Further Adventures of Pelle No-Tail

by Gösta Knutsson

  ‘Come in, come in! said Fritz. ‘We’re over here – come on through!’

  ‘Merry Christmas to you all here in the basement!’ said Pelle. ‘Have you moved? You used to live at the other end.’

  ‘Yes, we just moved to storage unit number 12,’ said Fritz. ‘You see, we needed a little more space and Frida also thought it was too draughty in number 4 and there was no heating or anything either. So now we live in number 12, like I said. Come in, come in! I think Frida should have a little slurp of milk to offer you.’

  It was quite cosy in storage unit number 12 and Frida was friendly, even though she couldn’t help but scratch a little when she shook paws with Pelle.

  ‘I just thought I’d pop in to wish you a merry Christmas while the worst of the snow passes over outside,’ said Pelle.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Fritz. ‘Well yes, it’s Christmas, like you said. But look … here comes Måns!’

  Pelle jumped. There, standing in the doorway, was his old enemy Måns, eyes gleaming.

  Måns approached slowly and sniffed at Pelle.

  ‘It appears you have a visit from the aristocracy,’ said Måns to Fritz.

  Nobody said anything.

  ‘I suppose you’re here to tell us what you got for Christmas,’ said Måns.

  ‘Well, yes, I did get a couple of things,’ said Pelle.

  ‘Jojo, I thought as much,’ said Måns. ‘Go on, then, tell us what you got!’

  ‘But you have to promise not to be jealous!’ said Pelle good-naturedly.

  ‘Yes, just tell us!’ said Måns, and Fritz and Frida giggled.

  ‘Jaha, well, first I got an elephant,’ said Pelle.

  ‘A what?’ said Frida.

  ‘You should listen,’ said Fritz. ‘He said an elephant. One of those peculiar desert animals with humps.’

  ‘No, now you’re getting confused with camels,’ laughed Pelle. ‘An elephant has a trunk, which he can use to water gardens, and he also has tusks, which you make pianos out of.’

  ‘Well, piano keys, at least,’ said Måns, looking scornful.

  ‘Except, you see, my elephant had only one tusk,’ said Pelle.

  ‘Well, did it have a tail?’ said Måns. ‘Did it have a tail, an animal’s greatest pride and joy?’

  ‘But I got other Christmas presents,’ said Pelle hastily. He didn’t feel like talking about tails.

  ‘Well, what?’ said Fritz.

  ‘Perhaps you got one of those camel things?’ said Frida.

  ‘No, you see, I got a painting, and not just any old painting, believe you me.’

  ‘I’ve never been interested in art,’ said Frida and yawned.

  ‘But this painting was really funny,’ said Pelle. ‘It has me in the fairytale forest, surrounded by the seven dwarfs.’

  ‘Aha,’ said Måns, his eyes gleaming more than usual. ‘Aha, that’s the seven dwarfs from the Snow White fairytale. Well, I’ve heard Murre from Skogstibble tell that one. Did you say you were one of the seven dwarfs? Then you must have been Dopey!’

  ‘I was not!’ said Pelle. ‘I said I was there together with the seven dwarfs.’

  ‘Now I’ll tell you something funny,’ said Fritz.

  ‘Well, go ahead then!’ said Pelle.

  ‘Jo,’ said Fritz, ‘I think the picture should show Pelle No-Tail and the seven tails instead!’

  Oh! How Måns and Frida laughed! Not to mention Fritz. He looked around at the others smugly.

  But Pelle used the opportunity to slink away. Through the basement, out onto Upper Slottsgatan, and home. Huge snowflakes fell onto his whiskers but he didn’t care. In any case, better to get snow in your whiskers than be teased by Fritz and Frida.

  15

  Welcome, little cat!

  Christmas Day is usually spent sitting at home, reading the books you’ve received for Christmas, cracking nuts and eating figs and lighting the candles in the Christmas tree, and that’s precisely what happened at Pelle No-Tail’s home as well.

  But later in the afternoon, Birgitta and Olle’s mother said: ‘Now, we can’t just sit around here, growing drowsy reading our books and newspapers. Let’s come up with a game we can all play together.’

  ‘You know, I rather like the way things are now,’ said Papa from his armchair. ‘But as long as it’s not too tiring, I suppose I could join in and play for a while.’

  ‘Well then, Papa has to name all of Snow White’s seven dwarfs!’ said Birgitta.

  ‘Of course,’ said Papa. ‘First we have Happy, and there’s Doc and Dopey. Those two are easy to remember. But then – well, is that Pelle I see yawning in his basket – that makes me remember Sleepy. But then that’s it.’

  ‘Grumpy and Bashful, which starts with B, just like me,’ said Birgitta, ‘so I never forget that one. But who’s the seventh?’

  Just then, Pelle No-Tail sneezed over in his corner.

  ‘Sneezy!’ shouted Papa and Birgitta in unison.

  Pelle was sleepy as he lay in his basket on his soft cushion. Birgitta had put the beautiful painting he had received for Christmas next to him, and he lay there looking at it. Yes, the painting was lovely. The trees in the forest were lush and green, and some of them were laden with delicious yellow fruit. The soft grass was covered with bright mushrooms and flowers in every colour of the rainbow. Ladybirds and other little critters crawled among the bluebells and clover and lilies of the valley; there was a snail, stretching out his antennae towards Pelle. Pelle wasn’t exactly frightened, but he did think the snail was a little too close for comfort. Flocks of the most beautifully coloured birds circled the treetops, twittering all the pretty songs of the forest.

  *

  In a forest, deep and dense

  Live seven dwarfs – count them, yes!

  Bashful, Grumpy, Doc and Sneezy,

  Dopey, Happy, yawn – that’s Sleepy!

  In a cosy hut they dwell,

  They all think it suits them well.

  So, one fine day, along comes Pelle –

  Pelle No-Tail, you know the fella!

  Welcome, welcome! cried the dwarfs,

  Delightedly they shook his paw.

  It’s fun with all our forest friends,

  We’ve games galore, there is no end!

  Welcome, welcome, little cat,

  Here with us is where it’s at!

  So sweet a friend we haven’t had

  Since Snow White left – it’s just too bad.

  So now, let’s play – our happy band!

  Hand in paw, and paw in hand.

  16

  In the fairytale forest

  ‘Jaha,’ said Doc and stroked his white beard back and forth. ‘It really is very nice to see you here, Pelle!’

  ‘Can’t you tell us a cheerful, funny cat story?’ said Happy.

  ‘Yes, do, while we lie here, resting!’ said Sleepy and yawned.

  ‘Can’t you tell us about … about the beau … the beautiful girl-cat Ingrid?’ asked Bashful and blushed red all the way up to his ears.

  ‘Rubbish!’ said Grumpy, glaring furiously at him.

  Dopey said nothing, because he usually said nothing. He just looked friendly. But suddenly, Sneezy sneezed and Pelle No-Tail, who had nothing to steady himself on, flew up into the top of a tree, which turned out to be an orange tree. At least, there were oranges hanging from the highest branches. A woodpecker stuck his sharp beak into an orange and the most beautiful golden-pink orange juice ran out and down into the wide-open mouth of a deer standing below.

  ‘Perhaps I should introduce myself,’ said the woodpecker. ‘My name is Ephraim. If you please. Yes, we don’t normally trouble ourselves with titles here in the forest. Jo, you see that deer down there and I work as a team, so to speak. I poke a hole in the oranges for her and she gets her orange juice. Our oranges are so beautifully juicy, you don’t have to squeeze them to get the juice out. In return, she helps snuffle out pine nuts, which I think are terribly delicious.’

  Just then,
the deer called out from down below.

  ‘Hello up there!’ she said. ‘Stop talking so much and get on with the next orange instead!’

  ‘Okay!’ answered Ephraim (he had family in America, which is why he said ‘okay’!), and turning to Pelle, he said: ‘See, she’s quite impatient down there and she gets a little tetchy if I don’t get a move on with the oranges.’ And so Ephraim poked a hole in the next orange, and the juice poured down to the deer, who had just moved over so she was standing right under the orange that the woodpecker had just poked.

  ‘Fancy not letting her baby taste some!’ said Pelle. ‘The poor thing’s just standing there, licking her snout and looking hungry.’

  ‘She says orange juice isn’t good for young stomachs,’ said Ephraim.

  ‘She might be right about that,’ said Pelle. ‘Milk is probably better for her.’

  But now the dwarfs were calling out.

  ‘Hey ho!’ they shouted. ‘Hello, Pelle! Come down! We’re heading back to the cottage!’

  ‘I’m coming!’ answered Pelle and scooted quickly down the trunk of the orange tree. On the way, he stopped to shake paws with a friendly squirrel, and once he was down, the deer sniffed at him with her cold, wet snout. Then she licked him a couple of times with her big, sloppy tongue.

  ‘Our cat-tongues lick more elegantly,’ Pelle thought, ‘but that was nice of her.’ And he thanked the deer and nodded in a friendly fashion, and then sprang after the dwarfs who, with Doc at the front and Dopey at the back, were now heading off in a long line back to their cottage.

  ‘Well, here’s our cottage,’ said Doc, who was the spokesman. ‘Cosy, don’t you think?’

  ‘Very cosy,’ said Pelle. ‘Are there any good rat holes?’ he added, tilting his head to one side.

  ‘Yes, there are a few,’ said Doc, ‘but don’t you go gobbling up our rats. They’re handy to have around. They wind up the spider webs on Saturday nights, so it’s all neat and tidy for Sunday.’

  ‘Surely you could find some less appetising creatures to do those chores,’ said Pelle.

  ‘On Saturdays, we do a big tidy-up,’ Doc continued. ‘It was Snow White who started us off doing that when she was here. You should see the squirrels sweeping our floors. They do such a good job sweeping with their marvellous tails; it’s a sight to behold. You could probably use cat-tails too. Perhaps you could help – jaså, hmm, well then, I wasn’t thinking – hmm …’ said Doc.

  ‘What has he done with his tail?’ whispered Sleepy to Sneezy, so loudly that Pelle overheard. Pelle thought it was the right moment to change the subject.

  ‘Who does the washing up?’ he wondered.

  ‘Oh, lots of people,’ said Doc.

  ‘Yes, there are quite a few,’ said Happy, who thought it was high time that he, too, said something.

  ‘The deer help us out with the washing up, among others,’ continued Doc. ‘They have an amazing capacity to lick the plates clean with their magnificent tongues.’

  ‘But that would be something I could help with,’ said Pelle. ‘See, we cats have magnificent tongues, too.’

  ‘There are some dirty plates over there by the stove,’ said Doc. ‘You could try doing those, if you feel like it.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you ate herring on them last?’ said Pelle.

  ‘No, gooseberry pie,’ said Doc.

  ‘Yes, only gooseberry pie,’ said Happy.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ thought Pelle. ‘I suppose gooseberry pie tastes good enough, but a lick of herring would have been more pleasant, of course.’

  Well, Pelle licked all seven plates clean until they shone.

  But just as he finished the seventh, it grew suddenly dark, and there was a terrible thunder clap. Pelle looked out, and who should he see making his way over to the window, leaning into the cottage, but that nasty cat Måns – that nasty cat Måns with his gleaming, green eyes and his spiteful grin.

  17

  Måns disturbs the peace

  Quick as a flash, all seven dwarfs, who weren’t particularly brave, had run off and hidden themselves behind cupboards and under sofas and wherever else they could hide. Pelle stood stock-still as if he were nailed to the floor.

  ‘Jaså, here you are,’ said Måns, his voice sickly sweet. ‘Well, it’s good I found you. Do you know what I have here?’

  ‘Noooo,’ said Pelle, feeling very weak.

  ‘Jo,’ said Måns, ‘I have a basket here, and in the basket are some herring, the best, most beautiful herring you could find, caught specially for me and my friends.’

  ‘Herring is very tasty,’ said Pelle.

  ‘You could well say that,’ said Måns. ‘And now you can have the biggest and best herring, and you have to eat it all up, all of it!’

  ‘Don’t do it, Pelle!’ whispered Doc from behind the kitchen shelf. ‘The herring is poisoned!’

  ‘Don’t do it, Pelle!’ whispered Happy from the rubbish bin.

  ‘Don’t do it, Pelle!’ whispered all the other dwarfs.

  ‘Eat!’ roared Måns. ‘Just eat!’ And he held out the beautiful herring under Pelle’s nose. Just then, there was a tremendous bang and a dreadful shout.

  *

  ‘Goodness, that’s strange,’ said Olle and Birgitta’s Papa. ‘That’s twice you’ve dropped the book onto the floor in no time! Is it that hard to keep it in your hands?’

  ‘It must be because it’s so exciting,’ said Olle. ‘But I won’t drop it again.’

  Pelle looked up quickly.

  What’s all this? Here he was in his basket, on his soft cushion, at home in the same old living room. And right in front of him was the painting with him and the seven little dwarfs, perfectly motionless.

  He must have dreamt it all!

  ‘That was quite a lovely Christmas Day dream,’ thought Pelle. ‘Those dwarfs were really very kind little men. But what a shame Måns had to come and disturb the peace like that.’

  ‘Well, it was just what you’d expect from that old Måns,’ said Pelle to himself. And he started to clean himself.

  18

  Kristina, the concierge cat

  Often in Sweden the end of Christmas is celebrated by having a party to strip the decorations from the Christmas tree before the tree is taken down. This year, though, Birgitta and Olle didn’t have a party. In fact, Birgitta happened to fall ill around New Year, and when she was well again, the Christmas tree was already gone, which meant there was no chance to strip it. But she and Olle were to have another little party instead; it was to be a February party, and now the question was what they were to call it.

  ‘I suggest we have a Shrove Tuesday celebration with buns and milk,’ said Olle.

  ‘Good idea about the milk,’ thought Pelle, as he lay in his basket with one ear cocked to hear what the others were saying.

  ‘You only ever think about eating,’ said Birgitta. ‘No, I’d like to have a masquerade, where everybody has to dress up in fancy dress.’

  ‘How stupid,’ said Olle.

  ‘It’s not at all stupid,’ said Birgitta. ‘You can have great fun if you dress up, so nobody recognises anybody else, and you have to guess who you are.’

  ‘Surely you’d know who you are,’ said Olle.

  ‘You always have to be so silly,’ said Birgitta. ‘Anyway, you’re meant to guess who the others are, and that can be great fun. So, you could be a chimney sweep and then you wouldn’t have to wash.’

  Well, a masquerade it was to be, because as usual, Birgitta had her way. And it was a wonderful party. Birgitta dressed up as Robinson Crusoe, and Olle took Birgitta’s advice and was a chimney sweep. And then there was a clown and a postman, an old witch and Princess Snow White and Pomperipossa the Troll and many others. Pelle had lots of fun seeing all the colourful guests, and since he was given a big saucer of milk with a little dollop of cream, while the others drank juice, you can see why he enjoyed the masquerade.

  ‘Can you hear the aeroplane?’ asked the old witch.

>   But there was no aeroplane – it was Pelle, sitting in his corner, purring!

  *

  A few days later, when Pelle was taking his usual morning stroll through the streets around Åsgränd Alley, he thought he would pop in to say a quick hello to Fritz and Frida. He hadn’t seen them since Christmas, and it was always nice to have a little chat.

  Pelle slipped in to Fritz and Frida’s basement at Upper Slottsgatan.

  But there was no Fritz and no Frida.

  ‘Hello!’ called out Pelle. ‘Is anybody home?’

  A pair of big, green eyes glowed in the darkness and there stood a large lady cat, whom Pelle had never seen before.

  ‘Who are you?’ said the lady cat.

  ‘Pelle’s my name,’ said Pelle. ‘And to whom am I speaking?’

  ‘I’m the concierge cat here,’ said the other cat, ‘and my name is Concierge Kristina. Have you come to rent a flat? Storage unit number 12 is free, so you can have that one. Clean and tidy and modern, three rat holes and running water in the drainpipe outside, if it rains. Central and handy, no dogs in the house, and access to delicious herring heads every Friday, because the family two flights up always eats herring on Fridays. So, are you going to take it?’

  ‘Thanks, I’m very comfortable where I live now,’ said Pelle. ‘See, I’m sort of a family cat, myself.’

  ‘Oh, is that so?’ said Concierge Kristina. ‘And you seem to have left your tail at home with the family?’ she added.

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ continued Pelle hastily. ‘Storage unit number 12 is empty, you say? But Fritz and Frida only moved into number 12 recently.’

  ‘Oh, they’ve moved on again,’ said Concierge Kristina. ‘They were turned out, you could say, because Fridolf cried at night, and cranky old Lotta in the basement next door couldn’t put up with that. But of course she is old, Lotta, fourteen in the spring. So she said, either the Fritz family moves, or I will, she said, and then Fritz said we’d been thinking about moving for a while now, and so Fritz and Frida and Fridolf moved.’

  ‘Fridolf?’ said Pelle. ‘I didn’t know they’d had a baby.’

  ‘Yes indeed,’ said Concierge Kristina, and looked pleased. ‘A neat little bundle, he is.’