But it turned out that julklappar were the same things as ‘Christmas presents’. They weren’t special Christmas pats at all! They were parcels with a red wax seal and rhymes written on them. Birgitta and Olle’s Papa handed out the parcels, but Pelle couldn’t understand why he had a red beanie on his head and a big, white, make-believe beard on his face and why he was wearing a thick fur coat over his suit in the warm room. He was also speaking in a much gruffer tone than his usual voice. ‘He can’t think we don’t recognise him, can he?’ thought Pelle. Indeed, it almost seemed as if Birgitta didn’t recognise her own Papa. Because she said, ‘Thank you, dear Santa,’ when she received a parcel. It sounded so odd that Pelle almost had to laugh. But he thought they might be upset if he laughed, so he sneezed a little instead.
‘Bless you,’ said Papa, whom Birgitta was calling Santa. ‘Well, now I have a parcel for Pelle,’ he continued. And he read, ‘To Pelle, from Birgitta.’
Here’s something that will roll if you …
Hit it with your paw, cock-a-doodle-doo!
‘Coming up with a rhyme isn’t always so easy, is it,’ said Olle. ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo, really, Birgitta!’
‘I can come up with at least one hundred rhymes for “you”, if I feel like it,’ said Birgitta, hurt. ‘But cock-a-doodle-doo worked best, so there! Just you wait and see.’
And she opened Pelle’s parcel. In the parcel was a ball, and on the ball was painted a colourful rooster.
‘What a fun present,’ thought Pelle, and tried it out at once. He smacked the ball, and it rolled to the other side of the room, but Pelle got there almost as fast as the ball. Then he smacked it again. It wasn’t a bad idea at all, swiping at a rooster at the same time you smacked the ball. Yes, this present was fun!
But there was one more Christmas present for Pelle. On it was written this verse, which Santa sang in his gruff voice:
Little Pelle,
Little Pelle,
Please don’t eat me up!
If you do, I’ll be so sad,
My darling pussycat.
Little Pelle,
Little Pelle,
Please don’t eat me up!
‘We’ll see about that,’ thought Pelle. ‘If it’s a herring, I can’t answer for anything that might happen.’
But it was a rat. Not a real one, of course. Rather, a mechanical one that ran away if you wound it up with a little key.
The ball was almost more fun, thought Pelle.
20
Christmas morning at Åsgränd Alley
Early on Christmas morning, Pelle went out for a walk. All was quiet and peaceful in the town and the streets were covered in soft, white snow. Not a soul was about. But out of a basement door came a cat. It was an old acquaintance. It was Måns.
Ever since that autumn excursion, Måns had seemed a little sheepish whenever he had run into Pelle, but he had tried to put on a good front and would usually greet him in a friendly fashion and say a few words, for example, ‘It snowed a lot last night,’ or ‘There was a lot of herring at the markets yesterday,’ or some such thing. It all sounded quite friendly, but on the inside, Måns was still angry with Pelle and would dearly have loved to make trouble for him, except that he didn’t quite know how.
Today Måns said, ‘Well, I see you’re out walking on Christmas Day, too,’ and then he meant to continue on his way. But Pelle stopped him.
‘How many Christmas presents did you get?’ he asked Måns.
‘Christmas presents! What sort of nonsense is that?’ said Måns, wrinkling his nose and sniffing.
‘I thought you’d know,’ said Pelle. ‘They’re things you get on Christmas Eve. I got a ball and a rat. Not a real one, of course.’
‘Nah,’ sneered Måns, laughing. ‘Nobody would think you’d get a real rat. No indeed. If you saw a real rat, you’d be so scared you’d run away as fast as you could.’
Pelle licked his nose, baffled. He struggled to come up with a good answer that would really flatten Måns, but he couldn’t come up with anything on the spot. And there stood Måns, leering at him with his broadest scornful smile.
‘Jaja,’ said Måns, ‘if you want to catch a rat, you’ve got to be quick off the mark. Happy Christmas!’ And Måns went on his way.
But then Pelle came up with what he felt was a good answer.
‘Well anyway, not everyone has put out a fire!’ he called after Måns. ‘Happy Christmas!’
*
But Måns went straight back to the old shed in the yard at Åsgränd Alley. There he met up with Bill and Bull and Fritz and Frida, who were sitting there playing ‘Happy Families’ with one another.
‘Can I please have young Miss Fieldmouse?’ asked Fritz.
‘Not possible,’ said Frida. ‘But do you have old Mister Mole?’
Much to his irritation, Fritz had to hand over old Mister Mole, so Frida then had all four members of the Mole family. And Frida giggled, satisfied.
Then Måns arrived. ‘Pelle No-Tail is just about ready to burst with cockiness,’ he said.
The others were so interested they forgot all about their game and their cards. All except little Frida, who only had thoughts for the Mole family.
‘Did you see him?’ said Bill.
‘Did you run into each other?’ said Bull.
‘We ran into each other just now at Upper Slottsgatan,’ said Måns. ‘He was yabbering on about some Christmas presents he’d been given and he was sounding smug, as usual. And would you believe he’s still carrying on about that old fire. I’m starting to get a bit sick of it now.’
‘We have to put an end to it,’ said Bill.
‘There has to be a stop to it,’ said Bull.
‘We need to deal with it,’ said Fritz. ‘What do you say, Frida?’
‘Are you talking about young Master Mole?’ said Frida. She was miles away, the little silly-billy.
‘I know what we’ll do,’ said Måns.
‘What then?’ said Bill.
‘What’ll we do?’ said Bull.
‘We’re going to organise a New Year’s Eve party,’ said Måns. ‘And we’re going to invite Pelle.’
‘And scratch him,’ said Fritz.
‘No, we’re going to behave ourselves,’ said Måns. ‘He was talking about his Christmas presents, but we’re going to hand out New Year’s Eve presents. And he’s going to get something to be really ashamed of.’
‘What then?’ said Bill and Bull and Fritz.
‘I’m not telling you yet,’ said Måns. ‘But he’ll be a laughing stock – I’ll promise you that.’
‘Excellent,’ said Bill.
‘Perfect,’ said Bull.
‘Great,’ said Fritz. ‘What do you say, Frida?’
‘Are you talking about old Missus Mole?’ asked Frida.
21
Pelle’s New Year’s Day
It was some days later, just before New Year’s Eve, when Pelle and Måns ran into each other again in the street.
‘What’s the matter with Måns?’ thought Pelle. ‘He looks really friendly today.’
And indeed it did look as though Måns had turned over a new leaf.
‘You must forgive me, Pelle,’ he said, ‘if I was a little mean to you the other day when we ran into each other.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ said Pelle. ‘I think I was a little foolish myself. But I’m happy to put it behind us.’
‘That’s good then,’ said Måns. ‘So, I thought I’d ask if you feel like coming to our New Year’s party on New Year’s Day in the big shed on Åsgränd Alley. We’re going to have delicious New Year’s food, and then we’ll be opening New Year’s presents.’
‘That sounds nice,’ said Pelle. ‘As long as you don’t go pushing me into some lake.’
Måns laughed at that.
‘Well, you know well enough there’s no lake in the shed.’
‘No, of course not, how silly of me,’ said Pelle and laughed a little sheepishly. ‘Yes, thanks then, I’ll
come. What time did you say it was?’
‘Seven o’clock,’ said Måns. ‘Casual dress.’
And then Måns went on his way looking very pleased with himself. It really wasn’t very hard to trick that Pelle!
*
There were a lot of cats gathered at the shed at Åsgränd Alley on New Year’s Day. Aside from Måns and Bill and Bull and Fritz and Frida, whom you already know, a whole lot of other cats, whom Pelle hadn’t met before, had all made their way there. There were Big Klas and Little Klas and Rickard from Rickomberga and the two cheerful sisters Hilda and Hulda and then there was Murre from Skogstibble, who had come the furthest and who was in town visiting relatives.
It was a lovely party. Murre from Skogstibble was telling farmyard tales, which weren’t particularly funny, but Murre himself snorted and laughed so heartily that the others had to laugh too. Big Klas performed magic tricks, and Hilda and Hulda did some tap dancing, and then the time came for the grand handing out of New Year’s gifts.
Måns handed out the parcels with a self-important look. Fritz received a milk bowl and Frida a lollipop. She started sucking on it straight away.
And then it was Pelle’s turn. Måns handed him a little box. Everyone crowded around Pelle to look as he opened it up.
In the box lay a medal! It was ugly and roughly made, and on it was written, FOR STUCK-UP CATS.
‘Jaha!’ shouted Måns, ‘We all know how much Pelle No-Tail loves his medals, and that’s why he’s been given the medal that suits him best. Ladies and gentlemen, on the front it says FOR STUCK-UP CATS and on the back is written something it would pay certain cats to remember. It says: A TAIL IS A CAT’S BIGGEST PRIDE AND JOY.’
Oj, how all the cats laughed! Murre from Skogstibble fell into a chair laughing and had to clutch his stomach with both front paws. Fritz and Frida did somersaults of joy. This was the most fun they’d ever had.
‘And now we’re going to hang the medal on stuck-up Pelle,’ said Måns. ‘But what’s this? … Where’s he got to? … Pelle has disappeared!’
Amid all the general jubilation, nobody had noticed that Pelle had slipped away.
Holding back his tears, Pelle traipsed home.
‘Why do they always have to be so mean to me?’ he sighed. ‘As if I can help the fact I don’t have a tail.’
But in the end, that New Year’s Day finished well for Pelle.
When he first arrived home, he was scolded for having made off at that time of night without permission. But then Birgitta sat him up on a tall stool, and her Papa stepped forward with a box, which he opened. It was an elegant case lined with red velvet. And on the red velvet lay a lovely, shiny medal. It didn’t say FOR STUCK-UP CATS, but instead had the words FOR DISTINGUISHED SERVICES inscribed on it, and Birgitta’s Papa spoke:
‘Well, dear Pelle, on the first day of the year, we thought we should give you a new medal to replace the old one you lost. You’re a good cat, and you’ve earned a medal, so a medal you shall have. And this one is even more distinguished than the first one you had, so I suggest you wear it only when you really need to look your best. At special lunches and at weddings and the like. The rest of the time, we’ll let it hang on the wall above your basket. And now, let’s all give Pelle a cheer! Long live Pelle!’
Now, that’s what you call a New Year’s party!
The only sad thing, thought Pelle, was that Måns and Bill and Bull and the others weren’t there. It would have been good for them to see it!
Acknowledgements
We are so grateful to Sophy Williams, Jo Rosenberg, Patty di Biase-Dyson and the team at Piccolo Nero for their persistent support of our quest to help Pelle find his English voice and to introduce him to some new friends! We would also very much like to say TACK ! or thank you to Michael Smee and Paul Schoff, for your endless reserves of wisdom, patience and good humour; to Cheryl Akle, for your boundless enthusiasm and generosity of spirit; and to Leila, Tom, Nina and Jasper, for keeping us all young enough to be able to hear Pelle’s friendly purring.
Stephanie Smee & Ann-Margrete Smee
The Adventures of Pelle No-Tail Page 6
