by Fin J. Ross
'Yeah. Well, he's a pretty distant relation. As I said, I've never met him and he wouldn't know me from a bowl of kitzbitz.'
'But even so,' Zsa Zsa says, 'I have to confess that almost puts me to shame. I mean Clawed Eastwood is my absolute most favourite actor. I always loved that classic line: Go ahead! Make me play!'
'I like his movie, Grand Torana,' the Colonel adds.
'Hey Fudgie,' says Big Dan, 'you wouldn't even have to leave the country to visit your jes. Look. All her filmys were made at Hollypudd on the Gold Coast.'
'Well there you go,' says the Colonel, 'Jock the Nose would have no trouble at all getting you there.'
Inda suddenly starts doing starpaws, and, in an excited voice, says, 'Hey Umbi, look at this. It's a picture of Sizi. She looks strange, like she's in a trance and she's got all sorts of weird jewellery on.'
I peer at the small picture on the screen; it looks like a catad. Before I even think to ask, Inda has clicked the woozel to enlarge the picture. Over Sizi's head are the words: Finding Feelichatra.
Inda starts to read the catad out loud: 'Find your feeli-zen, your inner hyla-chi, revisit your kisskiedom, uncover your past incatations, and learn how to make the most of your 99 lives.'
'Oh good grief, what a pile of kerfooey,' sniffs Maharani.
'It's obviously pitched at those who believe in this sort of woo woo nonsense.' I say.
'Hey, Sizi is not just the face of the catad. It says here she's just graduated as a medium,' Inda says.
'A medium what?' I ask.
'Oh Umbi,' Inda groans.
G.I. Juno
So Sizi is a clairvoyant, psychit feeli, who specialises in teaching the arts of feelichatra, hyla and, according to her bio, stimpledits.
Geez, even I haven't mastered feelichatra; it takes a long time to perfect that. I mean there's been plenty of times I think I've succeeded only to have Hayoo find me anyway. And very few feelis ever get the hang of hyla; most of us never learn to predict what a deuxjamb is about to do.
So I'm guessing Sizi must have a natural gift for vanishing into thin air. I get to wondering how it is that one of my own kisskies has learnt so much, so quickly. I can't determine whether to be proud of her or suspicious.
Obviously Inda is thinking the same thing.
'Corr, I can't believe an errie of mine is into all this woo woo stuff. Anyway, how could she know all this?' he says.
'I can't imagine, Inda, but I can say she certainly didn't learn it from me. As you know, I never got the chance to teach any of you any of this. I mean if I could predict what Darling and Hayoo were going to do next-'
'The secret of hyla, Fudgie,' Humbug addresses me authoritatively, 'is the fact that all deuxjambs are predictable; we just have to know how to be a step ahead of them.
'Bear in mind of course that some are clever at disguising what they're going to do, while others telegraph everything. For example, I can always tell when my deuxjamb is going to feed me. She gets up from in front of the TV-box as soon as the news-news is over and before the sporty comes on.
'I really don't think she likes the sporty, coz when the deuxjambs in the TV-box have sporty first, before the newsy bits, my deuxjamb gets really cranky. She gets all sweary and goes on and on with: agh! bloody footy! That's not news. Didn't anything important happen in the world today? Bloody footy.
'Whatever footy is, I don't like it either coz she gets loud.'
'Oh yes, I know what you mean,' I nod, trying not to give away the fact I don't have a clue what he's talking about. 'And please don't call me Fudgie'.
'Okay, cool. And it's sort of the same in the morning,' Humbug continues. 'When the music-clockbox beside her bed suddenly starts talking, which always frightens the itty dutties out of me, she always groans, rolls over, groans again, spreads her legs out - nearly tipping me off the bed - and then flings the bed cover off and jumps out.
'The weird thing about this is, that even though I know she's going to do this every morning, I am never really prepared for the actual moment. So coz I'm surprised by a thing I know is going to happen, I always let her know that I'm miffed. I give a good yowly and protest a lot to make sure she gives me a hug. So I've got it all figured out really. That's what hyla's all about. Simple.'
Weirdly, Humbug's jabbering starts making sense to me. I get to thinking about some of the predictable things Darling and Hayoo do.
I smile as I think about Hayoo opening the door of the rain room every morning so I can lick her jambs. I know she's going to do that as soon as the rain stops. And every time, she giggles and tells me how strange I am. I love it!
I also know when she's going to get the noisy sucker-dragon out - but that's only because she forewarns me - so I guess it doesn't really count as hyla.
But this is all enough to do my head in; completely. I can't believe I'm umbi to all these clever kisskies. And we haven't found them all yet.
'Hey this is fun,' says Raffles, who is still flipping through the file box. 'It tells us everything we need to know - oh, and probably some things we don't - about what the deuxjambs think of us. Here's yours, Big Dan.'
Big Dan peers at the card from the opposite side. 'What?' he exclaims, 'I'm not a fool. It says I'm a fool.'
Raffles cracks up. 'You're reading it upside down, stoopid. It says aloof, not a fool - ya fool.'
'Oh,' says Big Dan, as he duffs his head.
'What's a loof?' Finny asks.
We all look at each other. Nobody's game to offer a definition.
'Isn't it something deuxjambs use in the rain room?' Humbug asks.
'No, idiot-brain,' the Colonel says, less than politely, 'that's a "loofa". I think you'll find that aloof means shy, timid, distant, reserved even.'
'Geez, you're a regular thesaurus, aren't you?' Humbug retorts, a bit sarcatically.
'But I'm not,' Big Dan protests. 'I'm not aloof, am I?'
'I wouldn't say so,' I remark. 'In fact, not at all. Maybe it's just what Miss Steph thinks. Or maybe she's afraid of you coz you're so big.'
'I doubt it.'
'Well maybe it was a first impression,' the Colonel suggests. 'Maybe she thought you were a bit aloof at first, you know, and now she's got to know you better. Yeah, that's it. I wouldn't be too upset by it, boy.'
'Upset? I don't get upset. Especially not about things like that. If she wants me to be aloof then I'll be aloof.'
'I'd like to be nonchalant,' I say, although I think I actually meant to just think it. I get the third degree from at least 11 pairs of eyes. 'If I knew how,' I add.
'If you knew why,' Maharani says.
I ignore her comment and get to wondering what my file card says. I mean Miss Steph's only just met me so she couldn't have come to any conclusions about my personality yet. I reach across the desk and place my paw on the card and slide it towards me but, darn it, Raffles beats me to it. Before I can even open my mouth, he starts reading.
'Comments and observations. This cat is overweight and will be introduced to the KBC program-'
'What's that?' six voices ask in unison.
'Don't know, hang on,' Raffles says, as he rummages through some other paperwork on the desk. 'Oh, this is it,' he says picking up a pamphlet. 'Kitty Boot Camp - a strict diet and exercise regime designed to help your cat shed weight.'
'Ha ha ha.' I'm nearly deafened by the synchronised laughing around the desk.
'Yeah well don't you laugh Humbug, because according to this,' Raffles waves Humbug's file card around, 'you're in Boot Camp too'.
'Well that explains a lot,' Humbug says nodding. 'That's why I'm hungry all the time.'
The realisation hits me too. 'I just thought Miss Steph was being a big stingy when in fact she's systematically starving us,' I say to Humbug specifically.
'So we'll show her, Humbug. Let's hit the kitchen,' I declare. I'm barely out of the chair when a big paw catches my shoulder. I turn to find Big Dan's mesmerising green eyes mesmerising my green eyes.
'Ma
ybe she's doing this for the sake of your health. Maybe it's at your deuxjambs' request; maybe it's not such a bad idea-'
'Yeah, maybe, maybe, maybe. And maybe I'm hungry. C'mon Humbug. They just don't understand.'
Humbug follows me like a lapquiffo, positively salivating at the prospect of a sneaky feed. As I enter the kitchen, I look up at the shelves around me. Typical, all the interesting stuff is up high. I doubt I can jump as high as the kitzbitz shelf.
'Here, stand just there Humbug,' I point, 'now let me get a bit of a run-up and I'll bounce off your back, up to the shelf.' I have it all worked out. The thought of some extra dinner gets my cathletic adrenalin flowing.
'Why don't you just use the stool?' Humbug suggests.
'Huh? Oh, yeah. Good idea,' I acknowledge.
I jog up the two steps and launch myself up at the shelf, skidding on the slippery white surface and just managing to dig my claws in before I go straight off the other side. I grab one of the shiny bags on the way through. It almost surely contains those delectable little crunchy things which, I now realise, I've been getting stuck-on-a-desert-island rations of. No wonder I was at such a disadvantage playing dizza. I toss the bag down to Humbug who wastes no time trying to figure out how to get into it. Unfortunately, it seems the stuff has been packaged by Fatcats Incorporated, rendering it impervious to tampering. I peer down from the shelf and have to quickly lick the corners of my mouth to stop the drool dribbling onto the floor.
'Couldn't you find an open one?' Humbug asks.
Bright feeli this one. I scan the room. 'Down there on that wheelie-table thing; there's a placky thing with a lid.'
Humbug leaps up onto the table and paws the placky thing until it tips over. Something pops and a gush of kitzbitz streams out onto the table and spills over onto the floor.
'Perfect!' I say in mid air as I land on top of the pile. Funny how these little crunchy things taste just like wimbies. We scoff them down like there's no tomorrow until I honestly can't fit even one more in. Well, maybe one more.
'Oh, I think I'm full,' Humbug declares at almost the same moment. 'Think I'll have to sleep it off now,' he yawns.
Of course his yawn makes me yawn. I yawn so wide probably everyone can see the wimby-crunchies I just ate, but I can't help it. I come over all sleepy.
'Umbi, Umbi, quick! Miss Steph's coming.'
I'm sure I'm dreaming, but the prodding on my shoulder and in my face seems pretty real. I open one eye. It's Inda, wide eyed and urgent.
'What, what?' I question.
'C'mon we've gotta get back to our beds,' he cries urgently.
I can hardly move. I try to stand but my legs won't support me. I feel like a drunk bowling ball. I manage to get my front legs to work, but my back ones aren't going anywhere, like one of those flubbery things that hauls itself out of the water onto those white floaty things that Yahoo loves to watch on the TV-box. Inda tries to help; he sort of nuzzles his head under my ooti and pushes me out of the kitchen and towards the feeli quarters, just as I hear the door opening behind us. There's a mad scrabbling as Big Dan, Maharani, Finny and the others jump over me in a frantic dash to their quarters.
'Quick Inda, there's not enough time to get me to my bed. C'mon, we'll just go in yours together.'
'But Umbi-'
'Don't question me, just do it.'
We're no sooner inside when I hear gates clicking all over the place. I turn to see Raffles pushing all the gates closed as he skids down the aisle and dives into his own quarters.
'Phew, that was close,' he calls out. 'Now, everyone act pussano or pretend you're asleep.'
Not hard for me, since I still can't move. Inda starts to quirrel and to pronkledonk my belly, then my shoulder, then my belly again. It's soothing, despite his sharpish claws. He curls up against my belly, between my legs and his quirrelling becomes more emphatic. I'm just about nodding off when-
'Huuumbugggggggg, what are you doing? How did you get in here? Don't tell me you've eaten all that?'
It's Miss Steph, obviously, and she doesn't sound very impressed. But hey, it gets me off the hook. I can just see her through our doorway, standing in the kitchen with her back to me. She scoops the near comatose Humbug off the table, turns on her heels, and heads towards us through the door.
'Now back into your pen, you naughty boy.' I hear his gate click and I hear him groan as she puts him in his bed. 'What a silly sausage,' she says in a forgiving and soothing tone.
I stifle a giggle. Just as I'm doing so, I become aware of Miss Steph tiptoeing backwards towards Inda's pen. She peers over her shoulder.
'What? How? Who?' she blithers, then her tone gets all accusative. 'Miss Fudgepuddle!' I look sideways, figuring that maybe if I do that she can't see me. I pray for feelichatra but I think I'm probably too relaxed for that.
'How on earth did you get in there? The gate's shut. Are you a magician or something?' she mutters. I don't know what she expects me to say, so I put on my best fuzpah face and say, 'meh?'
Inda stretches and yawns, then puts his head down again and buries it in my chest. I see Miss Steph tip her head to one side. She smiles. 'Oh that's so cute,' she says. 'Do you want to stay there then for a while?'
'Meh.'
'All right.' And she just walks away.
Off with the Queekees
I wake to a kick in the stomach and, with my eyes barely open, I stretch out as far as I can; even stretching my toes in different directions to wake them up. Inda stirs as well, stretching until his foot catches me on the chin. Another kick in the stomach. He looks like a furry rubber band; my furry rubber band. He's the longest kisskie I've ever seen. All legs and tail. I quirrel so animatedly that I start to dribble; and when I shake my head, I flick the drool at the walls.
'Oh yuk, Umbi,' Inda says indignantly as he wipes some offending slobber from his face. I lick it off for him and he quirrels, too. I continue up his head and give his ears a good clean. It looks like they haven't been done for a while.
Then I get that disconcerting claws-down-the-kitchen-cupboard-fur-standing-on-end feeling that we're being watched. I swivel my head like Lyn Dablaire in that creepy head-swivelling movie, all the while trying to look nonchalant, and roll my eyes until I fix on the object of my disconcertingment. Miss Steph is standing in the next pen peering at us through the wire. I can't really see what she's doing coz of the wall that goes half-way up but, yep, she's just standing there staring and smiling at us.
'Hello Miss Fudgepuddle,' she coos. 'If only you could talk'.
'I can, silly, I can. And I'd like to introduce you to my dos, Inda.'
'I don't think your owners are going to believe this,' she continues, oblivious to my introduction.
She watches a little longer and then walks off down the aisle, chatting to some of the other guys along the way.
'I can't believe she's just left us here,' I remark.
'It's really good though huh, Umbi? Hoobydoods, hoobydoods.'
'Yes Inda, it's hoobydoods. It's heaven on a fishstick.'
'Huh?'
'Never mind.'
'You know what I mean; those huge ones with the gigantic pink beaks. They live near the sea.' It's Choux-Fleur's voice I hear, sort of distant, like she's outside. I realise that Inda's not curled up with me any more and I wonder how long I've been asleep and what I've missed.
'Oh, you mean Terrorcacktils?' Raffles asks.
'Yeah, that's them. They're frightening with those big mouths that could scoop you up and store you as a delicacy for later on,' Choux-Fleur says.
'I don't really think they're into eating feelis,' the Colonel says soothingly, 'so I wouldn't worry about them. They remind me of Lancaster bombers, especially when they're zooming in to land.'
'Well I still think they're scary. But then so are those noisy white queekees with the yellow hats. They'd peck your eyes out and deafen you at the same time. Such a cackleophony they make.'
'Yes, really arrgarg,' the Colonel agrees.
<
br /> I realise they're sitting outside their windows; it must be time for queekee-watching. I figure that's as good a way to kill time as any. I stretch a bit and wander up the ramp, onto the top shelf, and stick my head out the window. Inda's already out there, soaking up the late afternoon sunshine.
'Hi guys.' I nod at the Colonel and Choux-Fleur and then realise that Zsa Zsa, Big Dan and Raffles are outside in their runs too.
'What about those black and white things that just hang around and hang around - waiting all the time?' Choux-Fleur asks.
'Yeah, what are they waiting for anyway?' I chime in.
'Dunno, probably a grand final or something.'
'Huh?'
'You have to learn, basically, to just tackle the ones you know you can manage,' Big Dan offers. 'I mean there's no point chasing a Terrorcacktil if you're not big enough or strong enough. They probably would carry you away in their big beaky-bag and save you for later.
'Just concentrate on the little ones that hang around the house and remember, if you catch one, you have to take it inside for your deuxjambs' approval. There's no point going to the trouble of catching them if you can't show off your hunting prowess.'
'My deuxjambs always scream at me if I take a queekee inside. They don't seem to appreciate it at all and they especially don't like it if I haven't nuffed it yet,' Choux-Fleur says. 'That's when they really roop and run around like quiffos with a bad case of virtles.'
'Yeah, they're not crazy about woozels either,' I put in. 'I've never heard Hayoo squeal so loud as the day I dropped a woozel in her slipper. That was when I discovered deuxjambs threw schpitzos as well.'
'Ooh, ooh, look at that one,' Zsa Zsa blurts, pointing at a foolhardy little queekee which has just landed on the bush next to her.
'That's a Flinch, Zsa Zsa,' the Colonel says. 'Don't bother with them; not enough meat on them. And don't bother with Spattows either - too many bones.'
'And don't try Cookyburrows either, coz when you miss them - and you will - their whole family sits around and laughs at you. It's humiliating,' Raffles says.
