The Killer Cat's Christmas

7: Twanging the spider’s web

BUT NO SUCH luck. All that they did was stick a plaster on to Ellie’s arm and move on to a safer nursery rhyme.

‘Ding Dong Bell, Pussy’s in the Well’.

It wasn’t a real well they planned to put me in, of course. Lucilla and Lancelot made it while Ellie was trying to tempt me out of the cupboard with some of Aunt Ann’s quite delicious bitesized salmon tarts. (She is so posh she calls them ‘canapés’.)

The twins used the box the coffee table came in. The two of them pulled out the staples and flattened it. Then they cut off the top, folded it into a circle and stapled it up again.

After they’d painted grey squares all over it, it looked like a stone well. They carried it into the living room. It seemed that Lancelot was to be the star of this part of the show. He found some red velvet knickerbocker trousers in the dressing-up box and pranced around singing, ‘Who put him in?’ and ‘Who took him out?’ over and over.

They didn’t dare put me inside their stupid well.

‘Wait till we’ve practised the song,’ said Lancelot, giving me a worried look. ‘It might be safer.’

‘Yes,’ Lucilla agreed. ‘Let’s not put Tuffy in there until we’re sure that we’ve got everything right.’

Ellie looked down at the plaster on her arm, and then at me. ‘Yes, Tuffy. You can be in the show later.’

I’d had enough of people telling me where I could or couldn’t go in my own house. I gave a mighty squirm in Lucilla’s arms.

Terrified, she let go.

I jumped straight in their silly well.

They were all thrilled. ‘Oh, Tuffy! You’re a genius!’

I raised my head and yowled.

They were all so excited. ‘Look! Tuffy can act! He can pretend that he’s stuck down our well!’

‘Oh, he’s so clever!’

‘Quick! Sing your song, Lancelot!’

So Lancelot started off again. ‘Ding dong bell. Pussy’s in the well. Who put her in?’ he warbled.

The girls sang, ‘Little Tommy Lynn.’

‘Who took her out?’ sang Lancelot.

‘Little Johnny Stout,’ sang Lucilla and the Corncrake.

‘I get the next two lines!’ said Lancelot, and started singing, ‘What a naughty boy was that –’

But the girls butted in, ‘– to try to drown poor pussy cat.’

Lancelot was getting cross. ‘I am the star of this show! So I get to sing the last two lines all by myself.’

‘No, you don’t,’ Lucilla argued. And she and Ellie sang together to try to drown him out:

‘Who never did him any harm,

But killed the mice in his father’s barn.’

I was so bored with listening to them singing and arguing that I settled down to watch a great fat hairy spider climb out of a staple hole inside the cardboard well, and start on a new web.

The spider was good fun to tease. I let it spin a couple of lines, and then reached out to twang one – not so hard it broke, but just enough to set the spider bouncing.

Spin, spin.

Twang, twang.

Bounce, bounce.

It was a laugh. I kept on doing it. But the spider was stubborn and kept on spinning. I was so busy twanging, I hardly noticed when The Three Bad Singers finished their stupid argument and started up again.

‘Ding dong bell!’ Lancelot sang loudly. ‘Pussy’s in the well!’

‘Who put him in?’ chirruped Lucilla.

‘Little Tommy Lynn,’ gargled the Corncrake.

‘Who pulled him out?’ warbled Lucilla.

And that’s when Lancelot reached over the side of the well to pull me out.

Well, don’t blame me for everything that happened next! I already told you twice. I wasn’t really listening. I was much more interested in twanging the web – a little harder each time. I don’t see how I was supposed to know that suddenly I’d twang too hard, and the spider would lose its grip on the web and fly up in the air.

Or that it would be Lancelot’s turn to sing the next line of the nursery rhyme.

So that his mouth would be open wide.

Very, very wide.

Okay, okay! So scream the house down, everyone! Lancelot swallowed a spider. What’s the big deal? I’ve seen him eating fish. Fish are a whole lot bigger than spiders. (And they have creepy eyes.)

And he ate pork last night. That is a lump of dead pig’s bottom. So why make such a fuss about an eensy-weensy spider? And anyway, it was already deep down inside him, getting mixed up with his lunch. So there was really no point in reeling round and round the room, screaming and gagging and spluttering.

That spider was inside to stay.

If anyone had any reason to make a fuss, it was the poor old spider, not fussy Lancelot.

Lucilla and Ellie were on my back, of course. ‘Tuffy, that was so mean!’

‘That was a horrible thing to do, flicking that spider into Lancelot’s mouth!’

‘Poor Lancelot!’

Poor Lancelot? I like that! Why should Lancelot get all the sympathy? Who is it who has spent the whole day locked in a room with the The Three Show-Offs?

Me, that’s who.

So how about feeling sorry for me?