The Hairball of Horror!

by Michael Broad

  For Beau and Brixton

  The Alien Invasion

  Have you ever looked up at the stars and wondered if aliens really exist? Well, they do! Lots of them! All across the galaxy bright green eyes are looking right back at us, studying our world as they prepare to invade it.

  Some aliens already walk among us, but they don’t have slimy skin or wiggly tentacles. They’re cute and fluffy, eat fish and chase mice, and if they’re not already living in your home, you’ve probably seen them in your garden.

  That’s right – all cats are aliens from outer space! Tiddles from next door is in charge of weapons. Pickle from the post office relays intergalactic orders. And the big ginger tom who lets you tickle his belly on your way to school is an expert in explosives.

  It’s true that some cats are harmless and happy just being our pets, but if you watch the others closely you’ll see they’re up to something. Most of them are spies, plotting in secret and preparing for the invasion. Cats have ruled the rest of the galaxy for thousands of years, conquering every habitable world, and now their sights are set on Earth to complete their evil empire.

  The feline forces have tried to invade our planet many times before, which is how so many cats got stranded here. But they were always doomed to fail because Earth is home to the best alien defence force in the universe . . .

  THE DOGS

  ROCKET Fearless leader of the Spacemutts

  POPPY Plucky pilot of the spaceship Dogstar

  BUTCH Inventor, dribbler and all-round genius

  MONTY New recruit (a prize-winning poodle)

  THE CATS

  LADY FLUFFKINS Evil empress of the entire galaxy (well, almost)

  BALDY Cowardly minion of Lady Fluffkins

  THE FELINE FORCES Every breed of cat across the galaxy!

  Contents

  1 The Prim Poodle

  2. Dirty Dogs

  3. The Boom-Bone

  4. Mechanical Animal

  5. Things Are Heating Up

  6. Not Just a Pretty Pooch

  The Prim Poodle

  It was a slow day at the Pooch Pound dogs’ home, with very few visitors passing through the kennels. This meant that Rocket, Poppy and Butch could take a break from the usual barking, tail chasing and growling, and rest before their next space adventure.

  In the far kennel, a prize-winning poodle was resting too, gazing at his reflection in the water bowl and patting his puffy-topped head. Montague was always well behaved, and having charmed every family that had visited that week, the pampered pooch already had a new home lined up and was due to leave the following morning.

  ‘Don’t you ever get bored of looking at yourself?’ asked Butch, frowning at the prim poodle. ‘The only time I gaze into my bowl like that is when it’s full of food!’

  ‘I have to make sure my pompoms don’t droop,’ sniffed Montague, peering down his powder-puffed nose at the slobbering bulldog. ‘Personal grooming is very important in the pedigree show circuit. Not that you would know anything about that.’

  ‘Dogs should be able to act like dogs, and that means having fun and getting messy from time to time,’ Poppy frowned. Montague snapped, rudely. ‘You three are just jealous because no one wants a noisy, tail-chasing, dribble-fountain!’

  ‘We’ve already told you that we behave badly on purpose to stop people taking us home,’ said Butch, and drooled on the floor. ‘Except for the dribbling. That’s all me.’

  ‘Ah, yes. I almost forgot,’ Montague sighed sarcastically. ‘You’re the amazing Astrodogs.’

  ‘Spacemutts,’ sighed Poppy.

  ‘Spacemutts, that’s right,’ chuckled the poodle. ‘You climb into your spaceship and fly all over the galaxy saving the world from invading hamsters.’

  ‘Cats!’ growled Butch. ‘And you’d know we were telling the truth if you had accepted our invitations to join us. But you always go to bed as soon as the night warden locks up.’

  ‘I need my beauty sleep,’ sniffed the poodle, looking his three kennel mates up and down with a critical eye. ‘And so do you lot by the looks of it. When was the last time any of you had a bath?’

  ‘There’s no need to be rude,’ said Rocket, pricking his ears at a distant sound of squeaky boots and doors being locked. ‘Anyway, the night warden has arrived, which means it’s time for us to get going.’

  ‘And time for me to sleep,’ said Montague, pulling on his frilly eye-mask and stuffing cotton wool in his ears. The poodle circled his blanket several times before flopping down for the night. ‘Give my regards to the space rabbits!’

  ‘Cats!’ Poppy and Butch growled together.

  ‘Take no notice,’ said Rocket, clearing away chew toys to make room in the centre of his kennel. He waited for his friends to do the same before swiping his collar, which made the stud lights blink around his neck.

  ‘This is Rocket calling the Dogstar. Come in, WOOF?’

  ‘Hello, Captain,’ said the female voice of WOOF, the Dogstar’s onboard computer. ‘I am in orbit above your location. Can I confirm only three teleports again this evening?’

  Rocket glanced at Poppy and Butch who were both grinning mischievously, and then he looked at the puffy white poodle lying neatly in the centre of his kennel, directly beneath the domed light.

  ‘Lets make that four teleports,’ he whispered.

  Moments later the domed lights flickered on and off and bright beams shot down from the ceiling. The four dogs sparkled and shimmered in the brilliant light, and then vanished one by one in the transport beams until all of the kennels were empty.

  At the very edge of our solar system, on a planet named Pluto, Lady Fluffkins was overseeing the rapid construction of a supersonic space-cannon from the observation deck of her Mouseship. The colossal weapon was nearly as big as the small planet it was built on, and when it was finally completed, the empress sent out a green flare to signal the waiting fleet.

  From the darkness of deep space, hundreds of feline ships came into view, hauling giant cargo-holds and freight-nets behind them. The cats had travelled in a convoy from far and wide across the Catnip Nebula to load the barrel of the cannon with their mysterious cargo.

  The evil empress watched with wide green eyes as each precious payload was dumped into the open mouth of the weapon. The sticky substance had been collected from every occupied planet in the galaxy over many years and was now being compacted, crushed into a single massive missile.

  ‘This is your most clever and cunning plan yet, Mistress,’ snivelled Baldy, quickly plumping up the satin cushion before Lady Fluffkins sank into her throne. ‘Earth will soon be yours for the taking . . .’

  ‘No, it won’t!’ spat the empress.

  ‘Huh?’ gasped the servant, whose main job, aside from grovelling and generous outpourings of flattery, was to praise his mistress and make positive predictions for each invasion attempt on planet Earth.

  ‘There has been a last-minute change of plan,’ Fluffkins grinned.

  ‘You’ve found another planet you like more than the elusive blue one, my lady?’ Baldy enquired, carefully.

  ‘I’ve already conquered all of the others, you hairless freak,’ growled the white Persian. ‘Earth is the only planet that has managed to resist my rule, thanks to those fleabag Spacemutts.’

  ‘Then what do you plan to do?’ whispered the servant, seeing red lights flashing on the control panel. ‘The cannon is fully loaded and charged for the supersonic blast.’

  ‘I’ve changed the flight path so the missile will gather asteroids along the way,’ hissed the empress, tapping in her authorization code to arm the secret weapon. ‘Which means it will be a thousand times bigger and faster when it enters the Earth’s atmosphere.’ />
  ‘But that would m-m-mean . . .’ stammered the servant.

  ‘Yes!’ said Lady Fluffkins, plunging her paw on the big red button. ‘If I cannot rule planet Earth, I will destroy it instead!’ she said, laughing wildly as the sonic boom created a blinding flash in the starry sky, blasting the mysterious missile out into the solar system.

  Dirty Dogs

  As the Dogstar orbited planet Earth, four teleport beams whooshed upon the transportation deck and when the sparkling lights twinkled away, there were four dogs aboard the ship. The three Spacemutts looked around and frowned at the snoring new recruit, all wondering how he’d managed to sleep through his first journey in a light transporter.

  ‘Wakey-wakey!’ Butch said cheerily, trotting away to check the engines at the back of the ship. The poodle stopped snoring and snuffled, but didn’t fully wake up.

  ‘Rise and shine!’ Poppy added, taking her seat in the cockpit and switching the ship’s controls from autopilot to manual. The poodle shifted slightly on his blanket, but failed to rise or shine.

  ‘There’s only one thing that will wake him,’ said Rocket, hopping up to the central hub and flicking on the intercom. ‘YOUR POMPOMS ARE DROOPY!’ roared the captain, his voice booming from the speakers.

  Montague immediately sat bolt upright, removed the cotton wool from his ears and lifted off his eye-mask. ‘Where am I?’ he gasped, glancing around the ship in a panic while patting his pompoms to make sure they were still perfectly puffy.

  ‘You’re aboard the Dogstar!’ said Butch.

  Poppy pointed out of the window. ‘We’re orbiting planet Earth!’ she added.

  ‘Now do you believe us?’ smiled Rocket, clearly proud of his ship.

  The prim poodle crept cautiously over to the cockpit and peered out at the starry night. Then he turned slowly and walked back through the great metal belly of the Dogstar, frowning at the central hub and the giant monitor, before stepping carefully around the engines. Eventually he returned to his blanket and sat down.

  ‘Well?’ the Spacemutts said together. ‘Say something!’

  ‘Why is everything so dirty?’ asked Montague, pulling a face as he examined his paw-pads.

  ‘Because it’s a spaceship full of greasy engines!’ said Butch.

  ‘And space-dust gets everywhere!’ laughed Poppy.

  asked Rocket, who was used to new recruits being amazed and excited. ‘Any questions you’d like to ask us?’

  ‘When are we going home?’ huffed the poodle. ‘Unlike you lot, I have a new family coming to collect me in the morning and I don’t want to disappoint them by being late . . . or even worse, being untidy!’

  ‘We’ll have you back in time,’ sighed Rocket. ‘I promise.’

  ‘So while you’re here you might as well let your hair down and have some fun,’ said Poppy, spinning around in her pilot seat. ‘Don’t you ever just want to dig in the dirt and get messy sometimes?’

  ‘No’ said the poodle. ‘I prefer to stay clean and presentable.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Butch, who had no such ambition and dribbled down his front as if to prove it.

  ‘Because getting dirty is what landed me in the Pooch Pound in the first place!’ snapped Montague. ‘I didn’t win my last dog show, because I had a speck of mud on my paw, and the following day my master got rid of me.’

  ‘We’re sorry to hear that, Monty,’ said Rocket, trying to comfort the poodle. ‘But you should know that most humans expect their dogs to get mucky from time to time, and it doesn’t change how much they love them.’

  ‘How would you know?’ sniffed the poodle, settling down on his blanket where he could sleep and stay clean. ‘And please don’t call me Monty. My proper pedigree title is Lord Montague Pompidou the Third!’

  The Spacemutts stifled their smirks and were about to get together to discuss the best way to help the posh poodle overcome his fear of filth when red lights began flashing in the ship and the alert siren sounded through the speakers.

  Rocket quickly jumped back to the central hub and silenced the alarm. ‘What is it, WOOF?’ he asked, flicking on the monitor and scanning the local star map as it appeared on the screen.

  ‘I’m picking up a very large object making its way through our solar system,’ said WOOF, zooming in on its past locations. ‘It is growing in size and on its present course it’s heading straight for planet Earth.’

  ‘But I scanned all of the spy-bone satellite data,’ said Rocket, flicking through the printouts. ‘There was no sign of Fluffkins’s Mouseship or any other craft within our solar system. Where has it come from?’

  ‘The spy-bones will only alert us if a ship or some other mechanical device enters our airspace,’ WOOF explained. ‘But this object seems to be entirely organic. It’s gobbling up asteroids along the way and growing bigger and faster at an alarming rate.’

  ‘Can you get a visual on it?’ asked Rocket.

  ‘Negative, Captain. It’s moving too fast for our closed-circuit cameras to snap it,’ said WOOF, displaying an image of a starry sky with a brown blur streaking through the middle. ‘This is the best shot I could find.’

  The Spacemutts all frowned at the fuzzy brown streak and tilted their heads as they tried to work it out. No one had a clue what it could be and looked to the captain to decide upon the best course of action.

  ‘We have to go and see this thing with our own eyes,’ said Rocket, calculating the current size and path of the object. ‘Butch, fire up the light-speed engines. I’m plotting its predicted course so we should be able to head the thing off halfway.’

  ‘If it’s growing in size and increasing in speed, it will be dangerous flying when we get there,’ said Poppy, gauging the gravity pull of an object that size.

  said Rocket, bounding to the cockpit with the estimated coordinates. ‘I know you can do it, Poppy.’

  ‘Light-speed prepped and beginning the countdown,’ barked Butch, adjusting the final valve among the rattling engines. ‘And we have light-speed in five, four, three, two, one!’

  On the count of one, Poppy pushed the acceleration levers forward and the Dogstar shot past Earth’s rocky moon and into inky outer space like a bolted-metal bullet. Rocket leaped back to the hub to track the closing distance of the object while Butch serviced the engines.

  From his neat little blanket, Montague watched the Spacemutts all working together and desperately wanted to join in. But a life of posing and pampering had not prepared the poodle for much – and certainly not for an intergalactic space adventure! Rocket, Poppy and Butch could have no use for a dog with perfect pompoms who could bounce around a silly obstacle course, and that was all he’d ever been taught to do.

  Montague acted superior and spoke down to other dogs, but away from the show circuit he felt completely useless. All he could do in the current cosmic crisis was stay out of the Spacemutts’ way, so he pulled down his eye-mask and gave a long, heavy sigh.

  The Boom-Bone

  When the Dogstar entered the path of the missile, Rocket and Butch bounded over to the cockpit in time to see a gigantic brown ball hurtling through space at an incredible speed. It was heading straight for them, but Poppy managed to steer the ship away before it pulled them into its gravity field. The object was the size of a small planet, covered in jagged asteroids and blue rivers that snaked across the surface like veins. With the collision narrowly avoided, Poppy quickly turned the Dogstar about and began chasing after the colossal ball, steering through the shower of meteorites that were flying off behind it.

  ‘I still can’t make out what it is,’ said Rocket, as the ship swerved from side to side avoiding great chunks of space rock. ‘It’s too round to be a meteor and too squishy to be a rogue moon.’

  ‘It could be a dwarf planet caught in a super-gravity slingshot,’ said Butch, drawing on the vast cosmic knowledge in his highly scientific brain. ‘But it looks like a massive meatball!’ he drooled, his stomach taking over. The bulldog staggered back to the engines, w
hich hissed and groaned under the strain of the chase.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s not stopping,’ said Poppy, struggling to keep up and avoid every meteor strike that would blow a hole through the Dogstar. ‘It’s getting faster and warming up, causing the organic matter to create a micro-atmosphere that boulders are bouncing off like giant footballs!’

  ‘If it has an atmosphere, that means we can land on it!’ said Rocket.

  ‘Huh?’ said Poppy. ‘Why would we want to do a silly thing like that?’

  ‘It would give my poor engines a rest,’ said Butch, racing around the back of the ship where fuel pipes steamed and pressure valves screamed. ‘I can’t keep up this pace without re-entering light-speed.’

  ‘And if we land on the surface we can send it off course,’ said Rocket, already working on a plan of action. ‘A well-positioned boom-bone will send this big blob off its present target and straight into the sun where it will burn up on impact.’