I’m a Chicken, Get Me Out of Here!

by Anna Wilson

  Then turning swiftly to Ned, she caught hold of him by the tail and whirled him round so that their noses were touching.

  ‘Don’t you dare drop me in it, buster,’ she snarled softly. ‘Or you will be next.’

  Ned shot out of the broken cat flap, a dark, black thunderbolt of feline fury. He made straight for Brian’s hutch.

  As he approached, he heard raised voices. Or, rather, raised squeaks and squawks.

  ‘If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times – you may NOT bring food into the bedroom! And if you think I’m going to put up with those sorts of toilet habits . . . Oh my, oh my, I think I’m having a panic attack—’

  ‘You think YOU’RE having a panic attack? I think I’m having a nervous breakdown! Listen to me, you crazy tail-less rodent! I never asked to share my living arrangements with you—’

  ‘Share YOUR living arrangements! Well, I like that! The presumption!’

  ‘HEL-LO-O!’ Ned shouted, pressing his face up against the wire of the guinea pig’s run. ‘I’m terribly sorry to interrupt what is clearly an incredibly intellectual debate, but I feel I must make you aware of something. It’s a matter of extreme urgency,’ he insisted.

  Titch whirled round at the sound of his voice and let out a volley of alarmed clucking. ‘It’s the cat!’ she squawked. ‘The hairy monster who leaped at me and told me horrible stories to scare me and said I should get out if I knew what was good for me . . . if only I COULD get out of here. This place is a nightmare—’

  ‘How dare you be so rude about my home!’ shrieked Brian. ‘And if you think the cat is a monster, just you wait. There’s much worse out there in the garden at night, let me tell you. Foxes, for a start.’

  ‘If you are trying to put me off escaping, you are failing miserably—’ Titch screeched.

  ‘OH SHUT UP, THE PAIR OF YOU!’ yelled Ned, arching his back and hissing at the chicken and the guinea pig. Being called a ‘hairy monster’ had done nothing to improve his mood.

  The two animals took a step away from the cat and banged into each other. ned stifled a snigger and said, ‘That’s better. We are no use against the enemy if we are fighting among ourselves.’

  ‘Enemy?’ squeaked Brian. ‘What enemy?’

  ‘For pity’s sake!’ howled Ned. ‘If you would just let me finish.’ He paused to fix the two creatures with a fierce stare. ‘It’s the Terror – the girl. She is up to her tricks again. I have come to warn you to lie low. She has been doing unspeakable things to me and Ringo again this morning. You may well be next, Brian. We don’t want a repetition of the spin-dryer incident, now do we?’

  ‘Oh, don’t remind me!’ Brian said, quivering. ‘It took months for me to stop spinning round and round on the spot. I got dizzy just getting out of bed. Oh! It was dreadful—’

  ‘Quite,’ Ned cut in. ‘And you would suffer far more if you were to experience what poor unfortunate Ringo has had to endure this morning.’

  ‘The bubble blowing?’ asked Brian.

  ‘Worse,’ said Ned. He went on to explain about Ringo’s hair-cutting torture.

  ‘But that’s terrible!’ Titch squawked.

  ‘And she said you were next, Ned?’ repeated Brian. ‘That means I will be on her list too! Oh no, I’m having flashbacks! Do you remember the time she stuffed me in a cardboard tube and rolled me down a hill to see how fast I would go? Oh, my whiskers, oh, my sainted kernels of corn! Oh, my . . .’ He began running round and round, squeaking hysterically as he went.

  Ned yawned and said to Titch, ‘I never thought I would say this, but I pity you having to share a house with this ball of neuroses.’

  ‘A ball of what?’ said Titch, looking round in panic. ‘There’s a ball of – of something or other horrible in here too? Oh, my feathers and claws! Oh, my—’

  ‘You two are as bad as each other – birds of a feather in fact,’ Ned quipped. He stopped suddenly and raised his head to listen. ‘Oh no. We may be too late . . . I can hear her coming this way! Why on earth that useless mutt didn’t retaliate I do not know. He’s almost the same size as the Terror for heaven’s sake. He could flatten her if he wanted.’ Ned snarled in disgust. ‘That hound will put up with anything if it means getting a bit of attention. Or food,’ he added grimly.

  Meena’s voice could be heard quite clearly now, calling for Ned.

  ‘Neddie! Where are you, naughty boy? Come to Meena!’

  ‘Quick! Hide me!’ hissed Ned.

  ‘No way!’ exclaimed Brian, burying himself in a mound of sawdust. ‘I’m hiding myself, thank you very much.’

  ‘I need time to hatch a plan,’ said Titch. She was very flustered. She lowered her head and bustled to and fro as though she might find a plan lying around the floor of the hutch.

  ‘Well, thanks for nothing,’ said Ned. He turned to make his getaway.

  But he was too late. A pair of small chubby hands had him round the middle and, struggle as he might, he could not escape.

  Titch watched in horror as Meena lifted Ned up to her face and said in a voice as sharp as steel, ‘No one runs away from Meena.’ Then she looked at Titch with a particularly nasty grin and said, ‘Watch out, chicky-wicky. I have plans for you too.’

  Meena carried the scratching, writhing Ned back to the house just as Mum came into the kitchen looking bleary-eyed from staring at the computer screen for so long. She went to make a cup of tea and looked over at Meena, who sat herself in the large armchair in the corner of the kitchen with Ned on her lap.

  ‘You look snug,’ said Mum, smiling weakly.

  ‘Neddie-Weddie loves cuggles,’ Meena cooed as she kept a tight hold on him.

  ‘He does seem to,’ Mum agreed. She yawned. ‘Well, I’ve ordered some lovely summery dresses. I hope they are not too fancy. I’m not sure I can get away with fancy dresses at my age . . .’

  ‘Fancy dress, Mummy?’ Meena repeated. Another idea was already forming in her scheming mind.

  Ned wriggled harder than ever.

  ‘Not fancy-dress, darling!’ Mum laughed. ‘I definitely can’t get away with that!’

  ‘Meena thinks Mummy is beautiful in all her dresses,’ Meena cooed.

  Mum smiled and ruffled her daughter’s golden hair. ‘You are such a sweetheart. Where are you going with Ned?’ she asked, eyeing the writhing cat.

  ‘Neddie-Weddie is so cute that I’m going to give him a special ickle treat,’ Meena continued, giving Mum a coy look.

  ‘That’s nice, dear,’ said Mum with a sigh. ‘And I think I might just have a little rest.’

  ‘Yes, Mummy,’ lisped Meena. ‘I promise I’ll be quiet.’

  She slithered off the chair, still holding Ned in a vice-like grip, and carried the hissing bundle out of the room. She moved fast and quietly so as not to alert Mum to what she was up to.

  Ned had a brief attempt at alerting Mum himself, but his miaow of distress was swiftly silenced by Meena, who was squashing his head into her jumper. She need not have bothered as Mum was already relaxing in her armchair, cradling her hot cup of tea in her hands.

  ‘I think the pink one will suit me best,’ she was saying. ‘It’ll go better with my complexion . . .’

  ‘Come on, Neddie-Weddie,’ Meena whispered into one flattened ear. ‘I know just what will suit you.’

  She scuttled upstairs to her bedroom and shut the door with her bottom. Only then did she let go of poor Ned, who immediately made a break for the bed to squeeze himself under it. Unfortunately for him, he did not fit. The last time he had tried this hiding place it had worked very well, but that is because it had been a long time ago when he was considerably smaller.

  Meena laughed nastily. ‘Neddie-Weddie needs to go on a diet,’ she said.

  Ned turned, drew back his lips and bared all his teeth, letting out the most ferocious hiss he could manage. But it had no effect whatsoever on Meena, who merely drew back her lips, baring all her teeth (and all the gaps in between), and hissed even louder.

  Ne
d flattened his ears against his head, arched his back and squashed himself into the side of the bed, as though hoping it might swallow him up or turn into some kind of transportation device that would take him away from the evil little girl advancing on him.

  ‘Now, Neddie-Weddie, come on. Come to Meena,’ she was saying, as she crept closer and closer.

  ‘RAAAoooooooaaaaaAAW!’ Ned howled as he was pounced upon.

  There was a tussle and a flurry of claws, paws, fingers and elbows, then – ‘Ta-daa!’ Meena announced, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

  Ned no longer looked like a cat. He looked like a stuffed toy (although a pretty angry stuffed toy, it has to be said). He was dressed in a hand-knitted jumper, which Grandma had made for one of Meena’s teddies, and a rather fetching skirt, which Grandma had made from scraps of curtain fabric for one of Meena’s dolls. He had a woollen scarf wrapped securely round his neck and on his head was a bobble hat to match. Both these items had also been knitted by Grandma. To finish the look, Ned was sporting a colourful pair of wellie boots, kindly donated by another of Meena’s teddies.

  ‘Awww, don’t you look GORGEOUS,’ cooed Meena.

  ‘Miaooow!’ said Ned. He was most definitely not in agreement.

  ‘I’m going to take you out and show you off,’ said Meena.

  Now you might be wondering why on earth Ned didn’t run away while he had the chance – and that is a fair question. Most cats are extremely good at escaping the grasp of the average human: they seem to turn themselves to silk so that they can slip and slither out of your grasp. But Meena was not your average human. And, even if she was, Ned was so trussed up in his ridiculous outfit that any opportunity he’d had for wriggling, slipping or slithering had long gone. Plus, have you ever seen a cat running in wellies?

  No, poor Ned was going nowhere. Meena had already scooped him up and was cradling him like a baby. She was singing soppy songs to him, and if you had looked in through the window at that point you might well have thought, Ah, how sweet: a little girl playing with her dollies.

  Meena hastily crammed Ned into her dolls’ pram and tucked the blanket tightly round him so that he could not move at all.

  ‘And now we’re going for a walk,’ she said.

  She manoeuvred the pram out of her room and on to the landing and then stopped at the top of the stairs. She paused for a moment.

  ‘Mmmm – how shall I do this?’ she said aloud.

  ‘Roaww?’ Ned squeaked from under his blanket.

  ‘Ah, that’s it!’ said Meena. ‘I’ll just give you a teensy-weensy push.’ And with that she kicked the pram hard.

  It teetered for a moment on the top step and then – BE-DOM-BE-DOM-BE-DOM-BE-DOM! – it careered down the stairs at top speed.

  Ned began to let out strangled cries of panic. His face would appear every time the pram went over a stair and then disappear as the pram bobbed down again. Once he had reached the bottom step, Ned had managed to free himself from the blanket, which had been loosened by the jolting movement of the pram, and as the pram hit the hallway and zoomed in the direction of the front door Ned was catapulted free and went whizzing through the air, losing the bobble hat in the process.

  He landed on Ringo who had padded out into the hall in search of something to do.

  ‘Aaaaieeeeee!’ screamed Ned when he realized he was aiming straight for Ringo’s nose.

  ‘Ooouuuuwwww!’ yelled Ringo, who had managed to duck, thus avoiding having his eyes gouged out, but was nevertheless, thanks to Ned’s extremely sharp front claws, now wearing a very spiky hat for the second time in as many days. He shook his head violently from side to side, and succeeded in dislodging Ned, who flew into the air again. This at least meant the rest of the dolls’ clothes came off – all except the wellies, that is. Ned made a break for it, just as Mum came running from the sitting room to see what all the noise was about.

  ‘Ringo! What are you up to now? OH! I have had it UP TO HERE with animals!’ Mum shouted, holding her hand high above her head. She was far too cross to notice Ringo’s odd new haircut.

  She looked around. ‘Meena?’ she called. ‘Meeeeennnaaaa! Where are you? Come and help Mummy, there’s a dear.’

  Meena was standing at the top of the stairs because that was the best spot from which to watch all the action. She had been grinning with delight at the mayhem she had caused, but now she put on her angel face and said softly, ‘I’m here, Mummy.’

  Mrs Peasbody looked up and saw a very scared little girl, cowering at the top of the stairs. ‘Oh, poor Meena!’ she exclaimed. ‘Did the nasty dog frighten you?’

  ‘Yes, Mummy,’ whined Meena. ‘And Ned. They went all scratchy and horrid and made scary noises. I was only tryin’ to play wiv them.’

  ‘Come here,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll shut him out in the garden and you can come back into the study with me. Bad dog!’ She shot Ringo a look of pure fury.

  Ringo whimpered as if to say, ‘It wasn’t me!’ and backed away as Meena came slowly down the stairs glaring at him.

  Mum enfolded Meena in a comforting hug and crooned, ‘Poor little girl.’

  Meena snuffled and said, ‘I was very frighted, Mummy.’ Then she peered out from her mother’s embrace at Ringo and narrowed her eyes into a look which very clearly said, ‘I’m not done with you yet.’

  Meena waited until Mum was settled back into her armchair, then she crept out of the house and made her way to Brian’s hutch.

  ‘Shall I have some fun with the guinea pig now?’ she asked herself.

  But Brian was rather boring: he wasn’t greedy like Ringo, so you couldn’t feed him Tangfastics and then watch him froth at the mouth. And he didn’t have a tail or make lovely screechy, screamy noises like Ned did when you picked him up and swung him round.

  Meena decided against the guinea pig and considered once more what it would be like to play with the Pekin.

  ‘Hello, little chickie,’ she cooed as she bent over the hutch. ‘Are you having a nice time with that stupid boring Brian?’

  With a careful glance over her shoulder to make sure that Mum was not watching, she opened the door and stuck her hand in, taking care to avoid Brian’s sharp teeth. Luckily he seemed to have hidden himself away, leaving only Titch, pecking and scratching in the sawdust.

  It was harder to catch the hen than Meena had thought it would be. Titch kept running over to the other side of the hutch, and occasionally used her wings to give herself some height so that she could evade Meena’s grasp. Meena became more and more angry and frustrated with the little hen, whose cries of indignation and alarm were growing louder by the second.

  ‘Come to Meena, chickie,’ Meena wheedled in a sugary voice.

  ‘Beeuruurrckk!’ said Titch.

  Meena growled. This really was hard work.

  She was about to give up altogether when Titch suddenly gave an enormous squawk and launched herself at the nasty little girl’s nose.

  ‘Waaaah!’ screamed Meena, toppling back and landing on her bottom just where Ringo had decided to go to the loo earlier that day. ‘Urgh! Oh NOOOO! I’ll get you for this!’ she cried, hurling herself at the chicken.

  But Titch had had a head start, and she was making the most of it. Free at last, she ran along the grass, head down, and opened her wings and flapped, then with a hop and a skip she took off and flew into the tree above Brian’s hutch.

  Meena jumped and snatched at the nearest branch, but she couldn’t reach. This made her angrier than ever, and her jumping soon became stomping and her face became redder and redder until it actually looked as though her ears were letting off steam.

  Brian had come out of his bedding where he had been hiding ever since Ned had come to warn him and Titch about Meena. He was clearly terrified by the noises that Meena was making and was staring at her, frozen in panic. Unfortunately for him, Meena saw him staring.

  ‘WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?’ she snarled. She ran over to the hutch and stuck her hand in, grabbing poor Br
ian before he had a chance to think of hiding again. ‘I’ll teach you to laugh at me,’ said Meena, hissing into the little creature’s face. He definitely did not look as though he was laughing. He was shaking, in actual fact, and his dark shiny-button eyes were creased with fear. He squeaked and squeaked, but Meena had no pity.

  ‘If the chickie won’t play, Brian can play instead,’ she said.

  Later, once Meena had got bored of him and gone back inside, Brian began a desperate high-pitched squealing – the kind guinea pigs reserve for moments of acute emergency.

  ‘Tiiiiiiiitch – Tiiiiiiitch!’ Brian was squealing. ‘You have to help meeeee!’

  Titch had no intention of helping whatsoever. She had achieved her ambition of escape, was no longer bound to share a home with an annoying rodent and felt as free as – well, as free as a bird should feel.

  She peered down from the safety of her branch. ‘I don’t see what use a mere CHICKEN could be to you, Brian,’ she said haughtily. ‘I mean, I am a – what was it now? Oh, yes, that’s right, “a good-for-nothing lazy layabout with no sense of pride in either my appearance or the state of my living quarters”,’ she finished, quoting Brian’s angry words from an argument they’d had earlier that day.

  ‘OOOHH!’ Brian exclaimed. ‘I’m sorry! I was far too hasty. Please forgive me. I’m sure we can come to some understanding if only you’ll help me get out of this – whatever it is,’ he said, looking down at himself.

  Meena had surpassed herself this time. She had ‘borrowed’ a number of her mother’s most colourful silk scarves and had swaddled Brian so that he looked like a very small, very furry baby Jesus in a nativity play. In fact, that seemed exactly the look she had been going for, as she had then lined a shoebox with straw and had placed Brian in the cardboard manger. It was a small box and the scarves were expertly and tightly wrapped. As a result, Brian was well and truly stuck.