The Adventures of Pelle No-Tail

by Gösta Knutsson

  GÖSTA KNUTSSON (1908–1973) was a Swedish children’s author and radio producer. The first Pelle book was published in 1939, followed by many more books, comics, films, plays, music and television programs.

  Pelle No-Tail is beloved in Sweden and around the world, with translations appearing in Polish, Finnish, Danish, German, Dutch, Norwegian, Portuguese – and now English.

  Published by Piccolo Nero,

  an imprint of Schwartz Publishing Pty Ltd

  Level 1, 221 Drummond Street

  Carlton VIC 3053, Australia

  enquiries@blackincbooks.com

  www.nerobooks.com

  Pelle Svanslös © Sagogränd AB

  English translation © Stephanie Smee and Ann-Margrete Smee 2017

  Original text © Gösta Knutsson

  Illustrations by Lovisa Lesse © Sagogränd AB

  First published as Pelle Svanslös på äventyr in 1939 by Bonnier Carlsen Bokförlag, Stockholm, Sweden.

  Translated from the ALB. Bonniers Boktryckeri 1944 edition.

  Published in the English language by arrangement

  with Bonnier Rights, Stockholm, Sweden.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior consent of the publishers.

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

  Knutsson, Gösta, 1908-1973. author.

  The adventures of Pelle No-Tail/Gösta Knutsson;

  Translated by Stephanie Smee, Ann-Margrete Smee.

  9781863959247 (paperback)

  9781925435856 (ebook)

  Knutsson, Gösta, 1908–1973. Pelle No-Tail book 1.

  For primary school age.

  Cats–Juvenile fiction.

  Lesse, Lovisa, illustrator.

  Smee, Stephanie, translator. Smee, Ann-Margrete, translator.

  Cover and text design by Tristan Main

  Translators' Note

  We are delighted to introduce you to Pelle No-Tail, or Pelle Svanslös, as he is known in Sweden. All Swedish children grow up with little Pelle – he is as well known there as Astrid Lindgren’s Pippi Longstocking.

  Even though you are reading his stories in English, we felt it important to remind you that Pelle is a Swedish cat. So we have kept all the different words for ‘yes’ in their original Swedish. Sometimes it might be a very definite ‘yes’, sometimes it might be a more doubtful ‘yes’. Either way, we think you’ll have no difficulty understanding them; the context will make it quite clear. Just remember, when you say them out loud, that a ‘j’ in Swedish is said like a ‘y’ in English! Ja, jaså, jo and jodå are just some of the words you might see.

  You might also notice a few different symbols over some of the letters, such as ‘å’, ‘ä’ or ‘ö’. These are different letters in the Swedish alphabet (they come right at the end of the dictionary, after ‘z’) and the symbols change the sound of those letters.

  Some other words you might notice include the mean names the nasty cat, Måns, calls some of the other cats from time to time. In Swedish, they sound just like their meaning, so we thought you might enjoy reading them out loud. Our favourite is probably ‘dumbom’, which means …? You guessed it, ‘silly billy!’

  All that is left to say now is: Ha det nu så kul med Pelle Svanslös! Happy reading and have fun with Pelle.

  Stephanie Smee & Ann-Margrete Smee

  Contents

  1 Have you seen the cat who doesn’t have a tail?

  2 Pelle No-Tail meets a fox

  3 Pelle puts out a fire and gets a medal

  4 Have you seen the cat who brags about his money?

  5 Adventure on Easter Saturday

  6 Off to the country!

  7 Pelle No-Tail takes the train

  8 Big-Stina at Övrabo

  9 The Nibble-ström family and Miss Teaser

  10 The giant ladybird

  11 Pelle No-Tail gets lost!

  12 Old Mister Karlsson

  13 The dainty Miss Ingrid

  14 Pelle finds his way back

  15 It’s autumn!

  16 Pelle meets some old friends

  17 He who laughs last laughs loudest!

  18 Pelle and the Christmas tree

  19 Pelle’s Christmas presents

  20 Christmas morning at Åsgränd Alley

  21 Pelle’s New Year’s Day

  Acknowledgements

  1

  Have you seen the cat who doesn’t have a tail?

  Once upon a time, there was a cat. Not one of those peculiar, long-haired cats with a curious, foreign name, but an ordinary, Swedish, grey, tabby pussycat with a pink nose. And if you were to lift up his paws to look underneath, then you would see that the pads of his feet were pink, too. But the unfortunate thing about him was that he had no tail. Yes, it really was terribly sad – all he had was a poor little stump to wave about when he was angry, which, as you can imagine, really did look a little pitiful. The most pitiful thing of all, however, was that his tail had been bitten off by a rat. Yes, it’s perhaps hard to believe, but truly, that is what happened: one day, when our pussycat was only a few days old and could barely even move, there came a dreadful, big rat that was almost bigger than the kitten himself. And it bit off his tail with its sharp teeth. Soon all the cats in the neighbourhood had heard the story and, as you can well understand, they giggled and made fun of the poor pussycat with no tail. And sometimes they would even form a circle and dance around him as they sang this song:

  Have you seen the cat

  Who doesn’t have a tail?

  A more pathetic puss

  Ne’er seen across the dale!

  Our tails are long and fine

  So happily we dance,

  But we won’t have that No-Tail

  Join us as we prance.

  It was not exactly very kind of them, was it now? As for No-Tail, he just sat there in the middle of the circle, licking his nose and looking self-conscious. Sometimes he would try to hiss a little, but he hadn’t really learnt how to hiss very well, and the others only laughed at him. And then they would sing the next verse too, which was even meaner still:

  Did you hear? A rat

  Bit off the poor thing’s tail.

  He battled with the cat

  And yes, he did prevail!

  Now, it’s usually the cat

  Who’ll want to bite the rat,

  But this time he got you!

  So just find another crew!

  Yes, this poor pussycat was not having much fun at all. But one day, in fact the very day he turned seven weeks old, something happened. A gentleman arrived in a car at the farm where the kitten was living. He left his car parked out the front of the farm but didn’t quite close the car door behind him.

  Seeing this, the cat wandered over to the car. He jumped onto the car’s running-board and peered curiously inside. What a perfect opportunity to see what a car looked like on the inside! He hopped in and soon enough felt right at home among all the levers and things.

  He pawed at a scrap of cotton rag that was lying there, worrying it and tearing it, knocking it about and playing with it, pretending it was a little rat. Then his eyes fell upon a tassel dingle-dangling from a string in the back window of the car, and of course he just had to swipe it down with his paw. And as he tugged it and pulled at it, a blind rolled down across the window. But when he then let the tassel go, the blind snapped back up with a sharp bang!

  That gave No-Tail quite a scare and now he didn’t feel like playing anymore. Instead he settled down and made himself comfort
able on the beautifully soft back seat of the car, closed his eyes and started to purr. He really felt very proud. He felt sure there were no other cats on the farm who had ever slept on the back seat of a car.

  But suddenly, the gentleman returned and climbed into the car. It was too late for the cat to jump out, so he crawled into a corner and thought, ‘I’ll just lie here very quietly and see what happens.’ There in the front seat, the fellow started to carry on, working pedals and pulling levers, and the car started to growl, which made the little pussycat feel very uneasy.

  But then the car started off down the road. It headed down the lane to the main road, where it took off at quite a clip. Oj, it was fast! No-Tail looked out the window and saw trees and bushes and telegraph poles and little red cottages dancing past outside. He quivered. Where could he be heading? What would become of him?

  By and by, more and more houses appeared on either side of the road, first villas with gardens, then bigger brick buildings reaching high up to the blue sky, and more and more cars came driving past. This was obviously the town the pussycat had heard so much about back home on the farm.

  Suddenly the car came to a stop and the gentleman climbed out, slamming the door behind him. No-Tail craned his neck and peered after him. The man went into a shop. The cat saw a shop window crammed with sausages and hams, which made him feel terribly hungry.

  After a little while, the fellow returned, and was now clutching several large parcels. He tossed them into the back seat. The pussycat shrank back into his corner, making himself as small as possible, and it was clear the fellow hadn’t seen him. He climbed in behind the wheel again and drove off.

  No-Tail sniffed at the parcels cautiously. They really did smell very good. What a pity the food was wrapped in so much paper that he couldn’t even nibble off the tiniest morsel. He would just have to be satisfied with sniffing, and hungrier and hungrier he became.

  The car stopped again and No-Tail realised they had arrived. The gentleman climbed out, opened the back door of the car and started to lift out the parcels. And now he discovered the kitten in the corner!

  ‘What in heaven’s name do we have here?’ he said.

  ‘Miaow,’ said the cat, because he didn’t really have anything else to say.

  ‘Jaså, well, well! We have a stowaway!’ said the fellow. That was a long, peculiar word, which the pussycat didn’t understand. But he thought it probably best to answer anyway, so he said ‘Miaow’ one more time.

  ‘Oh well, it’s probably best you come up with me, so we can decide what to do with you,’ said the fellow. And he took the cat by the scruff of the neck and stuffed him into his right-hand coat pocket. It was as dark as a cellar in there. Not that the cat was afraid of the dark, but it really wasn’t very pleasant at all to sit in that pocket not knowing what was about to happen. ‘So we can decide what to do with you …’ the fellow had said. That sounded ominous. And the pussycat’s little heart beat fast, very fast. It sounded almost as if the fellow had a watch in his coat pocket.

  But the man went up to his apartment, set down his parcels and then plucked the poor little kitten out of his pocket. No-Tail looked around him with big, fearful eyes. He saw lots of new people: a lady and a little girl and a boy.

  ‘Look what I found sitting in my car,’ said the fellow, and chuckled. ‘Ja, don’t be scared, little pussycat, we’re not going to hurt you,’ he went on, and at once the cat felt a little calmer.

  ‘Oh, Papa!’ exclaimed the girl. ‘Oh, he’s so sweet! Can I lift him up? Please, Papa!’

  ‘Did you say the cat was lying in the car?’ said the woman. ‘How could the cat have been lying in the car?’

  ‘A dog would have been more exciting, don’t you think?’ said the boy. ‘And this thing doesn’t even have a tail. Look, did you ever see such a silly little handle as that thing he has back there?’

  ‘Well, I think he’s sweet,’ said the little girl, and she smothered the cat in so many kisses he had to shake his head, just as if he had been out in the rain.

  And so the farm cat became a town cat, and he was christened Pelle, because the little girl thought it was a bit miserable just to be called No-Tail.

  2

  Pelle No-Tail meets a fox

  The girl was called Birgitta, and she was ten years old.

  ‘I’m your Mama now, you understand,’ she told Pelle. ‘And now you have to be a really sweet, good little pussycat, so you’ll be allowed to stay here with us.’

  ‘Miaow’, said Pelle.

  ‘You have to wear a bow,’ said Birgitta, ‘so everyone can tell you’re a nice cat.’ And she put a red silk ribbon around Pelle’s neck and tied a beautiful bow.

  He didn’t really like that very much, and when he was alone, he tried to scratch it off. But that didn’t work. ‘Nå ja, oh well,’ thought Pelle, ‘I suppose one has to put up with a little discomfort. Apart from that, they seem very nice.’

  Yes, they really were very kind to him. He was given fresh herring and a saucer of delicious milk, and a basket with a pillow to sleep on. And he was given a ball of wool to play with. And he didn’t miss the farm at all.

  Birgitta wanted Pelle in her room at night.

  ‘But I’ve read about mischievous kittens who scratch sleeping children,’ said Birgitta’s Mama.

  ‘That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,’ thought Pelle. And Birgitta’s Papa obviously agreed. Because he said, ‘No, really? I don’t think we need to worry about that. This little chap looks completely harmless. And if he left the sausages alone in the car, then he’s not going to touch Birgitta either. I really think we can put his basket in Birgitta’s room. Isn’t that right, Pelle? We can trust you, can’t we?’

  ‘Miaow,’ said Pelle.

  *

  It was just five o’clock in the morning when Pelle woke up, feeling completely rested. He stretched and yawned so widely you could have stuffed a huge Christmas apple into his mouth, and had it in fact been Christmas, there would indeed have been Christmas apples.

  Pelle started to wash himself carefully and thoroughly. There was almost nothing he liked better than washing himself, especially his face – he had just learnt how to do that and he was really good at it now.

  Birgitta was still asleep, and everybody else was too, but Pelle was wide awake. He didn’t feel at all like settling back into his basket, so he decided to take off to explore a little. Fortunately, the door to Birgitta’s room stood slightly ajar, and with the help of his nose, Pelle managed to open it enough to let himself out.

  He wandered around, sniffing in every corner. One table had lots of interesting things on it and he absolutely had to take a closer look.

  AjAjAj! – somehow he managed to knock over a vase. Water ran across the table and onto the floor. One of Pelle’s paws got wet, which wasn’t much fun.

  He continued his wanderings and came out into the hall.

  A fox was hanging there, looking foolish. Pelle took a leap into the air, but he didn’t reach it. Again and again he tried, but the fox just hung there in the most infuriating way. Pelle grew angry and tried to wave his little handle of a tail. He kneaded the floor a few times with his front paws, gathering himself for a truly big leap, and … success! He actually managed to grab the very end of the fox’s tail, and the whole fox fell down to the floor.

  Now he was having fun. He rolled around with the fox, tearing it and tugging at it; he growled and hissed and spat, but the fox said nothing and just let himself be treated any old how, without so much as a murmur.

  In the end, it was Pelle who grew tired. He gave Mister Fox a pat goodbye, gave his own nose a lick, as you do after a job well done, and made his way back to his cosy basket. Soon he was fast asleep.

  3

  Pelle puts out a fire and gets a medal

  In the morning there was a commotion.

  ‘What’s happened here?’ cried Birgitta’s Mama. ‘Have we had robbers in the house? Look at the vase! And my beautiful table
is completely ruined!’

  Then she saw the rough treatment her fox stole had suffered, and all became clear.

  ‘Jaså! Well, now! This is your handiwork, you little beast,’ she said to Pelle.

  Poor Pelle sat in a corner looking guilty and unhappy.

  ‘Bad Pelle,’ said everybody. ‘Naughty Pelle, what have you done?’

  ‘I think it would be best if he went back to the country,’ said Birgitta’s Mama. ‘He doesn’t seem to be house-trained.’

  But then Birgitta started to cry, and she begged so hard to have her little pussycat stay that her Mama’s heart softened.

  ‘Well, I suppose he can stay,’ she said, ‘but if he does anything so foolish again, then we really can’t keep him.’

  ‘Do you hear that, puss?’ said Birgitta, and pinched his ear gently, ‘you’re not to do anything so foolish again.’

  ‘Miaow,’ said Pelle.

  *

  His basket was moved out into the kitchen in the evenings, for he really was owed some sort of punishment.

  ‘You can just lie here and reflect on your sins,’ said Birgitta’s Mama. For all that, the kitchen was not such a bad place to be, so Pelle curled up in his basket, feeling quite content.

  As it happened, Birgitta’s Mama was out in the kitchen in the evening, ironing handkerchiefs. She was using an electric iron and you wouldn’t believe it: she completely forgot to pull out the electrical plug from its socket when she left the kitchen.

  And there sat the iron, getting hotter and hotter.

  When Pelle woke later that night, he noticed a peculiar smell. There was a terrible smell of burning. Pelle looked about him. And then he saw the iron glowing, and the table completely scorched, and the handkerchiefs smouldering and smoke billowing from a newspaper lying there.

  Then suddenly it all burst into a huge flame, and the fire spread at a terrible pace, licking at the curtains, and then the whole kitchen was ablaze.