Atticus Claw Lends a Paw (2 page)

1

Atticus Grammaticus Cattypuss Claw – once the world’s greatest cat burglar and now its most
brilliant
police cat – was excited. It wasn’t just because his special friend Mimi, the pretty Burmese, was staying with him and the Cheddar family while her owner, Aisha, was away visiting her mother. It was also because Nellie Smellie, the owner of
Littleton-on-Sea
Home for Abandoned Cats, had invited him to talk to the new kittens about how to stay out of trouble.

It was Atticus’s first official police-catting job, following his recent promotion by Her Majesty the Queen to Police Cat Sergeant for stopping a gang of villains from stealing the Crown Jewels. He felt proud to be able to lend a paw.

Inspector Cheddar dropped him off at the gate in the panda car. ‘Remember, Atticus,’ he said, ‘Cats are like criminals: you can’t trust them. Especially this lot.’

Atticus frowned. It was annoying that Inspector Cheddar still didn’t like cats, even after all Atticus had done to help him out! And it wasn’t the
kittens
’ fault they were homeless: they had been turfed out when Bigsworth Cats’ Home had closed down and they had nowhere else to go.

‘But these kittens look up to you,’ Inspector Cheddar continued. ‘You can make a difference. Answer all their questions. And think of something fun for them to do to keep them off the streets.’ He practised a few karate chops. ‘I always tell kids exercise is the best thing. You should try that with the kittens.’

‘Meow!’ Atticus hopped out of the panda car. His police cat badge was pinned to the red
handkerchief
he wore round his neck. He rubbed it shiny with his cheek, quickly groomed his black-and-
brown-striped
fur and checked his white paws were clean. He’d show Inspector Cheddar he was wrong
about cats. The kittens wouldn’t be any trouble once Atticus had given his talk. He walked up the path importantly, holding his tail high.

Nellie Smellie was waiting for him at the front door with her knitting. ‘This way, Police Cat Sergeant Claw.’ She led the way through the house, knitting needles clicking furiously. (The Littleton-on-Sea Home for Abandoned Cats was really just
her
home, full of stray cats.) Atticus followed a safe distance behind. Nellie Smellie was very old and smelt of mothballs and cat wee. She had a face like a tortoise and always wore the same long black skirt, mildewed white blouse and green cardigan with holes in the elbows. She was also so busy
concentrating
on her knitting that she was likely to tread on your tail if you weren’t careful.

The good thing about Nellie Smellie though was that, unlike Inspector Cheddar, she absolutely adored cats.

‘Here we are!’ Nellie Smellie opened the door to the sitting room. The room was full of kittens. They lounged about, ripping the stuffing out of the sofas and watching TV. One of them was sharpening its claws with a penknife. He reminded
Atticus of his arch-rival, Ginger Biscuit, when
he
was a kitten.

Atticus touched his chewed ear: Biscuit had bitten it when they became enemies. But Atticus had got his revenge. Thanks to him, Biscuit and his evil owner, Zenia Klob, mistress of disguise, were holed up thousands of miles away in Siberia with Jimmy Magpie and his gang of thieving birds.
That would teach Biscuit and his pals to try and steal the Crown Jewels when Atticus Claw was on the case!
Atticus thought. He relaxed. Compared to Biscuit and the magpies, a bunch of kittens would be a piece of steak.

‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Nellie Smellie switched off the TV. ‘If you need me I’ll be in the kitchen
showing
my abandoned lady cats’ group how to knit.’ She shuffled out, her long black skirt rustling.

There was silence.

‘Soooooooo,’ Atticus said. ‘Here we all are.’

The kittens stared at him frostily.

‘I’m here to talk to you about being good,’ he began.

The kittens yawned. Some of them sat back and folded their paws across their chests.

‘It’s good to be good.’ Atticus swallowed nervously.

‘Why is it?’ asked the
mean-looking
kitten.

‘Because it’s better than being bad.’ Atticus cleared his throat. This wasn’t going very well.

‘Is it true you used to be a cat burglar?’ one of the kittens asked.

‘Er …’ Atticus didn’t know what to say. Then he remembered Inspector Cheddar had told him to answer all their questions. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘The world’s greatest.’

The kittens looked more interested.

‘When did you learn?’ a second kitten asked.

‘When I was about the same age as you,’ Atticus told her.

‘Who taught you?’

‘A cat called Ginger Biscuit. We both worked for a criminal called Klob.’

‘How many things did you steal?’ a third kitten demanded.

‘Um … hundreds, probably. Thousands even. I didn’t keep count.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘Well, you know … diamonds rubies, pearls, watches – that kind of thing.’

‘How come you never got caught?’

‘Because I always gave the police the slip,’ Atticus said. It was true. He always did. ‘And I never left any clues.’

What was the most valuable thing you stole?

Where did you live?

How did you get in and out?

Did you ever meet anyone famous?

The questions came thick and fast. Atticus
answered
them. The kittens seemed really interested in what he had to say.

‘Why have you got a chewed ear?’ the
mean-looking
one asked.

‘I got into a fight with Ginger Biscuit.’

‘Cool!’ several of them shouted.

‘Not really,’ Atticus said. He hated violence.

‘Can you teach
us
to be cat burglars?’ the
mean-looking
one said slyly.

‘Kitty please?’ another begged.

‘Teach us! Teach us!’ The kittens chanted.

‘NO!’ Atticus shouted. This was going all wrong.

The kittens looked sulky.

‘Look,’ Atticus said, ‘it’s not a
good
thing to be a cat burglar. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s not something to be proud of! That’s why I stopped. It makes people sad when you steal things. And you could end up in prison. What’s the point in that?’

The kittens were quiet.

‘But there’s nothing to do around here,’ the mean-looking one complained. ‘It’s
boring
!’

Atticus remembered the other thing Inspector Cheddar had told him. ‘Do some exercise,’ he said.

The kittens looked disgusted.

‘It’s fun!’ said Atticus. (
Was it?
he wondered.
He’d never done any
.)

‘We hate exercise,’ the kitten said.

‘Well, do something else, then,’ Atticus replied, exasperated.

‘Like what?’ the kitten started chewing a bit of sofa stuffing.

Suddenly Atticus remembered a TV ad he’d seen for cat food. It had featured a happy-looking kitten climbing trees, exploring and playing with balls of wool while its owner looked on lovingly.

‘Climb trees!’ he said confidently. ‘Go exploring! Play with balls of wool! Trust me, you’ll love it.’

The kittens looked at one another and shrugged.

‘Okay,’ they agreed moodily. ‘If you say so.’ They got down off the sofas and slouched into the hall. Then they disappeared, one by one, through the cat flap.

2

After the talk, Atticus met Mimi at the beach and they went for a stroll along the sand.

‘How was it?’ Mimi asked.

‘Great!’ Atticus said. ‘I really think I got through to them. I don’t think they’ll cause any trouble. They’ll be too busy doing all the fun things I suggested.’

‘Good,’ Mimi said. ‘Inspector Cheddar will be pleased.’

They stopped to make friends with a small child who gave them some ice cream and sat in the sun by the beach hut for a while.

They got back to number 2 Blossom Crescent at teatime. Atticus was pleased to find the kids were working on their holiday project. It was about him.
Well, not about him
exactly
. But about cats who lived in an age when they were actually
appreciated
by humans, instead of being told to get off the sofa and stop scratching the rug, which is what Inspector Cheddar kept telling Atticus to do.

‘Mum, did you know that the Ancient Egyptians worshipped cats?’ Callie was doing some research on the computer.

Atticus purred. He imagined lying on a large velvet sofa waving a regal paw while Inspector Cheddar brought him sardines on a gold cat dish. He let out a heavy sigh. The chances of that actually happening in real life were zilch.

‘They had a cat goddess called Bastet.’

Bastet
? It sounded like ‘basket’ without the
k
. Talking of baskets, Aisha had forgotten to bring Mimi’s when she dropped her off, so Mimi had curled up in
his
basket by the fridge. (Atticus was sleeping in Inspector Cheddar’s favourite armchair while she stayed, although obviously he hadn’t let Inspector Cheddar find out!)

‘They kept cats as pets too,’ Michael said. He was drawing a picture of an Egyptian cat. ‘They were tabbies, like Atticus.’ He showed Atticus his drawing.

Atticus purred throatily. The cat was very like him, all the way down to its white socks. The only difference was it didn’t have a chewed ear or a red handkerchief around its neck with its name on.

‘I had an idea about your project.’ Mrs Cheddar opened the oven and took out a steaming dish of fish pie. She picked out two of the largest prawns and put them on a saucer to cool, then set them on the floor beside Atticus’s basket.

Atticus sniffed.
Prawns!
He liked prawns almost as much as sardines. If Inspector Cheddar ever started to worship him, he must remember to wave for prawns as well. He strolled over to the saucer.

‘I was talking to Mr and Mrs Tucker about how to raise money for the Littleton-on-Sea Home for Abandoned Cats,’ Mrs Cheddar explained. ‘And it turns out that one of the previous owners of Toffly Hall – Howard Toffly – was a famous Egyptologist.’

Mr and Mrs Tucker were friends of Atticus. Mr Tucker was a fisherman. Mrs Tucker had once been a government secret agent called Agent Whelk. They used to live in a cottage by the sea until amazing things had happened (also thanks to Atticus).
They discovered they were very rich and the horrible Lord and Lady Toffly who used to live at Toffly Hall were very poor. So now the Tuckers lived in the Hall and organised events for charity while the Tofflys lived on the caravan site and polished spoons for a living.

‘What’s an Egyptologist?’ Callie asked.

‘Someone who explored the pyramids and discovered Ancient Egyptian treasure,’ Mrs Cheddar explained.

Atticus was listening so intently he’d forgotten to eat his prawn. Being an Egyptologist sounded even more exciting than being a police cat. He thought he might give it a try.

‘That’s awesome, Mum!’ Michael exclaimed. ‘Was he cursed by the pharaohs for disturbing their tombs?’

Atticus’s chewed ear drooped. He didn’t like the sound of being cursed by a pharaoh. Maybe he’d stick to police-catting after all.

‘I don’t know,’ Mrs Cheddar shivered. ‘But we’ve booked a professor from the British Museum to give a lecture at the Hall about Howard Toffly’s adventures. We’ll have a collection afterwards and
give the money to Nellie Smellie to buy the new kittens something to play with. I thought you two could ask the Professor some questions afterwards about Egyptian cats.’

‘Good thinking, Mum,’ Michael said.

‘That should raise loads of money for the Home for Abandoned Cats.’ Callie went to wash her hands.

‘WHAT? So those rotten kittens can cause
more
trouble?’ a cross voice said.

Atticus looked up. The cross voice belonged to Inspector Cheddar. The Inspector stomped into the kitchen, threw himself down on a chair and took off his cap.

‘What’s happened?’ Mrs Cheddar gasped.

Inspector Cheddar’s face was caked in soot from the eyebrows down. His uniform was ripped in several places and there were twigs sticking out of his ears.

‘I got hijacked by a bunch of hooli-cats,’ Inspector Cheddar stormed.

‘What did they do?’ Michael asked.

‘What
didn’t
they do, more like?!’ Inspector Cheddar snarled. ‘I spent the entire afternoon with
the fire brigade trying to get two of them down from a tree. Then we discovered that some of the others had got into my panda car and ripped up all the seats.
Then
, when we’d packed them all back off to the Littleton-on-Sea Home for Abandoned Cats the panda car wouldn’t start.’

‘Why not?’ Mrs Cheddar said.

Inspector Cheddar pulled a ball of wool out of his pocket. ‘Because they’d stuck
this
up the exhaust pipe! When I bent down to take a look the blasted thing backfired – BOOM! – right in my face.’ Suddenly he rounded on Atticus. ‘What did you talk to them about this morning?’

Atticus felt peeved.
Why was Inspector Cheddar blaming him?
He’d told the kittens not to get into trouble, hadn’t he? Just like Inspector Cheddar said. He’d answered all their questions and suggested they get some exercise. He’d even given them some fun things to do. He’d told them to climb trees and go exploring. And play with balls of wool …
Oops!
Atticus’s chewed ear drooped.

‘I knew it!’ Inspector Cheddar was watching him closely. ‘It was your idea!’ He bent down,
picked up the saucer and swept the prawns into the bin.

‘Dad!’ the children protested.

Mimi gave a little meow from the basket. One of the prawns was for her!

Inspector Cheddar ignored them. ‘No more prawns,’ he shouted. ‘No more sardines, or cat treats or bits of crispy bacon. Atticus is on dried food from now on until I say otherwise. Perhaps it’ll teach
him
to stay out of trouble!’

Atticus’s good ear drooped. He hated dried food. It was like mummified rabbit poo. He let out an even heavier sigh.
If only he really was an Ancient Egyptian cat god, like Bastet!