The Adventures of Pelle No-Tail

by Gösta Knutsson

  ‘It’s such a shame about my lovely hat,’ said Papa. ‘It wasn’t so long ago that I bought it, and I had hoped it would last the whole winter.’

  ‘Papa, don’t you think somebody might fish it out with a boathook?’ said Birgitta. ‘Or with a net?’

  ‘Nja, I don’t think that’s likely,’ said Papa. ‘I’m just going to have to buy myself a new hat.’

  ‘You can borrow some money from my piggy bank, Papa,’ said Birgitta.

  ‘Thank you, darling girl,’ said Papa. ‘But I should hope I have enough money myself. Yes, it’s all very annoying.’ Papa went on, ‘But that’s what happens in autumn, when the winds howl, as the song goes.’

  When Papa said that, Birgitta remembered her unfinished verse and sat back down at her desk, chewing again at her pencil. Pelle jumped up onto the table and sat there looking sweet. Then he noticed Birgitta’s eraser lying there. He nudged it gently with his paw. He nudged it again, and then he gave it a good push so the eraser fell down onto the floor. He darted after it, quick as a flash, and put both paws onto the eraser, but then it bounced off to the other side of the room. Pelle hopped after it and swiped at the rubber with his paw, chasing it here and there, biting it and growling.

  ‘Pelle!’ cried Birgitta. ‘Don’t make so much noise! I’m trying to write a poem and you’re bothering me!’

  You see, Birgitta’s school was due to hold an autumn fair the following day, and Birgitta was meant to read out an autumn poem that she herself had written. And now here she was, unable to come up with the fourth line. She re-read what she had already written, over and over.

  Summer is gone, and the leaves in the park Turn yellow and fall to the ground.

  Flowers are wilting, now autumn is here …

  Then Olle stuck his head around the corner and shouted, ‘AND I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANOTHER SOUND!’

  And then he pulled back his head in a hurry. Otherwise, Birgitta may very well have given his hair a good tug.

  16

  Pelle meets some old friends

  But Pelle was in a huff because he hadn’t been allowed to play with the eraser. ‘I don’t feel like sitting here anymore and helping her write her poem,’ he thought. ‘I’m going for a little evening stroll.’

  No sooner said than done. I was about to say that Pelle pulled on his hat and coat, but of course he didn’t. Anyway, he headed off and was soon down on the street making his way with neat little steps along the wall of the house.

  Then that foolish Jim Pettersson came running towards him. Jim was a big dog who lived with a family called the Petterssons. And that’s why the cats in the neighbourhood used to call him Pettersson too, so as not to mix him up with another Jim who also used to run around the streets. Not that Pelle was the slightest bit scared of Jim Pettersson, but it didn’t ever hurt to dart into a basement doorway for a bit. So Pelle slunk into the nearest opening.

  It was as dark as a sack in the basement, but Pelle had good eyes, and of course he also had his magnificent whiskers to help him feel his way. Pelle went quite a way into the basement. And suddenly he came to a door standing slightly ajar. He opened the door with his nose and found himself standing in a tiny room with a round table in the middle of the floor. Around the table sat three old acquaintances of Pelle: Måns and Bill and Bull. Yes, they were old acquaintances of Pelle but they certainly didn’t count among his good friends. Indeed, they were the ones who had snatched his fine medal from him, just because they thought he looked stuck up when he wore it.

  There they sat, around the table, each of them with a saucer of milk before him. Now and then they took a sip, and between times they would chat. Just as Pelle arrived, they were talking about him.

  ‘He’s still stuck up,’ said Måns. ‘He really thinks he’s something, just because he lives in an apartment and not in a shed, like us.’

  ‘Yes, he needs another good roughing up,’ said Bill.

  ‘A good roughing up is what he needs,’ said Bull.

  Just then Pelle appeared at the door. He hadn’t overheard a word of what the others had said. But when he caught sight of them, he growled and his tail would have grown thick and fluffy, had he had one.

  Måns winked at Bill, and Bill winked at Bull. And then Måns went over to Pelle and stretched out his paw and said, ‘Welcome, Pelle. You will sit down, won’t you, and drink a saucer of milk with us?’

  ‘Is he being friendly now?’ thought Pelle. ‘It really seems that way.’

  ‘There’s always time for a saucer of milk,’ said Pelle out loud. And soon he was sitting down with the others at the table.

  ‘Jaha, autumn’s here,’ said Bill.

  ‘Autumn’s exactly what’s here,’ said Bull.

  ‘Will you join us on an autumn excursion tomorrow?’ said Måns to Pelle.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Pelle. ‘What sort of an excursion?’

  ‘A few of us cats go on an autumn outing each year,’ said Måns eagerly. ‘This year, we thought we’d go through the forest to Lake Mälaren to catch some herring.’

  ‘What’s that?’ said Bill.

  ‘What’s that you’re saying?’ said Bull.

  ‘Quiet, you two,’ whispered Måns, and then he continued aloud. ‘So, we’re off to catch some herring in Lake Mälaren. There’s so much herring there, you can just grab it with your paws.’

  ‘But then your paws will get wet,’ said Pelle.

  ‘Just a little damp,’ said Måns. ‘And it’s worth it.’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m really fond of herring,’ said Pelle. ‘So that excursion sounds very tempting.’

  ‘Shall we say we’ll meet at eight o’clock tomorrow morning at the garbage bin in my yard?’ said Måns.

  ‘Perfect,’ said Pelle. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Måns. ‘I’ll ask Fritz and Frida to join us too.’

  ‘Fritz and Frida?’ said Pelle. ‘Aren’t they the small, nasty black cats from Upper Slottsgatan who always want to scratch you?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Måns. ‘Fritz and Frida are really nice and in any case, they live on Åsgränd Alley.’

  ‘Well, that’s on the corner of Upper Slottsgatan,’ said Pelle. ‘But I’ll be there at eight o’clock. And now I must head home, because it’s starting to get late.’

  When Pelle had gone, Måns started to laugh so hard he shook. Bill and Bull looked on in astonishment.

  ‘What did you mean with the herring?’ said Bill. ‘There’s no herring in Lake Mälaren.’

  ‘No, there’s definitely no herring in Mälaren,’ said Bull.

  ‘You really are stupid,’ said Måns. ‘Don’t you get it? I came up with that just to get him to come with us to the lake. And then we’re going to give him a proper dunking.’

  ‘Are we going to dunk him?’ said Bill.

  ‘Do you mean we’re going to dunk him?’ said Bull.

  ‘Precisely,’ said Måns. ‘We push him into the water. And maybe then he won’t be so stuck up in future. A cold bath usually works a treat.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ said Bill.

  ‘That’s really great, just great,’ said Bull.

  17

  He who laughs last laughs loudest!

  The next morning, Pelle, Måns, Bill and Bull and Fritz and Frida all met up at the garbage bin.

  ‘Now, just remember to pretend to be good friends with him,’ Måns warned the others before Pelle had arrived. ‘Nobody’s allowed to give the slightest hint we’re planning to play a trick on him.’

  ‘But can’t we at least scratch him up once we’re in the forest?’ asked Fritz and Frida. ‘Just a little bit?’

  ‘Nehej, no way,’ said Måns. ‘No scratching today. Because if you scratch him, he might start to suspect something.’

  ‘And we can’t have that,’ said Bill.

  ‘No, absolutely not,’ said Bull.

  *

  So, all six cats trotted along the path through the forest in single file, tails hi
gh, all except for Pelle, who didn’t have a tail to stick up in the air.

  High atop a pine tree sat a squirrel, chomping away. Pelle looked up and the squirrel called down to him:

  Tell me cat, what’s been cropped?

  Is that your tail you’ve just dropped?

  Fritz and Frida thought this was funny, and sniggered. But Måns furrowed his brow and hissed at the squirrel.

  ‘My! Måns is being so nice!’ thought Pelle. ‘He’s standing up for me. Yes, indeed, this really is turning out to be a very pleasant autumn outing.’

  ‘How long until we reach the lake?’ asked Pelle aloud.

  ‘Soon,’ said Måns. ‘There’s a lot of water in the lake, indeed there is.’ And Måns threw a meaningful smile at Bill and Bull. Bill and Bull looked at Fritz and Frida. They could scarcely stop themselves laughing.

  It wasn’t long until they reached the end of the forest, the golden forest in its autumn colours, and there was Lake Mälaren, glittering in the sunshine.

  ‘We’re going to head out along the jetty over there,’ said Måns. ‘That’s where you get the best view of the herring.’

  ‘Yes, you can see the herring from there,’ said Bill.

  ‘The herring can certainly be seen from there,’ said Bull.

  Fritz and Frida just sniggered.

  Pelle was so keen to catch a glimpse of the herring that he was the first to jump out onto the jetty. Måns winked at Bill, Bill winked at Bull, Bull winked at Fritz and Fritz winked at Frida, and just as Pelle was about to say he couldn’t see a single herring, the others pushed him off the jetty.

  They waited to hear a huge splash and to see Pelle disappear into the water, but now you’ll have to hear how the trick backfired. A couple of wooden beams were poking out from under the jetty, and as he fell, Pelle managed to grab on to one of them with his handy little claws, and easy as pie, he managed to swing himself up onto one of the beams!

  Måns and Bill and Bull and Fritz and Frida stood up on the jetty with long faces. But soon they had something else to think about. A pair of big, bloodthirsty dogs were bounding down towards the shore at full speed, and before the company of cats could retreat to safety, the dogs were out on the jetty.

  There was nothing for the five cats to do but leap into the lake – every one of them!

  And so, Måns and Bill and Bull and Fritz and Frida all found themselves swimming around in the cold water. The two dogs stood, growling and barking, up on the jetty. At least they didn’t feel like jumping into the lake.

  As for Pelle, he made his way in peace and quiet along his wooden beam under the jetty in towards the shore. And do you know what he saw, washing around at the shoreline? Yes, it was Birgitta’s Papa’s hat that had sailed down the stream the previous day. It had come to rest there and was looking most pitiful, as it bobbed about on the waves.

  ‘It’s a shame I can’t drag it home with me,’ thought Pelle and sniffed at the hat. But then he quietly disappeared into the forest before any of the dogs saw him. And it wasn’t so long before he was back home in town again with Birgitta.

  Eventually, the big dogs grew tired of standing on the jetty growling and went back about their business, which meant the five cats in the water could finally swim back to shore. Dripping wet and freezing cold they slunk off home. The autumn excursion hadn’t quite finished up the way they had thought it would. But I think they got what they deserved.

  18

  Pelle and the Christmas tree

  Autumn came and went and then it was Christmas.

  Pelle was usually quite bold, but the day before Christmas Eve, he really had a proper fright. He was lying peacefully in his favourite chair, half-purring, giving himself the occasional lick and thinking how lovely and pleasant everything was. Then he heard a rumbling and rustling and chatter out in the hall. ‘Nå ja,’ thought Pelle, ‘I suppose that’s Olle and Birgitta coming home … they always make a bit of noise at the door.’ And he stayed nestled in his chair and reached his long tongue out over his back a couple of times, because he had nothing better to do.

  But after a little while, he caught a glimpse of something quite strange and terrifying. In the living room, directly opposite him, a big, green pine tree was walking towards him. The tree was not standing upright, the way they do in the forest, but was approaching top first, two legs at the front and two at the back.

  ‘I’d better scare off that monster,’ thought Pelle and stood up in his chair, arching his back and hissing. But the tree wasn’t at all frightened, it just took another step and Pelle was left with no choice but to escape to safety under a cupboard as swiftly as possible, with his heart thumping. From there he kept an uneasy eye on the unfolding events. ‘What if the tree comes after me and pokes its top under the cupboard and sweeps me away!’ thought Pelle. ‘The dreadful thing would probably prick me with its awful needles.’

  But Pelle soon calmed down when he saw what was happening. It turned out that the four legs of the tree belonged to two little boys, who had been almost entirely hidden under the broad branches as they struggled to carry the tree. Now they put the tree upright and it reached almost all the way up to the ceiling, and then Birgitta and Olle’s Papa brought in a green pot with special screws, which Pelle thought looked very strange. And into the pot went the tree, and then Papa knelt down to fasten the tree into the pot with the screws, huffing and puffing so much that Pelle thought it must be very difficult work. Now he wasn’t at all scared anymore. He had come out from his spot under the cupboard and sat looking on curiously to see what would happen. The boys each received a coin and bowed so low their mops of hair grazed the floor. Then they left, and Birgitta and Olle’s Papa filled the pot with water.

  ‘Humans really are most peculiar,’ thought Pelle. ‘Imagine bringing such an enormous thing into the apartment! You can understand them picking flowers and bringing them home to put in a vase, but to pick such a huge tree and put it in a pot doesn’t seem particularly smart.’

  Then Birgitta came in, clapping her hands and hopping up and down, shouting, ‘Oh! What a beautiful tree! It’s a really big one, Papa!’ And then she noticed Pelle. She picked him up and asked him, ‘Don’t you think it’s a beautiful tree, too, Pelle?’

  ‘Yee-iaow,’ said Pelle and he did think that. ‘But I don’t understand why the tree has to be in a bucket in the living room.’ Well, he didn’t say this last bit, he just thought it. But it was as if Birgitta had understood exactly what he’d been thinking, because she went on to say, ‘So you see, Pelle, this is a Christmas tree, which you always have at Christmas time. And now we’re going to dress it. And you’ll see, it will be even more beautiful.’

  ‘It’s going to be dressed as well?’ thought Pelle. ‘I wonder if it’s going to have trousers or a skirt. But surely it can’t have shoes because it is sitting in a bucket after all. Do you think it’ll have a hat on top as well? It would look pretty funny.’ And Pelle laughed. But not out loud. No, cats never laugh out loud.

  ‘Well, we’re not going to dress it until tomorrow,’ said Birgitta. ‘That’s when we’ll hang up all the Christmas lollies in their paper bonbons, and we’ll have gingerbread hearts and red apples and a stack of candles and two big stars on top.’

  ‘Wouldn’t one be enough?’ asked Papa.

  ‘No, Papa, darling. I think it’s so lovely with two, one on each side,’ said Birgitta. ‘You’ll buy them today, won’t you, Papa? And Christmas sparklers, that sparkle properly!’

  That night, Pelle dreamed that the tree came walking into the living room, dressed in a checked overcoat and a striped suit. And on its head was an old, droopy hat, which it doffed at him. And then it jumped into a big bucket filled with water, making a splash everywhere.

  ‘But won’t you get a bit wet standing with your feet in water?’ wondered Pelle, but he woke up before the tree had time to answer. That annoyed him, because he would have really liked to know how the tree felt about standing in the bucket. ‘I certainly wouldn
’t want to be a Christmas tree standing in water,’ thought Pelle.

  19

  Pelle’s Christmas presents

  And so it was that Pelle experienced his first Christmas Eve and everything was rather amazing, he thought. The Christmas tree really turned out to be very beautiful when they had finished dressing it and the candles were lit, but Pelle didn’t like the sparklers. They crackled and sparkled in a most unpleasant way, and Pelle withdrew to a corner for as long as they kept up the noise.

  ‘It can’t be sensible, surely,’ thought Pelle. ‘The whole tree could catch fire, and then I might be forced to put out a fire again.’

  But oddly enough, the tree didn’t catch fire, despite all the sparks flying everywhere.

  Pelle thought Christmas dinner was rather strange. The rice porridge was alright, and he ate a little of that so as not to upset Birgitta. But he absolutely couldn’t stomach the re-boiled codfish. ‘It really is peculiar that this is supposed to pass for fish,’ said Pelle to himself. ‘I thought I knew all there was to know about fish. But this doesn’t smell anything like herring or sardines or perch or pike. No thank you, re-boiled codfish is not for me.’

  So Pelle was given a Christmas herring instead.

  After that, it was time for the Christmas presents to be handed out. There’s a funny word for Christmas presents in Swedish … They’re called julklappar. Jul means ‘Christmas’ and klapp means ‘knock’, because in the olden days, there would be a knock at the door on Christmas Eve and presents left on the doorstep. But this was Pelle’s first Christmas Eve and he didn’t really understand the tradition. He had heard people talking about julklappar, and he thought everybody went around giving each other a pat because klappar also means ‘pats’. It was all very confusing! Birgitta had said to him, ‘You’re going to have some julklappar too, Pelle.’ And Pelle had thought, ‘Well, thank you very much, that’s very kind. But there’s nothing so special about that, because you give me pats every day, so I’m not sure I really understand why you wouldn’t give me a pat at Christmas too.’ All of this was running through Pelle’s mind, but of course he said nothing.