‘Shnever mind,’ said Figaro, with his mouth full, ‘Eat it shlater.’
Rumba chose Chocolate Surprise for pudding and Figaro had Bombe Alaska.
‘This is a flaming dessert, sir,’ the waiter told Figaro. He took a matchbox from his pocket.
‘I knew that,’ said Figaro. But he looked nervous.
The waiter poured something orangey over Figaro’s pudding, and then lit it with a match.
‘Everyone down!’ cried Figaro, leaping under the table.
Blue flames flickered up from the pudding then sank away into a tasty toffee puddle.
‘Yum!’ said Rumba, taking a spoonful.
Figaro looked at Rumba admiringly.
‘If you enjoy this dessert,’ the crocodile said to Rumba, ‘then you must come to my café at the seaside. It is just a short walk from the train station. And there we can relax, sit back and look out to sea. I can play my congas for you. We can pretend we are back in Cuba.’
Figaro yawned. He’d done enough sitting around today already. But Rumba gave his biggest smile, his whiskers springing up like fencing wire.
Chapter 6
Crocodile Café
The crocodile’s café was called ‘Buena Vista’. It stood on a hill above the sea. Figaro took one look at the water and rolled down the carpet of sand until he fell WHOOSHUFF! into the brilliant blue. He swam and dived and barked with excitement, chasing waves and cloud-shadows, until he was so tired that even his tail stopped wagging.
‘Oh, isn’t this great?’ Rumba sighed happily as Figaro drooped up the steps. ‘It’s just like home.’
‘Are you going to drip like that all over my café?’ asked the crocodile.
Figaro was panting so hard he couldn’t speak. But he gave himself a good shake. Then he looked about. He had to admit this was the most cheerful café he’d ever seen, with tables the colour of mangoes. He liked the tropical flowers draped around – they smelled like sunrise, his favourite part of the day.
‘Fabulous!’ he said.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ the crocodile smiled. He made them a bright green drink. Inside floated a strawberry with a little plastic umbrella stuck into it. He said they could keep it as a souvenir.
They leant back in their chairs, chatting and sipping. It didn’t take long for Figaro to stop panting. He tried to make his drink last. But after a while he began to fidget. He was a dog who liked to move. ‘I’m just going to have a sniff around,’ he said. ‘I’ll explore that grassy bit with the barbecue we saw as we came in.’
Rumba waved but the crocodile frowned. ‘That’s not a good idea,’ he said. ‘The grass is full of prickles and there is a deadly wasp nest near the lagoon at the south end. You’ll know when you’re near it, because you’ll hear a nasty humming sound. So keep away.’
But Figaro had already bounded off. There was so much to see, and smell. Frangipani flowers, blue tongue lizards, green parrots and honeysuckle. He breathed so deep, so often, he almost fainted. But then, he saw something shimmer. It was a lagoon with the sun on it, and at the edge there was a playground.
Figaro went on the swings first. But every time he swooped down, his stomach dropped and he thought he would lose his lunch. Besides, there was a strange humming noise coming from the cubby house. He held his breath to listen. It wasn’t nasty humming.
It sounded just like singing, like Rumba when he was cleaning. Figaro knocked on the door.
There was no answer, but the humming stopped. He peeped in through the window. It was very dark inside but he could just see the shapes of cats – ten, eleven, twelve of them!
‘Hello!’ he called. He tried to open the door but there was a padlock and chain. ‘Why are you all inside on such a beautiful day?’
The cats didn’t move. They stood frozen against the wall.
‘Is this musical statues?’ he called through the window. ‘Can I play too?’ Then he saw a little cat shake her duster. ‘Oh, I get it, this is a cat thing. It’s Monday and you’re cleaning your house!’
‘Oh, pleez to help,’ the little cat said. ‘We are prisoners!’
‘I know that accent,’ said Figaro slowly. ‘Don’t tell me, you’re from Cuba!’
‘Yez. We have been cruelly catnapped by a wicked crocodile.’
‘Aha! And does this crocodile have a voice like icing – all thin on top and nothing underneath?’
‘Yez, Yez!’
‘Does he have a musical waistcoat?’
‘Yez!’
‘I knew it!’ said Figaro, pulling at his whiskers. ‘I think this crocodile is about to catnap my best friend.’ He tried the padlock again. He pulled at the door handle. Nothing moved. The cats began to wail.
‘Wait,’ he said, holding up his paw. ‘I have to think of a plan. Sometimes I just wake up with one, bada-boom! but often I have to wait for a good idea. Take the other day, I woke up and first thing I rang up my friend, Rumba – ’
‘But, señor, we do not have a long time to wait –’
‘So as I was saying,’ Figaro went on, ‘first thing I grabbed my phone and rang up Rumba and I said, “Rumba,” I said, “I know what we’re going to do” – wait, did I say PHONE?’ He scrabbled around in his pockets. ‘Oh, where is it?’ His tail was beginning to thump with excitement. ‘You should never leave home without it, that’s what the ads say. Here it is! Now, see, I am dialling 000.’ Figaro drew himself up straight to speak.
‘Hello? Hello? This is Figaro. You must come at once!’ There was a pause as Figaro listened. ‘Oh, don’t bother me with details, just put your siren on. A crime is being committed right now!’ Figaro rolled his eyes at the cats as he put away the phone.
‘Did you tell them where we are?’ asked a cat, its worried white face pressed to the window.
‘Oh,’ said Figaro.
When he’d rung back, he wiped his mouth with the back of his paw.
‘Don’t you have a handkerchief for that?’ said the little ginger cat with the duster.
‘The police dogs say they will come, and you will be set free,’ said Figaro. ‘Meanwhile, I will run like the wind and rescue my friend. Aren’t you lucky I found you? Don’t go away.’
Figaro loped back to the café.
‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ said Rumba, leaping up from the table. ‘I was so worried about the deadly wasp nest!’
‘What deadly wasp nest?’ said Figaro. ‘I’ve had a fabulous run. Now I’d love another one of those lovely green drinks.’ And he winked furiously at Rumba.
‘What’s wrong with your eye?’ said Rumba. ‘Really, we should be going, Figaro. Our train will be back at the station soon.’
‘No, we have plenty of time,’ said Figaro. ‘Let’s sit back and enjoy the view. Think of Cuba!’
‘That’s right,’ said the crocodile. ‘The home of song and salsa.’
Rumba smiled a little anxiously. ‘Well, just another ten minutes perhaps.’
More green drinks arrived, and the crocodile pulled out a guitar. He played an old song that Rumba remembered from his childhood. Figaro was beginning to feel very sleepy. His eyelids were so heavy. He wanted to sink into something soft. A bubble bath, maybe, remember those bubbles in the bucket? But there was something he had to do. Something very important …
Figaro was asleep when the police dogs came.
The crocodile dropped his guitar in surprise. Before he could open his mouth the police dogs had lassoed it shut.
‘Figaro, wake up! What’s happening?’ cried Rumba.
The crocodile thrashed about, his big tail tipping over chairs and whipping tables.
Behind the police dogs, twelve cats leapt up on a table and began to sing. They formed a circle, with the little ginger cat leading the chorus in A minor.
‘Heavens, who are you?’ cried Rumba.
‘We are the Cats from Cuba,’ said the cats as they clicked their castanets.
‘We are arresting you in the name of the law,’ a police dog told the croc
odile. ‘For catnapping and dog stupefying.’
‘He’s stupid all by himself,’ muttered the crocodile.
‘What’s going on?’ cried Rumba. ‘I demand to know!’
‘This crocodile has been engaged in the business of stealing cats with very good voices and selling them to foreign kings and war lords as entertainers. Plus he puts sleeping poisons in the drinks of good citizens like Mr Figaro. We have actually been on the trail of this criminal for two years.’
‘I can’t believe it,’ Rumba turned to face the crocodile. ‘You pretended to be our friend. You played the congas!’
The crocodile sneered under his ropes.
‘Without Mr Figaro’s quick action here, we might have never caught him,’ said the top police dog. ‘He deserves a medal for Bravery.’
‘Do you think the crocodile could have catnapped my family?’ Rumba asked the police dog.
‘It’s possible,’ he said. ‘We will sniff around, don’t you worry.’
When Figaro came to, the police dogs drove him and Rumba and the twelve cats to the train station. The little cat with the duster asked if she could sit next to Figaro on the way home.
Rumba and Figaro were quiet on the train. Rumba was quiet because he was thinking about his lost family, and those old songs. Also, it was hard to get a word in with the twelve Cuban cats. Figaro was quiet because he was still sleepy.
Just before the train drew up at their station, Rumba patted Figaro on his back. ‘Thank you for being so brave today,’ he said.
‘That’s okay,’ said Figaro. ‘Today turned out to be a bit more of an adventure than I’d planned.’
‘Well,’ said Rumba, ‘I don’t think adventures are something you plan. They’re something that happens to you. And I’m glad it happened to us.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. We’ve got twelve new friends and a dance band!’ and Rumba gave a sudden, wild laugh like a trumpet.
Figaro laughed in surprise. He’d never heard Rumba sound so happy. Or excited. He began to bark and jump around in the carriage. And Rumba didn’t even tell him to be quiet.
Everyone wanted to hear about their adventure. As soon as Figaro and Rumba told the story, Rat and Mrs Foozy and Nate and his cousin Nancy and even Ernie the bus driver begged to hear it again. They all came to the Grand Ceremony to see the Chief of Police give Figaro his gold medal. And on the steps of the town hall, Nancy came up with her idea for the biggest adventure of all.
‘Let’s take over the Buena Vista Café!’ she said, and did her new Captivating Cuban Cat dance.
‘Fabulous!’ said Figaro.
‘How?’ cried Rumba. ‘It’s not ours, and that cunning crocodile – ’
Nancy put up her paw. ‘That mean old croc will be in jail till his teeth fall out. And didn’t the Chief say the café will be made into a Cat Haven? They can do whatever they like with the place!’ Nancy turned to the Cats from Cuba. ‘And what is it you like?’
‘Song and dance!’ they cried. ‘Sizzling salsa and haunting melodies!’
‘And big ham bones!’ said Figaro.
‘And plentiful perch,’ said Rat.
‘And we could call it “Cool Cats Café”,’ whispered the little cat with the duster.
Rumba agreed. ‘And I’ll compose a new song – The Havana Blues – for opening night.’
‘Do that laugh again,’ said Figaro, and Rumba did.
The Cool Cats Café stands high on the hill sloping down to the sea. You can take the Very Fast Train or Ernie’s Cool Cats Bus Tour to get there. And whenever you arrive, whether it’s day or night, you’ll hear fabulous Cuban dance music thrilling upon the salty air.
About the Author
Anna Fienberg is the author of many popular and award-winning books for children of all ages, including the Tashi series, The Tashi Activity Book, Once there was a Boy Called Tashi, The Magnificent Nose and Other Marvels, The Hottest Boy Who Ever Lived, Madeline the Mermaid, the Minton series, Joseph and Horrendo’s Curse.
Anna says, ‘My son was five when we brought young Figaro home. Even though he was an English Setter, we named him Figaro after the Italian opera. He loved to sing and dance. He hugged our legs like velcro whenever we did the tango. His other hobbies were bushwalking, eating (especially lamb cutlets), being a blanket on our laps, running after rabbits (which he never caught) and tug of war. You can see him here in the photos!
‘Oh, and he liked reading. Figaro was my most loyal fan – he loved my books so much that he ate them. This book makes me happy every time I open it. So thank you Stephen Michael King and Sue Flockhart at Allen & Unwin for creating a most beautiful Figaro.
‘It was so much fun to write about dear Fig and his best friend, Rumba, that now I can’t stop. Maybe I’ll cook up another storybook about Figaro and Rumba and those very Cool Cats from Cuba …’
About the Illustrator
Stephen Michael King loves to draw and dream. His creative meanderings have led him to illustrate over fifty books, including award-winning titles such as The Pocket Dogs by Margaret Wild, Where does Thursday go? by Janeen Brian, and Perry Angel’s Suitcase by Glenda Millard.
Stephen writes, illustrates and often designs as well. Books where he’s worn both hats as author and illustrator, and occasionally a third hat as designer, include The Man Who Loved Boxes, Henry and Amy, Mutt Dog!, You, Never Ever Before and A Bear and a Tree.
He says, ‘Creating books is a similar process to building a sculpture. I can start with a small idea and construct and subtract until I’m satisfied. Each book has hundreds of possibilities. I love seeing where a small idea can take me, but also smile when I land at a surprise destination.’
Stephen is published throughout the world, and his titles Milli, Jack and the Dancing Cat and Leaf were chosen as White Ravens, outstanding children’s books selected by the International Youth Library.
When Stephen was introduced to Figaro and Rumba, he said, ‘A dog and cat from Cuba sounded like a cool book to illustrate. I love dogs, cats, music and the messy artiness of Cuba. It was easy to say Yes.’
When he’s not drawing and dreaming you can find him spending his days in a mud-brick house on a coastal island, hanging out with his family, their two crazy dogs, Milli and Rosie, and his son’s much-loved and noisy rainbow lorikeet Garra.
Visit Stephen Michael King at smkbooks.com.au
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Figaro and Rumba and the Crocodile Cafe Page 3
