
She stared at the remaining self-raising shortbread in the tin. “Maybe just one more wee piece?”
You’re purrfect as you are! I purred, batting the shortbread pieces out of the window. Just to make sure nobody got any more BIG ideas.
25
Back Like A Bad Smell
“PORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR…”
The strangest sound floated in through the window as the last of Vijay’s shortbread somersaulted out.
Still yelling loudly, Windy Wendy turned up at the window like a bad Penny, whoever she is. She was climbing in, big crumbly shortbread erupting from her mouth like rocks from a volcano. “…RRRIDGE IS MINE. GIVE ME THAT TARTAN CAT!” She swallowed hard.
Me-help!
“Oh no! She’s scoffed the self-raising shortbread,” shouted Vijay. “Abandon café!”
We scarpered down the sunlit street. A huge shadow chased us, growing all the time.
“Look at me!” whooped Windy Wendy. “I’m as big as a bus.”
In just two strides she was by my side.
Me-help!
“Got you!” She scooped me up between giant fingers, because she was now officially a giant.
Windy Wendy cradled me in her huge hands as if I was the most precious baked bean in the world, even though I’m a tartan cat. She towered above the Big Yins, wobbling and wheezing like a leaky bouncy castle.
They could do nothing. I was DOOMED!
“Uh-oh!” she blurted, standing still as a statue.
I wondered what would happen next. Nothing happened! I waited a bit more and more things didn’t happen. Then some more nothings.
I prised her fingers open with my tail and gazed up at her frozen face.
Was I DOOMED?
Windy Wendy was strangely rooted to the spot. And her belly was making very odd sounds…
FLURGLE-GURGLE-SWIZZLE-FLIZZLE-FLURRBLE-GLURRBLE
“What’s happening?” she wailed, clutching her rumbly tum. I fell from her giant fumbly fingers…
… and landed on my feet (it’s a cat thing).
TRUMP-PA-RUMP!
Everyone in Tattiebogle Town held their noses, apart from Basil the Elephant, who held his trunk. Windy Wendy whooshed into the sky like a rude balloon doing raspberries.
The trembling Big Yins stared as she twirled over Tattiebogle Town. Higher and higher and further and further she swirled, until all we could see was a wee grubby smudge in the sky.
Soon that was gone, but the nose-watering pong hung about a lot ponger, er, longer.
Would we ever see Windy Wendy again? No one knew.
Except me.
And I’m not telling.
(Not until you read a book about Dino Dad…)
26
Guess What I Love?
This is the last chapter. I tried to write more but the story was running out. Och, and the ink. I’ve got just enough left to tell you about today, when everything was back to normal. Mum was experimenting in the kitchen again.
“I was going to make us toad in the hole,” she told the twins. “But I can’t find a recipe.”
“You just need some toads,” giggled Isla.
“And holes,” laughed Ross.
Dad walked into the kitchen, carrying a spade. “No more holes, please. I’ve dug twenty today.”
“You should borrow my Shovel-o-Tronic digger,” said Grandad, who was sitting at the table, fixing Mum’s food mixer… again. It got in a terrible spin when Mum tried making rock cakes, with, er, real rocks.
Me-oops.
“Why don’t you make tattie scones?” trilled Gran. “I always do.”
“Stay back, everyone. I know what I’m doing,” said Mini Mum, with a confident grin. She put on her goggles and picked up a fizzing test tube. I dived into my basket and put a furball in each ear.
“Today, we’re having bangers and mash for dinner, with extra BANG!”
Me-groan!
I’d rather have some fresh fishy biscuits, with extra FISHY BISCUITS!
Me-yum!
I LOVE FISHY BISCUITS!
Copyright
Young Kelpies is an imprint of Floris Books
Porridge the Tartan Cat and the Brawsome Bagpipes - first published in 2017 by Floris Books
© 2017 Alan Dapré
Porridge the Tartan Cat and the Bash-Crash-Ding - first published in 2017 by Floris Books
© 2017 Alan Dapré
Porridge the Tartan Cat and the Kittycat Kidnap - first published in 2017 by Floris Books
© 2017 Alan Dapré
This eBook edition published in 2017
Text © 2017 Alan Dapré. Illustrations © 2017 Floris Books
Alan Dapré and Yuliya S
omina have asserted their rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988 to be identified as the Author and Illustrator of this work
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the prior permission of Floris Books, Edinburgh
www.florisbooks.co.uk
British Library CIP data available
ISBN 9781782504047
