A. K. A. Fudgepuddle

by Fin J. Ross

  'I tried to catch a queekee once,' Inda says, 'but every time I pawed it, it just slipped away. It kept going sideways and disappearing around the corner, then I'd look around the corner and it wasn't there. There was just a whole lot of dust and wobblycobs; and it was hot back there. Then I came out and it was there again, but no matter how hard I tried I just couldn't catch it.'

  We all look at Inda; somewhat perplexed.

  'Where was this?' Big Dan asks.

  'Huh? Oh, inside, at home.'

  It dawns on us all at once and we crack up laughing.

  'What? What?' Inda asks insistently.

  'You'll never catch those queekees, lad. They never come out of the TV-box,' Big Dan explains.

  'Oh,' Inda says dejectedly.

  'We have those irritating Tuk-tuks at our place - they drive me mental,' Choux-Fleur interrupts.

  'What are they?' I ask. 'I haven't heard of those.'

  'You haven't heard of them? But I bet you've heard them.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Y'know those obnoxious queekees that go tuk-tuk-tuk at you every time you go outside.'

  'Oh those. Yeah, I have heard them. But they're not as annoying as those other grey ones that Hayoo calls phillipbirds.'

  'Phillipbirds?'

  'Yeah, coz they flit around the trees going: phillip-phillip, phillip-phillip. The noise they make is positively arrgarg.'

  'Ah them,' the Colonel interjects. 'The ones around our place speak a different dialect, coz they scream, pheelip, pheelip-pheelip'.

  'Just as annoying, I bet.'

  'You bet right, but I know how to shut them up, coz they're pretty thick and slow. They taste good too.'

  'I've only ever had one; gave me bloody indigestion,' I recall. 'Oh and there I was trying to shut the darn thing up when its family turned up to see what the racket was. Next thing I know, they're all swooping at me and pecking my back. Nasty experience. Nasty. I swore then and there that Phillipbirds were off the menu forever.'

  'I hate those snooty little queekees that dive bomb you and try to pluck your fur out,' Big Dan says. 'They're always going chat-chat-chat like they've got something important to say and then, in between, they whistle the same tune over and over. Makes you feel like an inmate at Guano Bay. Honestly they're enough to make your claws curl.'

  'Yeah and they never stop wagging their tail around like they're making sure it's still there all the time. They're worse than some quiffos,' Choux-Fleur adds.

  'What're they called? I can't remember,' I ask.

  'Weeny-teeny-tits, I think,' the Colonel offers. 'No, no, sorry, I think they're Titty-tagwails.'

  'Oh yeah, that's right,' Choux-Fleur agrees, 'and they're not much chop to eat either. Very unsatisfying and not worth the effort. I prefer f'narts to queekees or woozels anyway, they've got much more meat on them.'

  'Yeah, me too,' Big Dan nods, 'I mean a woozel is just like a horz-doova to me; certainly not a meal in itself. But a f'nart, now you can really get your teeth into a f'nart; they're like three or four woozels in one, but with only one head to deal with.'

  'The deuxjambs hate them too,' Raffles says. 'I took an un-nuffed one inside once - coz naturally you've got to tease and taunt it first, I mean it's not fair to not let them fight a bit.

  'Anyway, I decided to give it to Deer, that's my deuxjamb, but she went ballistic, really ballistic. First she jumped up on the bench and then she screeched and rooped, like one of the Yellow-hat queekees.

  'So she's squealing at the f'nart and shouting at me and, meanwhile, the f'nart is skiltering all around the place, poking its head in here and there. Not sure if it was trying to hide from me or get away from Deer's noisy schpitzo. And she's still up on the chair and…' He pauses for breath.

  'So what happened? What happened?' Inda asks excitedly.

  'Well basically I couldn't stand her loud-crazy any more. I mean I can still hear echoes of it now, if I think about it, so I grabbed the little sucker and took it outside again.'

  'So did you eat it?' Inda asks

  'Hummph, well actually, I hate to admit it, but when I put it down, the bloody thing ran off quick and disappeared through this tiny hole at the bottom of the fence, never to be seen again. So curse Deer and all her screaming and carrying on. I'd have thought she'd have been really proud of me, but she didn't speak to me for the rest of the day. I never will figure out deuxjambs, never,' Raffles says, shaking his head.

  'I can't understand why any of you would lower yourself to catching these icky things, let alone eating them,' Zsa Zsa says, her face screwed into a picture of disgust. 'Don't your deuxjambs feed you enough?'

  'Of course they do, Zsa Zsa,' Raffles says. 'But where's the fun, or the sport, in eating something that's just put there for you? I mean, we have a duty to teach our deuxjambs how to behave of course, and part of those lessons is to show them how to catch their meals.

  'They don't seem to have the vaguest idea. They only know how to bring home stuff in those rustly bags. That food is already nuffed and then they nuff it more by making it very hot. Actually, it really doesn't make sense, coz first they put it in the yellum-box to get it nice and cold and then they spend ages making it so hot they complain about it hurting their mooshes. Waste of time if you ask me. I also can't figure out why they go to all that trouble for themselves and then just open a can or a packet for me. Doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?'

  'Not when you put it that way, I suppose,' says Zsa Zsa. 'But then I never get anything from a can or packet, mine always comes straight from the yellum-box.'

  I'm not sure whether this is a good thing or not, so I make no comment. But all this talking about food is making me hungry again. I flop on my side in the little tunnelly thing, almost pushing Inda off onto the shelf below, and stretch out a bit to soak up the sun, just so I can dream about dinner in comfort.

  Instead, I start to think about my precious kisskies: the cuddly Inda; the happy Arelli; the quirky, oh-let's-be-honest, queer Ori; the stagestruck Erna; and the suspiciously-clairvoyant Sizi. I smile again. But wait a minute! I swivel my head in a sudden realisation. What about Arni? What about Arni?

  'What about Arni?' I blurt out loud.

  'Huh?' Inda asks.

  'What about Arni? We haven't found Arni. We didn't get the chance to doodle him.'

  'Oh yeah, that's right,' Inda says, 'the rest of us sort of got sidetracked when you and Humbug went off to feed your faces.'

  'Sidetracked? What were you doing?'

  Inda drops his eyes and avoids mine.

  'Inda?' I say in my most-serioused voice, with a slight inflection on the 'da', so I sound like a deadly-earnest umbi.

  'Um, um, well-'

  'Inda,' I repeat.

  'Okay, okay, so I was showing the guys this great weblike called www.feelipuss.tom.'

  'Uh huh - and what's that all about?'

  'Well, it's sort of um-'

  'Goodness Juno,' the Colonel cuts in, 'it's a Z-rated site, get it?'

  'Oh my, you mean you can look at that stuff on the intercat?'

  'Yup.' Inda says. 'All sorts of feelis doing all sorts of compromising things. Put it this way, you see lots of legs and tails in positions they wouldn't naturally be. And some of the outfits, well!'

  'Oh my dog!' I shake my head in disbelief. 'You're too young for that stuff, Inda!'

  'Um, Umbi, it's not like I haven't done it myself. I mean I am nine months old you know.'

  'Oh pfft. Old before your time, I'd say.'

  'Maybe we can get back on the intercat after dinner and try to find something about Arni,' Inda suggests. I think he thinks I don't realise that he's just deliberately changed the subject.

  Raffles stretches his neck and pipes in. 'Yeah we can get back on tonight and if we can't find out anything about Arni. I can send an f-mail to Jock the Nose. He might be able to find him.'

  'Great idea,' I nod to Raffles, 'thanks for that'.

  I put my head down to rest again. All this exci
tement and realising that I'm just one degree of segregation away from fame and possible fortune is all too much for me really. I just wish I could be so good at something that I'd be famous in my own right. I don't want to have to go through my whole life just gaining some vicarious pleasure from my kisskies' successes. Maybe, maybe…

  I know! Origami. I wonder whether it's possible to become a famous origamiist. Mmm. I decide to retire inside and think about it.

  Turning Japanese

  I sit on my shelf - well, Inda's shelf, actually - and ponder my future. I just can't go through my life like a big fudgy blob. I have to apply myself to something.

  I close my eyes and visualise the plushy-red carpet. I'm prancing up it…

  No, not prancing: sashaying.

  That's me - all a-sashay.

  A guard of honour of well-heeled and well-to-do feelis is taking a collective breath and holding out all manner of things for me to autograph as I glide forward.

  Ahead I see my precious starlet kisskie, Dacata, and even she's waiting to kiss my paw. I nod to her with that knowing, surreptitious superstar nod, as intrinsic as a Catonic handshake.

  Ooh, look. There's even some deuxjambs hovering around behind them, genuflecting to my apparent glory as I parade past with tail held high.

  Above the portal to the imposing building, a banner flaps:

  43rd International Origami Expo

  Sacatmento, Catifornia

  Featuring world-renowned exponent Pussfessor Inki Kazumi

  Special guest appearance by new world champion,

  Juno Campbell

  I'm the star of the show - I can't believe it. And from such humble beginnings. I turn to look behind me and realise that the eight or ten feelis humbly following me are my very own entourage. They all stand to attention as I turn; obviously to avoid upstaging me. I feel like the Queen of Sheepa.

  This should make Pussfessor Kazumi feel pretty insignificat; his retinue is only two pointy-faced, blue-eyed, skinny-legged subjects.

  The crowd is quite unbelievable and I have to duck occasionally to miss being hit with a barrage of paper floomies dropping out of the sky. It's like a sticky tape parade!

  It's obviously quite a big deal, this expo, but strangely I feel right at home. Like it's my birth right to be here. I puff out my chest and suck in my flabby flap as best I can, and nod to the adoring crowd, waving occasionally like that deuxjamb lady with the jewels on her head-

  'Umbi! Umbi!' The crowds go roopy with cat-a-calling.

  'Hey! Umbi!'

  Oh dash, that thought flies out of my head like a flock of queekees flying south as I'm jolted from my reverie by my insistent dossy.

  'What's up, Inda?'

  'It's nearly dinner time, Umbi, you've been asleep for two hours. Miss Steph's in the kitchen and it smells good. It smells like yummy roast queekee-fowl.'

  Oooh. To me it smells a bit like Hayoo and Darling's favourite, Cattucky Fried Queekee-fowl!

  'Oh good, I was just thinking about food,' I lie. Then the smell hits me. My nostrils flare to absorb the transcendental wafts from the kitchen. Oops, slobber.

  I'd better make room for this. I flop off the shelf onto the ramp and down to the floor and then I see it! A pristine sheet of paper lining our kackapod. I might just have time to whip up another masterpiece before dinner. I stretch a bit to inspire my creative juices and limber up my paws - very important, of course, for an expert origamiist.

  I delicately pull the paper out, thankful that Inda hasn't soiled it this afternoon, and set to work, being careful not to dinner-drool on the paper and soggify it. A fold here, a crease there, a corresponding crease on this side, flip it over and turn it back the other way. Crouch and hold one end with my elbow and define the crease with my other paw, twist it around again, hold my mouth in the right position and - voila! It's a, um…

  'Hey guys, Red and Mars, what do you call those colourful things Japanese women wear?'

  'Um. Hang on; it'll come to us,' they reply. 'A kabana; no, hang on, a kibbutz. No, um we know it starts with k,' they say in unison.

  'A kimono,' the Colonel announces knowingly.

  'Yep, that's it. Well I've made one; it's not very colourful but.'

  'Oh Umbi, that's neat. It's cool. Can you teach me how to do that?' Inda asks.

  'I would, darling, if I had more paper. We'll have to wait until after dinner and get some more from the office.'

  I carefully stand my creation up against the wall. Its symmetry is perfect; ah, the talent. Now, if that doesn't impress Miss Steph! Ooh, maybe she'll give me more for dinner. I'm pretty pleased with myself, so I decide to lick my ooti. I'm so absorbed in the ritual that I hardly notice Miss Steph opening the gate behind me. But I can smell the delectable dinner she has for us as she bends down to place two bowls on the shelf.

  'Now, Miss Fudgepuddle, don't you eat Coalpit's dinner will you.' It's a request not a question I gather.

  'I wouldn't dream of it. What sort of umbi do you think I am, that I'd eat my own kisskie's food?'

  She ignores me as usual.

  'Oh, look at this,' Miss Steph says as she bends down to pick up my masterpiece. 'It looks like another paper plane. Just what do you cats get up to when I'm not here?' She's asking the question directly at me; staring into my eyes.

  A kimono, it's a kimono, silly! Oh no, don't screw it up.

  I can't watch. I hold my paws over my eyes, nearly overbalancing in the process. I'm waiting to hear the sound of paper getting screwed up…

  I'm still waiting. I slowly move one paw, just enough to peer around. She's standing there turning it upside down and back to front; her brow furrowed like a… furrow.

  'You know, this looks a bit like, um, what do they call it?'

  Success! She actually knows what it is. I can't believe it. Now she must realise how clever I am. Surely, there's got to be more queekee-fowl in this for me. I go all coy.

  'Meh.' That's all I can say. 'Meh.'

  'Origami, that's it.'

  'Meh, meh.'

  She shakes her head and gives me a scratch on mine. Ooh, more, more please. She bends down, grabs my cheeks in both hands and blows hot air on my head, making a 'brrrrrrrr' noise as she does it. I go all gooey. And I'd thought only Hamish the Handsome, or maybe Big Dan, could have that affect on me.

  I smile a big smile and quirrel as loudly as I can.

  'I'll have to tell those silly children of mine to keep their school projects out of here, won't I?'

  'Huh? What? But-'

  She carefully puts my piece of paper perfection on the shelf and picks me up. Yes, she's got one arm around me and the other under my ooti. Just as well I just washed there. She holds me close to her chest and repeats, 'What a smoochy girl.'

  I quirrel so excitedly I dribble all down her hand. She doesn't even flinch.

  'Maybe the kids think you've got oriental in you. Japanese bobtail, maybe,' she laughs.

  Maybe. Ooh, you mean maybe I might have some pedigree blood in my background? It's possible. It would explain my preference for wimby and my now-obvious innate talent for paper folding. Maybe I could take up ikebana or bonsai as well. I wonder if it's possible that there is something special about me after all.

  Miss Steph quickly shatters my illusions. 'Not very likely. More like Japanese blobtail,' she laughs.

  Oh the ignominy of it all - and just when I was feeling so good about myself. But she gives me a long kiss on the head and another scratch on the neck so I instantly forgive her. She plops me back on the ramp and turns around and picks up Inda who's been sitting there with a big grin on his face. She kisses him on the head and he starts to quirrel, smiling at me all the time.

  'Now, just look at the mess you two have made here.' She bends down and picks up our kackapod and disappears for a moment. She returns a moment later with two kackapods. Wow, one each, which of course means two more sheets of paper to paw over. But first things first: dinner, of course.

  After polishing off my
paw-licking-good queekee-fowl, I give myself an all-over wash; a PFO, I call it - pawpits, face and ooti. I watch Inda, who's doing the same, and remind him to wash behind his ears.

  'Okay, ready for some more intercat purrfling now,' I call out to everybody.

  'It's okay for you, Miss Garbageguts,' Rocky calls back, 'we're still eating'.

  'And Miss Steph's still here,' says Big Dan.

  'I certainly hope she is,' Finny calls out from the other end of the room. 'I haven't even got my dinner yet. Smells good though'.

  'It was, it was,' I affirm.

  'I'm just sharpening my nails while I'm waiting,' Zsa Zsa calls out. 'Oh darn, I've broken another one.'

  So I have to wait. I might as well work on another creation. Just because Miss Steph doesn't appreciate it, doesn't mean I'm not going to keep doing it. Deuxjambs are just so self-absorbed sometimes. It just figures she'd think those silly-children of hers were capable of doing origami, but not give my talent a thought.

  Hmm, let's think about this. I carefully pull out one of the sheets of paper from the kackapod. It's amazing how I just seem to know how to do this. Inda, licking his paw to give his mouth a good tidy-up, sits above me on the shelf.

  'Are you gonna make something else, Umbi?'

  'Yep. I'm just trying to decide.'

  'Make a woozel or a hibby.'

  'Okay, that sounds easy enough.' I carefully fold the paper diagonally, then fold it the opposite way. I pick it up and, sitting on my haunches, I do a bit of this and a bit of that; a fold here, a tuck there, a bit of masterful manipulation with this corner and there it is!

  'Wow, Umbi, that's incredible. It looks just like a real woozel.'

  It just astounds me how clever I am. Such dexterity, such creativity, such brilliance. I'm a natural. I could probably fool a real woozel with this.

  'Hey, Juno, c'mon we've got the puterbox going again.'

  Big Dan is standing in the doorway beckoning to me in that tantalising, titivating way that he does. Inda is already way ahead of me, skidding through the doorway and losing traction on the tiles.