Marge and the Secret Tunnel

by Eglantine Ceulemans

2. Finish leftover lasagne in the fridge

  3. Get Jemima’s school bag ready

  I am so nervous about show-and-tell. I haven’t even found a special thing to talk about. I’ve nearly finished packing my school bag, but I got distracted by Jakey building us an epic fort out of sofa cushions.

  DING DONG!

  My little brother and I bolt out of our fort to meet Marge. Our babysitter is wearing an orange tutu, ballet slippers and a pink scarf over her hair. She twirls into the hallway.

  ‘Been at a dance class, Marge?’ asks Mummy as she kisses us goodbye.

  Marge looks surprised. ‘Why would she think that?’ she whispers to me, which makes me smile.

  ‘The list is on the fridge. Have a great day!’ calls Mummy from the door. ‘And remember, kids, Archie is in charge!’

  We all crack up laughing, because Archie is our pug-nosed puppy.

  ‘Just kidding,’ says Mummy as she closes the door.

  ‘Marge is in charge!’ chants Jake.

  As Marge unravels the scarf from her head, out pours her rainbow hair. But our babysitter looks unusually serious as she shows us a piece of paper. ‘I found this taped to a tree.’

  It’s a poster with a photo of a kitten, and in big letters at the top it says M-I-S-S-I-N-G.

  I know that fluffy white kitty! She’s my new neighbour Angie’s kitten and she’s called Clover.

  ‘Clover is missing!’ I shout at Jakeypants. He is a slower reader than me.

  ‘Your mum’s list will have to wait for a bit,’ says Marge. ‘We need to stage Operation Rescue Clover immediately.’

  Jakey and I crowd around the MISSING poster.

  I can’t imagine how worried Angie must be. Clover is only six weeks old! She must be so frightened, being lost outside all by herself.

  Jakey must be thinking the same thing, because he says, in a very serious voice, ‘We need to find her ASAP.’

  I nod. ASAP is short for As Soon As Possible.

  Marge explains that our first task as ‘cat detectives’ is to prepare our equipment. She empties out my school bag. I’m sure that Mummy won’t mind as long as we put everything back, and we start to pack it with the things we might need today.

  Jakey packs a magnifying glass because that is what detectives in stories have. I get binoculars, and Daddy’s gardening gloves, in case we have to reach into somewhere yucky to save Clover.

  ‘Cats love Italian food,’ explains Marge as she takes the leftover lasagne out of the fridge. Do cats really like pasta? I wonder. And what are we going to eat for lunch?

  ‘The most famous pizza maker in Florence was a cat named Gio del Margherita,’ Marge tells us, putting the leftovers in a lunch box. ‘Fellow feline friends would flock to her restaurant from all over Italy.’

  I explain to Jakey that ‘feline’ means cat, but he is drooling at the thought of pizza and I’m not sure he hears me.

  ‘Sadly, she retired after the birth of her kittens and got her paws on an ice-cream parlour in the Tuscan hills.’

  I lick my lips. I wouldn’t mind an ice cream right now …

  It’s a beautiful sunny day, but as we stride along with Archie at our side, we realise something: Clover could be anywhere in our whole neighbourhood. How are we going to find a tiny kitten?

  ‘Let’s see …’ says Marge. ‘We need to think like Clover. That is how great detectives work. We have to act like Clover, walk like Clover … We must be like Clover, in order to find her!’

  Marge is right. If I think like a kitten it will be easier to imagine where a kitten might go. I purr my agreement.

  Our babysitter is down on the pavement on her hands and knees. ‘Meowwww,’ she calls back to me. Jakey and I get down too.

  We cat-walk all the way down the street, imagining our furry tails held high above us. It’s fun seeing the world from down here, but Archie is looking very perplexed. We’re three cats walking a dog!

  ‘What else do cats do?’ asks Jakey.

  ‘Cats give themselves baths,’ I tell him. I’ve seen Clover lick herself all over with her scratchy tongue.

  Jakey starts licking his own arm. ‘Blech,’ he says. ‘Tastes like sun cream!’

  After scratching our claws on a tree, we cross the street to the park – making sure to take our time, because that’s what cats do.

  ‘Keep an eye out for cat tracks,’ Marge says as we walk through the gates. We’re all hoping to find some clues that the kitten has been here, like pawprints in the sand or cat poop.

  Suddenly Marge takes off, running towards the playground. She’s spotted some birds and she’s chasing them, just like a real cat! Archie loves to chase things too and he tears after her, with Jakey and I close behind, meowing as we go.

  We race past a little toddler.

  ‘Meeeeoooowwww,’ she says. She thinks our cat detective work is a game and she wants to join in! So do some of her friends, and soon all the children in the playground are chasing after us. There is a huge pack of kids pretending to be cats now, and lots of very confused dogs. There’s meowing and barking and irritated squawking from the pigeons. Some two-year-olds are even scratching and hissing!

  Jakey and Archie take it in turns to chase each other around a tree, and Marge climbs up into its branches for a rest.

  ‘My legs are tired,’ complains Jakey after a while.

  And that’s when I realise something. ‘If Jakey’s legs are tired, then Clover would be far too small to walk all this way. So she must be lost a lot closer to home!’

  I really am a great detective!

  ‘Well done, Jemima!’ congratulates Marge. ‘You really have tapped into your inner kitten.’

  So we decide to head home and search there. I really hope I am right. We need to find Clover soon, and I am also a little bit worried about Mummy’s back-to-school list. I haven’t prepared anything for my show-and-tell, and my school stuff is all over the floor at home …

  We’re back on our street, just a few houses down from Angie’s, when something on the pavement catches Archie’s attention. Whatever he’s sniffing at, it is almost invisible. Jakey takes out his magnifying glass and we all have a look.

  ‘A WHISKER!’ cries Marge, as I carefully pick up a little white hair from the ground. It is very, very small.

  ‘Are you sure it’s a whisker?’ Jakey asks. ‘It could be a strand of wizard’s hair.’

  ‘Or a mouse’s skipping rope!’ I add.

  ‘Let’s do the whisker test,’ says Marge. ‘A kitten’s whisker is one of the tickliest things on the planet – ticklier than a feather, ticklier than a hand-knitted jumper, ticklier even than Santa’s beard. Now, whom shall we test it on?’

  ‘Jemima.’ Jakey points to me. ‘She’s not ticklish at all. Not on her feet, or her sides, or under her arms.’

  It’s true. Jakey’s really easy to tickle, but Daddy says I’m 100% tickleproof.

  I lift up my chin to begin the tickle test. Marge holds the tiny hair at my neck and slowly wiggles it around. At first I can’t feel anything, but then I begin to feel little bubbles on the surface of my skin. Before I can stop it, I burst into a giggle.

  ‘It’s definitely a whisker,’ Jakey says solemnly. Archie yips in agreement.

  Only Clover could have a whisker that tiny, so she must have come this way! We keep searching, checking the trees nearby for scratch marks.

  At the next house along, Marge gets very excited by a small break in the chain-link fence.

  ‘Aha!’ she cries, waving a finger in the air.

  We crouch down for a closer look. There is a minuscule tuft of white fur stuck to the fence. It looks like kitten fur!

  This does seem like the sort of place a kitten would go exploring, but Marge says that we need to be sure. She gets down on all fours again and crawls towards the gap in the fence. Her head and arms squeeze through, but the rest of her is not going to fit.

  Before I can warn her, Marge’s belly becomes lodged in the fence, like pineapple in jell
y!

  ‘I’m stuck!’ Marge sounds surprised, and her little legs are swinging this way and that.

  Jakey takes hold of her feet and tries pulling our babysitter back towards us, but that doesn’t work.

  ‘Try pushing,’ I suggest, but when we do she doesn’t move an inch.

  ‘This reminds me of the time I got my head trapped inside my best ballgown,’ Marge tells us. ‘The Queen thought I was a headless ghost, when she found me wandering the palace corridors! Luckily I was rescued by Admiral Cecil Charles, right before I was about to tumble down the palace stairwell.’

  Oh no, what do we do? I wish our parents were here. Daddy would have a rescue plan. He once managed to free my finger from a doll’s teacup, using only butter. And he told me all about when he was little and he got his head stuck in a banister! His mummy (my nan) wasn’t very happy, because she had to call the Fire Brigade.

  Wait, that’s it!

  ‘We’re going to have to call the Fire Brigade,’ I announce.

  Jakey’s eyes are nearly popping out of his head. There is nothing my four-year-old brother wants more than to meet a real-life fireman, but I can tell he’s also nervous. Calling the Fire Brigade is serious. We learned about it in school, and how you should never call them out unless it’s an emergency. But I don’t think there’s any other way to rescue our babysitter …

  Marge agrees, and we dig through her giant bag and find her phone. I don’t want to call the Queen by mistake, but Marge’s arms are on the other side of the fence. What will we do?

  ‘Don’t worry, I will dial with my toes. That’s how I normally make phone calls.’

  Marge kicks off her ballet shoes, wiggles her toes and starts tapping away at the screen. She presses each number with a different toe.

  It isn’t long before we hear the screech of sirens. They get louder and louder, and soon a huge red fire truck with shiny silver wheels is racing down our street!

  Out climb two firefighters, a man and a woman. They look a bit like space aliens in their big yellow suits. Their faces are streaked with dirt and the fireman shakes my hand.

  ‘Hello,’ he says. ‘I’m Andrew, and this is Alice.’

  I smile shyly at Alice. Jakey hides behind me as I explain what has happened.

  Alice and Andrew quickly get to work. They ask Marge how she is feeling, and she requests a cup of English breakfast tea and a plate of scones.

  Alice and Andrew laugh heartily.

  ‘This isn’t a restaurant – it’s a rescue!’ Alice tells her.

  Andrew goes to the back of the truck and returns with a giant pair of scissors. He cuts into the wire around Marge’s body and Alice peels the metal back. She is wearing thick gloves, so I put on Daddy’s gardening gloves and help her.

  ‘I’m free!’ Marge does a little high kick, followed by a curtsy. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she says to Alice and Andrew.

  You are not going to believe what happened next. That’s right, Alice and Andrew let us all scamper aboard the fire engine!

  Jakey and I check out all the cool gadgets inside, like the emergency bell and the flashing lights on the control panel.

  I think I might want to be a firefighter someday.

  ‘I once made the mistake of sitting too close to a candle at the midsummer picnic while helping a family of squirrels steal a French baguette,’ Marge tells us. She shakes her head. ‘My silk bloomers were singed and I couldn’t sit down for a week!’

  Alice and Andrew chuckle, and then Alice tells Marge that if her knickers catch on fire again, she must remember to Stop, Drop and Roll.

  While Marge rolls around on the floor to practise, Alice lets Jakey and I try on a fire suit. It turns out the fire suits are so big that we can both squeeze into one! I climb into the left leg and he climbs into the right!

  Then Andrew lets us hold the hose. It’s miles long and super-heavy, and when he turns the water on for a minute, Jakey and I nearly fall over! The gushing water pulls your whole body with it. It’s like trying to wrestle a giant python!

  Before we go, Alice and Andrew agree to let us pretend to drive the fire engine. But just as we are about to sit down, there is a crackling voice over the radio.

  ‘Engine Nine, we have reports of a marooned feline in your vicinity. Can you respond?’

  ‘That means that a cat has got stuck somewhere,’ Alice explains.

  But I know what feline means, and I can tell that Jakey does too. It could be Clover! We nearly forgot all about her.

  I tell the fire people that we are looking for a lost kitten, and they invite us to ride with them to see if the stuck kitty is Clover.

  Hurray!

  ‘Buckle up! We need to leave,’ Andrew calls as Jakey, Marge and I slide into our seats.

  NEEEEE-NAW!

  NEEEEEEE-NAAWWW!!

  The fire truck takes off, siren blaring. It’s VERY loud and my head is beginning to feel rattled like a bell. I cover Archie’s ears, but luckily we only have to go a little way down our street before we see some people gathered under a tall tree.

  There, on the highest branch, is something small and white.

  ‘Are you sure that’s a cat?’ Alice says to a woman on the pavement, as we step down from the truck. ‘It’s so tiny!’

  Marge shrugs. ‘It looks like the Duchess of Wheelbarrow’s missing furry white mitten.’

  ‘Quick!’ I tell Jakey. ‘The binoculars!’

  He gets them out of my backpack and, sure enough, it is Clover up there! Angie will be so happy!

  Andrew is peering up through the binoculars now.

  ‘How will you get her down?’ Jakey asks.

  ‘Watch this,’ Alice says with a smile. She heads back to the fire engine and presses a large red button.

  SQUEAK … CLUNK …

  Slowly, slowly, a ladder rises up from the back of the engine. Inch by inch, it unfolds and heads up to the sky.

  Andrew climbs the steel ladder up towards the kitten. He has a small cage with him. When he gets near Clover, he carefully leans out to reach her.

  But Clover is scared of the firefighter in his big suit and helmet. The kitten crawls backwards and then darts onto an even higher branch.

  Andrew tries again and again, but Clover is too scared. I get pins and needles in my foot and my neck aches from staring upwards. Eventually Andrew gives up and climbs back down to the ground with a sigh.

  Oh no – what will happen to Clover? She can’t sleep up in that tree all night!

  Luckily Marge has a bright idea. ‘Let me go up,’ she begs. ‘I trained the Queen’s cats – Fluffybum, Bunnykins and Waggytail – to embroider their initials on silk handkerchiefs. If I can do that, then surely I can convince one little kitten to come to safety.’

  Before they can stop her, Marge kicks off her ballet shoes, grabs my rucksack and heads up the ladder. She is so brave!

  Up, up and up she goes, singing to Clover in her meowing cat-voice:

  She is holding out the leftover lasagne, and I can’t help thinking that our babysitter looks rather silly! But Clover seems to like Marge, and edges close enough for her to grab the kitten and kiss her head.

  HOORAY! Jakey and I cheer and clap. Clover is safe.

  Triumphantly, Marge looks down at us, and then she suddenly gasps. I don’t think she realised how far up she’d got!

  ‘Arghhh!’ she screams, clutching at the sides of the ladder. ‘I’m stuck, again!’ Her eyes are pinched shut and her face is deathly pale. ‘I’m afraid of heights!’

  ‘Don’t worry, we will rescue you both!’ shouts Alice. She adjusts the ladder, then climbs up and clicks a harness onto Marge and Clover. Slowly they make their wobbly way down together.

  I can’t watch; my palms are sweaty and there are butterflies in my tummy. Then I hear a purring in my ear and feel four paws on my shoulder. It’s Clover, and Marge is standing safely beside me!

  Jakey, Marge and I all hug, and Andrew finds Jakey and me plastic fire helmets that we can keep!
Then I hold Clover as she scoffs the leftover lasagne.

  Alice and Andrew drive us up the street to Angie’s house.

  ‘CLOVER!’ Angie cries happily when she sees her furry friend. Angie’s mum is so grateful that she gives everyone ice cream.

  We are just saying goodbye to our new firefighter friends when our parents arrive home. You should have seen their faces when they spotted the big fire engine outside our neighbours’ house!

  ‘Thanks again for your help, Jakey and Jemima,’ shouts Alice as they drive away. ‘We couldn’t have done it without you. You too, Marge!’

  ‘Kids?!’ Daddy’s jaw is open.

  Jakey jumps into Mummy’s arms, his fire hat tipping backwards.

  ‘I held a real fire hose, and Marge got stuck in a tree!’

  We tell them all about the dramatic rescue of Clover. Mummy is super-proud of us and thinks it will make a great story for show-and-tell, but I’m still worried about one thing: I haven’t packed my bag ready for school. Still, at least now I have a fire helmet and a great adventure to tell my class on our first day back.

  As she hugs us goodbye, Marge gives me the rucksack.

  ‘Well done, my little cat-catchers,’ she says.

  And I swear our babysitter must be magical, because inside are all my books and pencils, ready for school – as well as Jake’s magnifying glass, my binoculars and Clover’s silver-white whisker.

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