by Anna Wilson
‘I can’t! It’s impossible!’ Titch began.
‘You will have to,’ Ned said firmly. ‘There are badgers as well as foxes out here – who knows what else might be on the prowl.’
‘How do I know I can trust you?’ Titch asked suddenly. She backed away as Ned stalked towards her. ‘What if you are the dangerous one, not the fox? What if you have been spinning me a pack of lies, befuddling me with all your clever language and wily ways, just so that you can lure me into your den, or . . . whatever,’ she added vaguely. She realized she had no idea where the cat actually lived.
Ned snorted. ‘I don’t have a DEN,’ he said. ‘I live in the house with the family and that excuse for an animal they call Ringo, more’s the pity. And if I had wanted to hurt you let me tell you I could have done it a million times by now. I could have pounced on you while you were flirting with the fox.’
Titch thought about this for a second and realized it was probably true. ‘All right,’ she said. Then she added grudgingly, ‘I suppose this means I owe you my life. You saved me from the fox. But, if I’m honest, I don’t understand why you bothered. What’s in it for you?’
Ned fixed her with his flashing yellow eyes and said, ‘You say you want to do something marvellous? Well, you can start, my flighty friend, by helping me, Ringo and Brian get our own back on the Terror.’
‘What we need to do is find her Achilles heel,’ Ned said, once he and Titch were back in Brian’s hutch. Ned had proved himself quite a dab paw at opening the door, much to Brian’s consternation.
‘What are you talking about? A killer what?’ squealed Brian. ‘I don’t like the sound of that at all.’ And he began scurrying around in ever decreasing circles, kicking up chunks of sawdust, which made Titch sneeze.
Ned sat patiently, washing his paws and yawning. Finally he said, ‘When you have quite finished working yourself into a frenzy, we will explain.’
Brian screeched to a halt, sticking his paws out in front of him. They acted like a mini snow-plough, causing a mountain of sawdust to pile up in front of him. Titch had to look away to stop herself from giggling.
Ned coughed and said, ‘All right now?’
Brian nodded nervously and sat down.
‘So, as I was saying, we need to find the Terror’s Achilles heel, which is another way of saying that we need to find her weak spot. You see Achilles was a Greek hero whose mother dipped him into a magic pool to prevent him from being killed in battle, but she forgot to dip his heel in so—’
‘I don’t think we need a history lesson,’ said Titch sharply.
‘I think you’ll find you need lessons in more than just history,’ Ned muttered. ‘I can see why they put you in with Brian. Birds of a feather flock together.’
‘I do NOT have feathers!’ Brian squeaked. ‘These are rosettes!’ He preened himself indignantly.
‘I thought we had arranged a meeting to discuss the Terror,’ chirruped Titch.
‘And so we have,’ said Ned. ‘I propose that I follow her at all times to find out what it is that frightens her the most,’ he went on. ‘And then the next time she tries to kidnap one of us we will be ready to pounce.’
‘Call that a plan?’ Brian complained. ‘There’s no detail, no idea of how you will attack. You haven’t got the faintest clue, have you? In any case, we’ve been here before – she is not frightened of anything! That is the point! She is a devil! A monster!’
Titch sniffed. ‘I thought the fox was the monster?’ She scratched at the floor of the hutch to call the meeting to order. ‘Brian,’ she said, her head on one side in a patronizing manner, ‘this is only the brainstorming session. We are throwing our ideas into the air to see what we come up with.’
‘Listen!’ Ned interrupted. ‘Why don’t you let me do a spot of spying and I’ll report back.’
‘No way,’ said Titch. ‘If anyone is going to be doing any spying around here, it’ll be me.’
Ned looked at her doubtfully. ‘Now that you are back in with Brian, I don’t think that you will be going anywhere, do you?’ he said. He yawned again and stretched luxuriously. ‘Anyway, it’s nearly daybreak. I must be going. I’ll let you know how I get on. As my French cousins would say, Au revoir, mes amis.’
And with a flick of his tail, he was gone.
Back in the house Wilf was waking up. He had slept fitfully, his rest broken by bad dreams concerning lost chickens dressed as dolls flying through the night sky, and his sister’s face looming over him, laughing like a mad witch.
He woke properly with a start as the grey fingers of dawn reached through under his curtains and tweaked at his duvet.
Actually it was Ned doing the tweaking: he had jumped on to Wilf’s head and was now purring loudly in his ear.
‘Ne-ed,’ Wilf complained blearily. ‘I’m . . . sleeping . . . Oh! It’s morning. I must go and check the garden for Titch.’
‘Miaaaow,’ said Ned, landing heavily on the carpet.
Wilf scrambled out of his twisted duvet, hastily pulled a jumper on over his pyjamas and took a pair of the day-before-yesterday’s socks from the ever-expanding pile of dirty laundry in the middle of the room. He tiptoed into the corridor so that he did not wake anyone (especially Meena) and crept down the stairs with Ned padding softly behind.
Grandma was already in the kitchen making herself a cup of tea. She smiled when Wilf came in. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’ she asked.
Wilf shook his head.
‘Still worried about Titch?’ she said.
Wilf nodded and made for the back door.
‘There’s no need,’ said Grandma. ‘She’s back.’
Wilf’s face split into a grin so wide it looked as though someone had taken hold of his ears and pulled them to make his face go stretchy. He punched the air and whooped for joy, raced to get his wellies, then ran out to Brian’s hutch.
Grandma followed at a more steady pace, but she was beaming too.
They bent over the hutch together and watched as Titch bustled about, pecking and scratching as though she had never been away. Brian squeaked at her from his bed corner.
‘Look at them,’ said Grandma. ‘Like an old married couple.’
Wilf scoffed. ‘I don’t think Titch would want to marry a guinea pig, Grandma.’
Grandma laughed. ‘She might want to enter this, though,’ she said, fetching a crumpled piece of paper from out of her pocket.
‘The pole tree show!’ shouted Wilf. ‘Yay!’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Grandma. ‘Now let’s talk about what we need to prepare for the show while we have a bit of peace and quiet.’
The peace and quiet did not last long enough for Wilf’s liking. He had been enjoying having Grandma to himself and dreaming about how Titch would win a prize and how he would go into school and tell everyone about it, when . . .
‘Oh NO!’
It was Mum. She had gone to answer the door before coming in to breakfast. Wilf had heard the doorbell and heard her talking to someone. He went running to see what the problem was.
‘LOOK!’ Mum wailed.
She was standing next to a huge cardboard box, the contents of which were spilling all over the hallway. In her hands she was holding what looked like a mass of red fluff and a small red ball which looked a bit like a tomato. And her face was a picture of misery.
Grandma came out of the kitchen behind Wilf. ‘Oh dear,’ she smirked, when she saw the box.
‘What’s happened, Mum?’ Wilf asked.
Meena appeared at the top of the stairs looking sleepy. ‘What is it, Mummy?’
Mum sat down heavily on the bottom step. ‘My internet order,’ she said. ‘I ordered some lovely new dresses yesterday, but something went wrong with the screen – you remember, don’t you, Meena darling? – and instead, I have got some FANCY-DRESS outfits!’ She waved the mass of red fluff and the red ball, and Wilf now saw they were a clown’s wig and red nose.
Grandma was biting her bottom lip very hard.
<
br /> Meena flashed a cute smile. ‘You did say you thought they were fancy dresses, Mummy,’ she said. ‘And you said you wanted a new look.’
Grandma let out a small strangled noise. ‘You’ve certainly got that,’ she said.
Mum frowned. ‘Did you have anything to do with this?’ she asked Grandma.
‘I wasn’t even here!’ Grandma protested.
Wilf shot his sister a pointed glance. ‘It’s probably her fault,’ he said.
‘Is NOT!’ Meena shouted, stamping her foot. ‘Mummy, Wilfie is bein’ nasty again!’
Grandma was shaking uncontrollably with the giggles now.
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ Mum said. ‘This is not funny.’
‘Clown outfits are pretty funny if you ask me,’ Grandma squeaked.
Mum glared at her. ‘I’m not keeping it anyway. I shall have to send the box back this morning. Grandma will look after you both while I’m at the post office, won’t you, Grandma?’ she said firmly.
‘Erm, Wilf and I were going to get Titch ready for the show actually,’ Grandma replied. ‘Could you not take Meena with you?’
‘It’s all right,’ Meena piped up. ‘Meena will be very, very well behaved.’ She dipped her face and fluttered her eyelashes.
‘There’s a good girl,’ said Mum.
Wilf eyed his sister curiously. He was sure he had noticed her cross her fingers behind her back when she had made her promise to Mum.
Titch was not sure how she felt about being lifted out of Brian’s hutch again, but she was determined not to show her nerves to her hysterical housemate.
‘Where are they taking you?’ Brian cried as he watched her being caught and taken out by Wilf. ‘I thought you were going to help us? I thought you were going to be our spy?’
‘It seems something more important has come up. Apparently I am going inside to be made ready for a “show”,’ Titch said. ‘I don’t know what that is, but maybe this is my chance to get out of this madhouse and go looking for adventure. So long, farewell!’ she cried from under Wilf’s arm. ‘Been nice knowing you!’
As she left the garden, she heard the guinea pig shrieking, ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!’
‘Which leaves what exactly?’ Titch muttered. ‘If I followed that rodent’s advice, I would only get out of bed to eat and use the loo. Whereas I am going to do something marvellous – just you wait and see, Brian.’
Wilf had done a lot of research about the show to make sure that he and Grandma did everything properly.
‘It says on the website that you need to wash and blow-dry the hens,’ he said. ‘Do you think Mum will let me do that?’
‘Mum’s busy taking her order back to the post office, so she won’t know,’ said Grandma with a wink.
‘And what about Meena?’ Wilf asked.
‘I’ll take care of her,’ Grandma assured him. ‘Let’s put Titch in Ned’s cat box for now – the one we use to take him to the vet. I’ll keep an eye on her and keep her safe while you go and find shampoo and towels and a hairdryer.’
Ned was winding his way in and out of Wilf’s legs as Grandma said this. He hissed at the words ‘vet’, ‘shampoo’ and ‘hairdryer’. Titch immediately set up a dreadful racket.
‘I’ll put Ned outside too, I think,’ said Grandma. ‘He’s upsetting Titch again.’
Soon Wilf was busy washing and grooming Titch. She was quite flappy at the shampooing stage, but when he began rinsing her in nice warm water she sat happily in the washing-up bowl and did not make a fuss. Once he had the hairdryer on her, she half closed her eyes and started making funny purring noises; it was as if she had gone into a trance.
Grandma put her head round the door to see how Wilf was getting on. ‘She is starting to look really lovely!’ she said. ‘See how her feathers are fluffing up? Her beautiful lavender colour is coming out again. She had got a bit messy after her night on the tiles, hadn’t she?’
Wilf beamed. ‘Mum will be proud of her too, won’t she, Grandma?’ he said.
‘Let’s hope so, dear,’ his grandmother replied.
Ned was very disgruntled at being thrown unceremoniously out of the house. ‘Stupid, ungrateful hen,’ he grumbled as he stalked along the window ledge of the utility room. He looked in on Titch, who was having the finishing touches done to her feathers. ‘I don’t know why I bothered saving her from the fox. So much for helping us get our revenge on the Terror. If she likes all that fuss, perhaps she would like being dressed up in dolls’ clothes as well. Huh! She thinks she’s so clever. As if she’s going to be able to make a break for it at this show she was twittering about. She doesn’t stand a chance. Everyone knows humans keep birds in cages. They won’t let her out of their sight for a moment.’
He tapped on the window to try to get Titch’s attention, but her eyes were closed in bliss as the hairdryer warmed and fluffed her plumage.
Ned sighed heavily. ‘I’m wasting my time. I should be spying on the girl myself. I still have to live here. And I am going to get my own back on her whether Titch is here to help or not.’
Ned leaped from the window ledge outside the utility room and landed with a thud on the one looking into the sitting room. There was not really enough space for him on the ledge, so he had to lean his flanks against the glass to stop himself from losing his footing. He was worried that he had made too much noise with his landing, but, luckily for him, nothing was likely to disturb Meena at that moment as she was thoroughly absorbed in watching television. Grandma had felt that this was the only thing that seemed likely to keep her out of mischief.
Ned peered through the window. Meena was sitting on the sofa, her legs tucked under her, while she contentedly munched on a stash of biscuits she had managed to hide in her pockets.
‘Maybe I can search through her room to see if there are any clues to what her weaknesses are,’ he said to himself. ‘She must be frightened of something.’
He found that the sitting-room window was open a crack. He approached the gap cautiously, measuring it with his whiskers.
‘Hmm, I should slip through here no problem,’ he muttered.
But, embarrassingly, Ned’s whiskers had not grown in proportion to the width of his belly, and so he was forced to suck in his tummy to be able to squeeze through.
There was a heart-stopping moment when, at his widest point, it seemed unlikely that he would manage to get in without alerting Meena to his presence. But then there was a burst of canned laughter from the television and Ned was able to use the noise as cover so that even when the window rattled behind him Meena did not notice.
‘Phew! I’m in,’ he said as he leaped relatively soundlessly down behind the sofa.
‘Aieeeeeek!’
Ned froze at the unearthly, high-pitched noise. ‘What was that?’ he breathed. He crept very softly along the edge of the sofa and was just about to poke his nose round the side when . . .
‘Aiieeeeek!’
Another ear-splitting shriek assailed poor Ned. The cat scuttled back to safety behind the sofa.
The girl is clearly terrified of something, Ned thought. And whatever it is, I’m not sure I want to get involved. It might be . . . wait a minute! He checked himself as something occurred to him. ‘This is exactly what I was hoping to find out!’ he muttered. ‘The whole point of my mission was to sneak up on the girl to see if there was anything we could use against her. So all I have to do is take note . . .’
Meena’s face was white and her eyes were wide with terror. She had paused, mid biscuit-crunch, and her chocolate-smeared mouth hung open, giving her the appearance of a startled goldfish.
‘This is it, Ned my lad,’ the cat told himself. ‘Observe carefully so that you can report back to base.’
He followed Meena’s gaze to the television, where a ghastly face filled the screen. It was white with huge eyes and an even huger mouth outlined in blood-red. Suddenly a dark, caped figure appeared behind the face and said, ‘Mwah-ha-ha-haaaaa!’
‘Aiiieeeeek!’ the face screamed in response.
And, ‘Teeheeteeheeheeeeee!’ giggled Meena, dropping the half-eaten biscuits and cackling in delight. ‘Silly old clown. What a scaredy-cat. Oh, hello, Neddie-Weddie,’ she said, catching sight of the cat skulking at her feet. ‘Are you being a scaredy-cat too?’ She sniggered at her own joke. ‘Why don’t you come to have snuggles with Meena then?’
Ned swallowed drily. The scene he had just witnessed had confused him and scared him in equal measure so that he was now rooted to the spot. He realized now, too late, that the scream had come from the television, not from Meena.
‘Come to Meena,’ she crooned, her blue eyes darkening with glee. ‘Come and play. You can be the clown and Meena will be the baddie.’
‘No-no-no-miaooooooow!’ Ned howled, but he was not quick enough to escape Meena’s sticky, chocolatey grasp.
Half an hour later, Ned was a shadow of the intrepid feline he had been earlier that day. Inspired by both the fancy-dress outfit and the television programme, Meena had raided her mother’s make-up box.
Ned had been subjected to a full makeover with Mum’s lipstick and eyeshadow while Meena attempted to draw a clown’s face on him. When this had not worked particularly well (she discovered that fur is not an easy surface on which to apply make-up), Meena had tipped out the contents of Wilf’s paintbox, which she had filched from his bedroom, and had used the brightest and most eye-catching colours to paint over Ned’s features. The result was a highly colourful cat covered in big polka dots of pink and blue, with eyes and mouth messily outlined in green and red.
‘Look, Neddie-Weddie,’ Meena said, holding up a mirror. ‘What a beautiful pussy you are. Now off you go and leave Meena in peace.’
‘Leave you in peace?’ Ned hissed as he shot out of Wilf’s room. ‘You have asked for it this time, young lady. I shall never leave you in peace ever again!’
