by Anne Fine
excellent. I think I totally surprised her dad. And Uncle Brian and Aunt Ann and Ellie’s mother clapped like mad when the song ended.
Then it was ‘Ding Dong Bell’.
That was a triumph too. I let them put me in the well, then I crouched down and hid, as if it was really deep. I yowled a bit through the first verse, making my voice sound tragic yet musical. The scene was very moving.
Then we got to the bit where Lancelot pulled me out, and as I reached up to nuzzle him under his chin in pretend gratitude, I even saw Aunt Ann brush away a tear.
We all took a bow after that one. When the applause from the sofa finally died down, we moved on to the third and last show: ‘Three Little Kittens’.
Lucilla set the two toy cats in place on the carpet. She and Ellie made sure their paper mittens were on straight. Then they pulled Next-door’s baby’s woollen mitts on to my paws.
I was such a star! I didn’t even struggle. I actually held out each paw in turn to help. I could tell Ellie’s father was pretty surprised to see me acting so sweet and easy-going. But he said nothing, just sat there, looking suspicious as usual.
And off we went. First I pranced around in my mittens to show I was wearing them. Then Ellie, Lancelot and Lucilla started on the first verse:
‘Three little kittens, they lost their mittens.’
They tugged the paper off the toy cats’ feet while I slipped behind the sofa to kick my own off by myself.
The trouble was, I kicked my mitten booties off so hard, they slid under the sofa.
All the way under. Where I wouldn’t be able to get at them later, when I needed them back.
No time to stop the show, so I came rushing back in time to rub my eyes with my paws as Lucilla and Lancelot and Ellie sang, ‘And they began to cry.’
Now it was Ellie’s turn to act the Mother Cat, scolding us.
‘What? Lost your mittens? You bad little kittens!
Then you shall have no pie.’
Time to get back in my mittens. I scuttled round behind the sofa. But it was hopeless. Even if I stretched, I couldn’t reach them.
So go on, all you big-heads out there, reading this. So what would you have done? Just given up?
Not me! I wasn’t going to spoil the show. All that I needed was four white mittens. And there beside me was the bowl of icing for the cake.
Snow-white. Not too shallow. Not too deep.
And I was Star of the Show.
(Unlucky) 13: The fairy on the Christmas tree
OKAY, OKAY. SO I went paddling in the cake icing. Brilliant idea, I thought. When I walked into the show, I looked exactly as if I’d put the white woollen mittens back on perfectly, all by myself.
Nobody noticed at first. Ellie, Lucilla and Lancelot were busy singing.
‘Three little kittens, they found their mittens.’
I pranced about. That was my big mistake, for Ellie’s mother couldn’t help noticing that I was leaving footprints – snow-white icing footprints – all over the carpet.
She pointed. ‘Look!’
The singing stopped.
‘Look at the mess Tuffy is making!’ said Ellie’s mother. ‘What’s that all over his paws?’
‘It looks like –’ Aunt Ann stood up and hurried round behind the sofa. We heard a shriek. It sounded like an express train screeching to a halt when a green light turns red.
Aunt Ann picked up the bowl and held it out for all to see. ‘Look! Look at my icing! It’s ruined! All churned up, and full of paw marks!’
Ellie’s dad went mad. ‘That pest of a cat! This time he’s gone too far! I warn you, the moment the vet’s office opens up again after Christmas, I’m taking Tuffy down there to –’
‘No!’ Ellie hurled herself towards her father but, blinded by tears, she bumped into Lancelot. He knocked his sister, who fell in the well. I knew that, if Ellie’s dad got hold of me, he’d have my guts for garters. So while Ellie’s and Lancelot’s legs and arms were madly flailing about, getting tangled, I tried to make it to the door.
But Mr I-Have-Had-Enough was blocking the way. So I rushed out of sight behind the sofa. Then, while Ellie pulled herself free and started to shout at her father – ‘You leave poor Tuffy alone! You’re always picking on him!’ – I slid away, under the tree. There were no glittery balls to hide me in the bottom half, so I climbed up the back, branch by branch, higher and higher, while everyone was busy picking themselves up, and comforting Aunt Ann, and rushing off for cloths to clear up the icing footprints.
Now I was almost at the top. Only Ellie’s fat cardboard fairy was higher.
And then I suddenly thought of a brilliant way to hide myself. I looked up at Ms Tomato-Face on top of the tree. ‘This is the end for you, Sunshine!’ I muttered to her. ‘You have had your days of glory. Now move over. I am going to be the new Christmas fairy.’
I poked a paw up through her big fat cardboard roll. Her stupid red tomato face fell off and bounced a few branches down.
Creepy!
But I’d no time to hang about shivering. Hastily I shoved my head up through the space she’d left, and tried to put on the same snooty simpering look she’d worn for years.
Personally, looking back, I think the white frills probably suited me, and I looked nice in them. I rather wish they’d had the time to take a proper photo of their dear Tuffy as the new fairy at the top of the tree. I would have liked to show it to my friends.
But Ellie’s dad was right. The tree was not just bare at the bottom; it was overloaded at the top.
Too overloaded.
What they call ‘top heavy’.
It started toppling. It was far worse than being in the welly boot because I was much higher. It was like being in the crow’s nest of some ancient galleon when it keels over in a storm.
It took a long time for the tree to fall. They were all fussing and yelling. ‘Step back!’
‘The tree is crashing down!’
‘Watch out!’
‘Look at this mess!’
‘Our lovely well! Totally squashed!’
‘There’s not a single decoration left! Smashed! Every last one of them!’
‘I’m bruised all over.’
‘Where is that damn cat?’
Well, I was on the floor, of course. Pretty well splatted flat, still trying to be the Christmas fairy. It was the ears that gave me away. Christmas-tree fairies don’t have pointy little furry ears like mine.
So that explains how I ended up spending the rest of that day, and the next, locked in the garage. Ellie was only allowed to have me in her bedroom overnight, and then I was put back in here until the visitors go this afternoon and Christmas is over.
I don’t mind. In fact, I think I’ve come out of this spat with her father quite well. After all, when you consider that Mr Let’s-Take-Tuffy-Down-The-Vet’s is stuck behind in the house, still picking bits of Christmas decoration out of the carpet, and doing all the washing up, I think I’ve got it easy. Popped hoppers are quite comfortable to laze around on. And now that moth’s come back, I even have someone to play with. Certainly it’s been a whole lot better than being in the house.
But, still, I won’t be counting the days till 25th December comes round again. Remember that question you asked me at the start? ‘Dear, dear Tuffy, why was your Christmas so horrible?’
Well, you won’t have to ask again, will you?
Because now you know.
