The Killer Cat Runs Away

14

Nightmare Stuff!

Ms Whippy talked a lot on the phone to her friends about her villa in Spain. It sounded horrible. I’d find the weather far too hot, I am not overly fond of garlic, and I hate walking on tiles because they make my claws click.

Also, why would I care about her lovely private pool? I’m not a swimming cat. No, every time I heard her talk about that villa of hers, I shuddered quietly and thought how glad I was that I live here.

That’s why finding the papers was such a shock.

I wasn’t snooping. It’s just a well-known fact that, if there is a bit of paper lying on a table, that’s what a cat will sit on.

Even if it’s as small as a bus ticket, that’s where we’ll sit.

And this paper was full-size. I sat on it for quite a while. (OK, OK! So dip my paws in soap suds! I had been trying to spread the leftovers of my supper out a little bit behind her lupins and my paws were still chickeny. I made a mess.)

That’s why I glanced down at the paper I was sitting on – to see if there were any more tiny scraps of chicken that had dried enough to be flicked onto the floor.

That’s when I saw the word PASSPORT.

I looked a little closer and saw PET.

I lifted my bum and stepped back so that I could read the whole thing. TWENTY-FOUR-HOUR PET PASSPORT APPLICATION.

Aha! The truth was out! Ms Whippy hadn’t taken me to get a photo simply because of my good looks. She wanted it for a passport so she could take me to her villa in Spain to be a mouser there!

I read the small print. It was nightmare stuff! First, there was a rule about carrying a letter from the vet that proved your pet was up-to-date with injections. (Injections! In case you live on Mars, I’ll have you know that that means needles. Not my favourite things. And vets! Not my favourite people.)

Then came a rule about the size of the wire cage. ‘Cage’, you notice. Not ‘comfy basket’ or ‘cosy box’. Wire cage!

There was a bit about how long your pet would spend in the baggage hold. The baggage hold! Like some old suitcase!

There was a rule about the photo of your pet having to be full-face.

A full-face photograph? Well, didn’t all that sweet-talking, ‘Pusskins, please look this way. Yes, that’s much better,’ sound a bit different now!

And then I read the last line, just above Ms Whippy’s flowery signature.

The date of travel.

5th May, she’d written.

5th May? I looked up at the calendar.

It was the 4th!