‘I still say …’ Inspector Cheddar tried again.
‘Look at him, poor little lamb!’ Mrs Tucker returned with the basket. ‘I’d hate to think of him out there all alone! Anything might happen.’
‘But …’
‘Please, Dad?’ Callie begged. ‘Just for one night?’
Inspector Cheddar knew when he was beaten. ‘Oh, all right then,’ he said heavily. ‘Just for one night.’
Later, at eleven-thirty precisely, Atticus woke up in the kitchen. The alarm on Mrs Cheddar’s mobile phone (the same phone which he had carefully removed from her handbag while she was brushing her teeth) was buzzing urgently. He reached out a paw and switched it off. The magpies were expecting him at the stroke of midnight. He had to get down to the beach.
But first of all he had to get out of the house.
Atticus had noted with grudging approval how carefully Inspector Cheddar had locked and bolted the front and back doors before he went to bed. Even Atticus Grammaticus Cattypus Claw, the world’s greatest cat burglar, might struggle to open them. He was glad he didn’t have to. He’d just pretend he wanted to go to the loo outside instead. In fact he’d make such a nuisance of himself the Cheddars would have to get a cat flap installed. Then he could come and go as he pleased until the time came in a week or so for him to leave for good.
He got out of his basket and padded up the stairs. Outside the children’s room he paused, wondering whether to wake one of them up to let him out.
Usually Atticus stayed away from kids. They had sticky hands, made too much noise and pulled his tail. He’d only followed them that afternoon because the sardines were calling to him from Mrs Tucker’s basket.
He’d been a bit put out when the three of them shut him in a bedroom to go shopping but it had been easy enough to stand on his hind legs and twist the knob to let himself out.
He’d been even more put out when Inspector Cheddar started creeping around the house pretending to be a burglar, especially when he’d tripped over Atticus just when Atticus was coming out to say hello.
It had also come as a nasty shock that Inspector Cheddar was a policeman.
But everyone else had been very nice. They had cuddled him and given him treats and told Inspector Cheddar off for scaring him.
Atticus reckoned he’d fallen on his feet. It wasn’t often you got two sardines in one day, let alone half a bag of treats as well. And where better to hide from the law than right under its nose? Besides, he decided, he quite liked Callie and Michael. It might even be fun to hang out with them when he wasn’t stealing things.
He nudged the door open with his nose.
Callie’s bed was by the door. She’d fallen asleep clutching something soft and squashy in her arms. Atticus jumped up to take a closer look. It looked like a cat. Not a real one, but a pretend one made out of white fluffy material with plastic threads for whiskers and glass beads for eyes. Atticus had seen similar things in shop windows. They were called ‘toys’. He’d always wondered what they were for.
He jumped down. Michael’s bed was beneath the window. A piece of paper and some crayons lay beside it. Atticus walked over. He stared at the drawing. Two large green-crayoned eyes stared back at him out of a round brown-striped face, a bright-red handkerchief coloured in beneath it. Besides the eyes, the face boasted a tiny pink nose, a grinning mouth with neat white teeth and long white whiskers. It was topped off with a triangle on one side and a bump on the other. Atticus was startled. Was that supposed to be him? He didn’t think his ear was that chewed. He put up a paw and felt it gingerly. No, definitely not. Carefully, he took the brown crayon in his mouth and re-drew the ear so that it looked more like the other one. That’s better, he thought, sitting back and feeling proud of his work.
It seemed a shame to wake the children after all, so he wandered across the landing into the Cheddars’ room and leapt on to the bed.
Neither Inspector Cheddar nor Mrs Cheddar woke up.
Atticus regarded them curiously. Inspector Cheddar was sprawled out, clutching a silver badge of some sort in his fist. A bag of soggy peas lay beside him on the pillow. He was snoring. Mrs Cheddar lay curled up, her sleeping face twisted into a frown. Suddenly her foot jerked out from under the duvet. ‘Rabbits,’ she sighed. ‘Squirrels.’ She began to smile. ‘Tweetie birds.’
Atticus’s good ear twitched. The adult Cheddars were very strange people, he decided. He’d never met anyone like them before.
He told himself to concentrate. He didn’t want to be late for Jimmy and his gang. Meowing pitifully, he poked Inspector Cheddar firmly in the eye with his front paw.
‘You took your time.’ Jimmy Magpie was waiting for Atticus on the sand.
Thug and Slasher stood nearby, watching carefully.
‘We thought you’d changed your mind.’
‘Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka.’ Thug and Slasher hopped closer.
‘I’m here, aren’t I?’ Atticus snapped. He hated the sound the magpies made. It was almost as if they were laughing at him.
Jimmy regarded him thoughtfully. ‘Better late than never,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I suppose. Slasher – get the bag.’
‘Yes, Boss.’ Slasher hopped over to a small rock and pulled at something. The rock shifted as he pulled the thing free. It was a white plastic bag, rolled up tightly and tied with string.
‘Let’s go.’
Slasher gathered the string in his beak and flew off awkwardly, the bag dangling at his throat. Thug followed.
‘After you, Atticus,’ Jimmy said with mock politeness. ‘We don’t want you losing your way.’
Atticus walked stiffly. Thug and Slasher circled ahead of him, the white tips of their wings picked out by the moon. He could hear the slow beat of Jimmy’s wings behind him. Worse, he could feel Jimmy’s eyes boring steadily into him. Those eyes! Atticus had only once known eyes so cruel before. And that was from a time he didn’t want to be reminded about, ever again. With a start, he found the fur on the back of his neck standing on end, even though the night air wasn’t cold. He forced himself to relax. Jimmy Magpie couldn’t harm him. He was just a bird. Do your job, Atticus told himself, and go. Strangely he almost added the word ‘home’, but he stopped himself just in time. He didn’t have a home. And he didn’t want one. The Cheddars were his temporary humans, that was all. DGI, Atticus. It was one of the lessons he’d learnt as a kitten. Don’t Get Involved.
He put all thoughts of 2 Blossom Crescent out of his mind and padded on.
After a few minutes, he saw a large bungalow nestling in a cul-de-sac on the other side of the road from the sea front, somewhere behind the beach hut where he had eaten his sardine when he first arrived.
Thug and Slasher flew down to the garden and landed on the grass.
‘Well?’ Atticus slipped through the gate to join them. He tried to sound business-like. ‘What have we got?’
‘A Mr and Mrs Pearson.’ Jimmy glided down beside him. ‘Thug, can you fill us in?’
‘Yeah, they’re loaded,’ Thug said. ‘The safe’s in the bedroom – in the wardrobe. We’ve seen them taking things in and out. Glittery things,’ he added slyly.
‘Which section of the wardrobe?’ Atticus asked.
‘Middle. There’s a shelf. Above where she keeps her knickers.’ Thug grinned rudely.
‘How do I get in?’ Atticus glanced at the front door. It was made of thick glass. ‘Is there a cat flap round the back?’
‘No. But they always sleep with the window up. They’ve got them locks that stop it opening more than four inches.’ Thug chuckled. ‘They don’t think anyone can get in. Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka.’
‘Well, I can,’ said Atticus grimly. ‘Anyone else in the house?’
‘Nope. Just the two of them.’
‘Any pets?’
Thug shook his head.
‘Good work, Thug.’ Jimmy Magpie stretched a wing and patted Thug on the head. He eyed Atticus. ‘We thought we’d give you an easy one to start
with,’ he said. ‘Think you can manage it?’
‘Of course I can manage it,’ Atticus growled angrily.
He paced round to the back of the bungalow. The bedroom window was open by four inches, just as Thug had said. Atticus leapt up on to the outside ledge. Then he crouched, flattening his shoulders into his body, and wriggled through the gap. He paused for a moment on the inside, opened the curtains cautiously with one paw, and peered into the room.
At one end, to Atticus’s left, Mr and Mrs Pearson were asleep in a huge brass bed.
Opposite them, to Atticus’s right, a large oak wardrobe stretched the length of the wall.
He jumped down noiselessly and walked to the wardrobe. The doors looked heavy. He would have to use a lever. Whatever happened he mustn’t break his claws – he would need them later. Calmly, Atticus looked around for something that would do. A wire coat hanger lay beside a chair. He picked it up in his teeth, the metal scraping uncomfortably against his molars, and dragged it to the wardrobe. Sitting on his haunches he grasped one end between his paws and wriggled the hook into the tiny gap between the two doors. He pulled. Soon there was enough space for him to push in one paw, then a second. Atticus heaved, using his strong hind legs for support. The door opened with a loud creak.
Atticus waited, motionless. There was a snort from the direction of the bed, followed by a series of puffing noises. Then silence.
Atticus jumped on to the shelf above the drawer that held Mrs Pearson’s knickers. He was glad to see that the safe was a small one. It nestled at the back of the cupboard, leaving him plenty of room. This one was a key-locking device. Atticus grinned. Humans would call it a piece of cake. He called it a piece of steak. He flicked out the claws on his right front paw and got to work.
Seconds later, the safe door swung open. Quickly Atticus untied the handkerchief from around his neck. He spread it out carefully on the shelf. Silently, he emptied the contents of the safe into the centre of the handkerchief – an expensive watch, some gold cufflinks, a pearl necklace and a pair of diamond earrings – piling them up carefully, one on top of the other. Then he took the four corners of the handkerchief and tied them together in a strong knot to make a bag.
Atticus picked it up in his mouth and headed for the window. He jumped on to the ledge and pushed open the curtains.
The magpies were sitting in a line on the other side of the glass. Atticus put the handkerchief down and nudged it under the window with his forehead. Jimmy gave a nod. Thug took hold of the knotted ends in his beak and fluttered clumsily to the ground. Slasher followed. Quickly they unlaced the knot. Two diamond earrings fell on to the grass and glittered in the moonlight.
All at once there was a terrible chattering. ‘CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA!’ It was Thug.
‘Shhhhhhh!’ Jimmy shut him up with a vicious peck on the head. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he hissed.
‘I’m sorry, Jimmy,’ Thug sobbed. ‘They’re so beautiful. I couldn’t help it.’
Suddenly a light went on in the room.
‘Stanley?’ A woman’s voice said. ‘Did you hear something?’
It was the Pearsons.
‘Quick,’ Atticus ordered. ‘Get the stuff in the bag.’
Slasher and Thug unrolled the plastic bag and held it open with their beaks. Atticus scooped up the jewels in his paws and threw them into the bag. Jimmy looked on without helping.
‘Elspeth?’ A man’s voice said. ‘Did you leave the wardrobe door open?’
‘Now scram!’ Atticus whispered.
‘We’ve been burgled!’ There was a scream from inside the bungalow.
Flapping furiously, Slasher and Thug took off, the bulky plastic bag swaying dangerously between them.
‘You get the torch, Elspeth. I’ll call the police!’
Jimmy Magpie fluttered up into a tree.
Atticus hesitated. It was too late to make a run for it. Quickly, he hid the handkerchief beneath a bush and pinned himself against the wall.
He heard footsteps. A beam of light fell dangerously close.
‘What’s that, Stanley?’ the woman shrieked.
The beam wobbled as the man took the torch. It flicked over Atticus. Atticus screwed his eyes up tight to shut out the blinding light.
‘It’s just a cat, Elspeth. That’s all.’
The beam moved away.
Once he was sure they weren’t looking, Atticus grabbed the handkerchief with his teeth and raced away into the night.
Above him in the sky he heard a faint beat of wings followed by a soft chattering. ‘Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka.’ It was Jimmy. This time, Atticus was sure he was laughing.
When he neared Blossom Crescent, Atticus began to feel better. He was looking forward to going back to bed.
As he approached the house, to his surprise he saw that the lights were on. Then he saw a car pull away from in front of the gate. It was Inspector Cheddar. Of course! The Pearsons had called the police! Inspector Cheddar would be in charge of the investigation. He was on his way to the scene of the crime.
Atticus wondered what would have happened if Inspector Cheddar had turned up at the bungalow earlier and seen him cowering beneath the window. It wouldn’t have mattered, he decided. That was the beauty about being a cat burglar; no human ever suspected you, however suspicious the circumstances. Atticus had been caught red-pawed on several occasions sneaking into people’s houses, but they always believed he was after food, not jewellery. The only way he would ever be caught was if someone interrupted him when he was safe breaking or carrying the stuff out in his handkerchief. And that, thought Atticus smugly, would never happen.
He watched the car’s tail-lights disappear into the distance, then he slipped through the gate, ran round to the back door and started yowling.
Mrs Cheddar opened the door at once.
‘Oh, Atticus!’ she cried. ‘You’re back! We were worried you might have got lost again. We’ve been out looking for you.’
Atticus felt pleased. He didn’t think anyone had ever been out looking for him before. Not at two o’clock in the morning, anyway. He strolled into the kitchen purring.
‘Kids!’
Michael and Callie stumbled into the kitchen in their dressing gowns, bleary-eyed.
‘Atticus!’ cried Michael.
‘There you are!’ screamed Callie.
Atticus found himself being swept off the floor and into Michael’s arms. Callie was tickling his tummy. He wriggled a bit so that she could get her fingers under his armpits.
‘I’ll bet he’s hungry,’ Mrs Cheddar said.
‘I’ll get his food.’ Callie rushed to the cupboard and returned with a foil sachet of cat food. She ripped it open. ‘Here you are.’ She squeezed the gloopy contents into Atticus’s shiny new bowl.
Michael set him down gently beside it. ‘Go on, Atticus.’
Atticus sniffed at the food. He’d have preferred another sardine, but at least it wasn’t that dry stuff that looked like cut-up cardboard and tasted like old dog biscuits. He began to eat.
‘What time will Dad be back?’ Michael said.
‘I don’t know,’ Mrs Cheddar replied.
‘Has there really been a burglary?’ Callie whispered.
‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ Mrs Cheddar said. ‘Somebody broke into a bungalow near the sea and stole some jewellery belonging to some people called Pearson.’
Atticus finished his meal. It was surprisingly tasty – fishy and meaty all at the same time. He stared hard at the shiny dish hoping someone would take the hint and give him some more.
‘That’s awful!’ Callie exclaimed. ‘Who would do something horrible like that?’
Atticus’s good ear drooped. He looked intently at his empty bowl.
‘I don’t know, Callie,’ Mrs Cheddar sighed. ‘There are some nasty people in the world. But I didn’t expect to come across them in Littleton-on-Sea.’
Atticus’s chewed ear drooped. He kept staring at his bowl. He wasn’t hungry
any more but he didn’t know where else to look.
‘Dad’s pleased though,’ Michael said cheerfully.
‘Michael!’ Mrs Cheddar gasped.
‘I don’t mean he’s pleased that the Pearsons got burgled,’ Michael explained hastily. ‘I mean he’s pleased there’s a crime for him to investigate. He’s always complaining that nothing ever happens in Littleton-on-Sea.’
Atticus began to feel better. Michael was right. He shouldn’t be feeling guilty. It was a good thing he’d stolen the Pearsons’ valuables. No wonder Inspector Cheddar was pleased. Policemen liked crime. It gave them something to do.
‘Well …’ said Mrs Cheddar doubtfully.
‘If there wasn’t any crime, you wouldn’t need proper policemen,’ Michael pointed out. ‘Like Dad.’
‘I suppose so …’
‘And you’re always saying how he hates traffic duty.’
‘Sort of …’
Atticus was beginning to feel quite proud of himself. If it wasn’t for him Inspector Cheddar wouldn’t have a job! Or if he did, he’d hate it.
Deciding that he was still hungry after all, he wandered over to Callie, who was holding the foil packet, and began rubbing at her legs.
‘Here you are, Atticus.’ Callie squeezed the rest of the food into his bowl.
Atticus ate it noisily. The gravy made it difficult not to slurp.
‘Do you think Dad might let us keep Atticus if we can’t find his owner?’ Callie asked hopefully.
‘Let’s not worry about that now,’ Mrs Cheddar said soothingly. ‘Now come on, you two, off to bed.’
She ushered Callie out of the kitchen and flicked off the light.
‘Night, Atticus,’ Michael said sleepily. He bent down and put his lips to Atticus’s chewed ear. ‘Promise you’ll be nice to Dad,’ he whispered, ‘so he lets you stay a bit longer.’
I promise, purred Atticus solemnly, settling into his basket as the door closed.
He would commit lots and lots of burglaries so Inspector Cheddar had plenty of crimes to investigate. That would make him happy. Atticus burped contentedly. Really and truly, he thought generously, it was the least he could do to say thank you.
Atticus Claw Breaks the Law Page 4
