Furball and the Mokes Page 6
‘Oi’m ole Granny Moke. Hello, Furball my dear,’ he quavered. Sometimes, waving the same bit of grey fluff, he danced up behind her, squeaking and pretending to be the grey moke-ghostie of ole Lundine Town.
Buster played games too. Because they frolicked and danced backwards and forwards and sideways and back, they must have run three times as far as Furball, and when she reached the hole in the skirting board under the dresser she had to wait for them to catch up. She squeezed through the gap and let herself down in the darkness to the kitchen floor.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Stuck on a Rock
In her very deep sleep, Kitty’s mum was still worrying about the mousetraps. There was a bit of her brain that was still awake. But she was still asleep, and in the middle of a dream about people who play no part in this story.
These people were swimming in the sea, near the beach where Kitty with her mum and dad went on holiday. In the dream, Dad was standing on a rock, yelling. His foot was stuck to the rock, as if it was glued there. He was crying and screaming. Mum woke up. Her first thought was: typical of Peter to put his foot in the one trap on the beach. Then she asked herself: Did I pick up all the sticky-traps downstairs? What about the one under the dresser? She decided to look for that one in the morning.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Rich Tea Biscuits & Pearl Barley
Furball and the young mokes entered the kitchen. They all knew their way around and Furball set out purposefully across the kitchen to edge her way through the larder door. If the larder door wasn’t open (and it usually was), then they would find food in another place. On the dresser itself was the ledge where the Giant kept the packet of hamster food. It was a big climb, but if she needed to shimmy up the dresser she would (just) be able to do it.
While she was having these practical and purposeful thoughts, her two young friends were racing round and round in circles under the dresser. None of them, as yet, had seen the sticky-trap on the floor, halfway out from under the dresser. After running round in circles, Nobby and Buster were out of breath. Nobby paused and let a few little dark brown, almost black droppings fall on the kitchen floor before scampering off once more.
‘Perhaps – the larder…’ said Furball, in her quiet little voice.
‘Wozzat?’ called Buster.
‘Perhaps the larder.’
‘Oh –’ in their bad imitation of her voice – ‘Per heps the lah-de-da.’
Furball scuttled straight towards the larder door with the speed of an electric toy. By the time Buster and Nobby pranced up behind, Furball was calling, ‘We’re in luck – the door is open.’
The thought of the six new Rivals, and of Mokey Moke needing more food, inspired Furball to real hard work. She climbed into the plastic shopping basket on the larder floor, although once at the bottom of the basket, she found it impossible to resist a nibble at a particularly succulent carrot.
‘We have here – carrots – potatoes.’
‘Any biskoes in there, Furbs?’
‘Not that I can see,’ she called back. She was already clambering out, heaving a carrot in her mouth, when Nobby repeated his biscuit request. Furball didn’t admit she wasn’t sure what a ‘bisko’ was.
Furball was much bigger than the mokes, and she was a much better climber. But sometimes, when they broke into laughter, she still wondered if they were making fun of her. But she knew they really did admire her skills as a climber, and as a food carrier. So it pleased her to show off, just a little, to Nobby and Buster.
The two young mokes stood on the larder floor and watched her climb up the wall to the shelf. For them it was as exciting as an evening at the circus. Furball’s small pink paws, with their sharp-clawed fingers, carried her up the sheer brick face of the larder wall. Then with a heave – heave – HEAVE, she was on the shelf.
Nobby and Buster stared up at her. In their sharp grey faces and jet-black shining eyes she could see sheer admiration.
‘Good on yer, Furb.’
‘Cor – see the way she took that wall?’
‘Like yer footwork, Furb.’
Of course, they laughed as they said this – they always laughed, whatever they said, just as they never made a journey without leaping about making everything into a game. Still they were clearly impressed – very impressed indeed, and for Furball this felt very good.
She called down to them. ‘Plenty up here!’
She reached out with her paws, and a long shining blue tower labelled rich tea biscuits tottered over and almost squashed her on the spot. As it rolled off the shelf, faster and faster, it could have squashed all of them, but Nobby and Buster liked to live dangerously and they danced out of the way as the blue packet fell to the floor. Once it had landed, they ran towards it and began to nibble the shiny packaging.
‘Nuff ter keep us goin forever ere, Furball.’
‘We’ll drag it back under the dresser,’ she called down from the shelf. ‘While I’m up here – anything else you’d like?’
Now she was showing off with a stylish hamster dance as she reached for different packets. From a packet of rice, a pattering rain dropped on the shelf and floor. From another packet, labelled pearl barley, she gobbled a pouchful of hard but tasty little nuggets.
‘Is it my burfdie or summat?’ asked Nobby as some of the pearl barley bounced towards his head.
Furball was saying, ‘Or there are raisins…’ These were delicious. She ate several and threw a few more over the edge.
‘I reckon you’ve got us what I never fort we’d ave,’ called Buster.
‘Bisker?’ asked Furball nonchalantly, hoping she’d got the word right.
‘Better than that, Furb – nuff!’
Nobby squeaked with delight at this. ‘Never thought we’d ave nuff.’
With no idea what they were talking about, Furball joined in the laughter.
Now it was time to begin her descent. Peeping over the edge of the shelf she felt as if she was looking over a really high cliff. Nobby and Buster weren’t watching now. They were attacking the Rich Tea biscuits packet with a frenzy, spitting out wrapping and munching the biscuits. Very gingerly, Furball put her paws on the edge of the shelf and swung herself over.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Can’t We Wait Until Morning?
Two floors up, Kitty’s parents lay side by side in bed. Dad was snoring. Perhaps it was this which woke Mum, but it felt like the twentieth time she’d woken that night.
‘Peter.’
Dad made various noises which sounded like a pig trying to get comfortable in its straw.
‘Peter.’
He mumbled, then said, ‘Bad dream?’
‘Peter.’
Suddenly he sat up, in a panic. ‘Burglars? Fire? Flood?’
‘It’s those sticky-traps.’
He groaned.
‘I don’t think I picked up the sticky-trap under the dresser,’ she said.
‘You probably did.’
‘But I’m not sure.’
‘Go down and check if you’re so worried.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Why not?’
‘’Cause if Chum… if Chum has got caught in it… You don’t think she has, do you?’
‘How can I know whether the hamster has got caught in a mousetrap?’
‘Go and look. Please.’
‘What if she has? What if the hamster is caught in this – this sticky-trap. Can we get her out of it?’
Mum was silent.
‘I could take her to the vet in the morning, I suppose.’ He groaned again. ‘But I’ve got so much work tomorrow and – what time is it?’
‘Twenty to three.’
‘Can’t we wait until morning?’ he asked. ‘Or should I say – until a bit later this morning.’
‘We can’t let Kitty see,’ said his wife. ‘If Chum’s stuck in the trap, we’ll have to… you’ll have to…’
‘I’ve said – I’ll take her to the vet.’
‘Please… can’t we talk about it in the morning?’
‘In front of Kitty? No. You have to go down there.’
‘What – now?’
‘Maybe not now, but before Kitty wakes up. If Chum’s stuck in the trap, you’ll have to… oh, this is awful.’
‘You’re saying I’ll have to kill Chum?’
‘You’ll have to get rid of her before Kitty wakes up. We’ll say she’s just lost, gone missing. We’ll promise her a new hamster… a dog…’
‘Why don’t you kill the hamster? You’re the one who put down the trap!’
‘Oh, Pete, don’t be mean – it’s awful. We’re all in this together.’
‘OK. In the morning, I’ll do something. OK? I’ll go down and make us all a nice cup of tea. And if I find Chum has been caught in the trap I’ll…’
‘Thanks.’ She squeezed his hand in the darkness.
About half an hour later when Mum was asleep, he asked aloud, ‘What? If I find Chum has been caught in the trap, I’ll what? I can’t squash her or drown her or flush her down the toilet… She’s family.’
And he groaned.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Fear
Thanks to Furball, it was a truly magnificent haul.
‘Wiv vis little lot we’ll be larfin all the way till Lord Mayor’s Showdie,’ said Buster.
Nobby was still enjoying his brother’s earlier joke. ‘We’ve got nuff. Never ad nuff before. Furball’s as got us what we never ad fore. Nuff.’
‘It’s a good one, eh,’ agreed Buster.
Furball concentrated on heaving the packet of biscuits across the kitchen floor. It was bigger than she was but because it was a cylinder she could roll it, at least for some of the way. Buster and Nobby said they would help, but they kept getting distracted. At one point they ran back into the larder to nibble at the grains of pearl barley on the floor. Then they’d remember that old Furball was struggling and they would dance back to put their shoulders against the biscuit packet.
‘Only,’ puffed Nobby, ‘shame ter leave all vat stuff byind.’
‘If we get this rolled under the dresser,’ puffed Furball, ‘we can come back for more.’
‘Ow gonna get froo ole?’ asked Nobby. Furball had to admit, she hadn’t asked herself the question. How would they squeeze the large biscuit packet through the quite small crack at the top of the skirting board under the dresser? Just get the packet rolled out of oom sight – that was her scheme.
It was a hard struggle, and a long one, but eventually they did it. They were safe under the dresser. The packet of biscuits was theirs. If they told Mokey Moke of their triumph, she would probably organize as many as ten mokes to help carry the biscuits to the nest.
Furball ran about excitedly under the dresser. She ran this way and that, sometimes thinking about the biscuits and sometimes thinking of nothing, just enjoying the freedom to scuttle about.
She came to a plastic tray, halfway under the dresser and halfway out. It had a rather pleasant smell, and for a moment she thought of how nice it was to snuggle under the Giant’s jumper. Was this tray some food which had been kindly placed there by the Giant? Or was it a game, such as the wheel which the Giant sometimes placed in her cage? She edged forward and sniffed the tray. It smelt a little bit like nuts. Not at all unpleasing.
‘Wotcha found there ven, Furbs?’ asked Nobby. He came bounding up behind her, and jumped recklessly on to the tray.
‘I don’t know,’ said Furball.
‘It’s a stuck-up,’ said Nobby. ‘Get back – get back. Buster, don’t come on vis whaddever yer do, mate! Furbs, stand back – I got blooming stuck, en I?’
Furball was so used to Nobby making jokes that for a while she found didn’t realise that this was something serious, deadly serious. She moved towards the tray to help him and he began to squeal in an agonised high-pitched tone which she’d never heard before.
‘Stand back! Stand back! It’s a trap, innit – an oom trap!’
‘I’ll go fer elp, mate,’ said Buster.
‘Don’t let no more mokes on ere – it’s a trap,’ gasped Nobby.
‘I’ll get Mokey Moke – she’ll know what to do.’
‘Don’t let no Rivals on ere, mate – they’ll be stuck an all.’
Buster disappeared down the hole at the top of the skirting board. Furball simply stared, her whiskers quivering with horror, at Nobby’s face as he stared back at her. Nobby had often puzzled her, or said things she didn’t understand. His very sharp quizzical eyes and his sharp nose had always been mysterious. Whether he was making jokes or telling her about Lundine life, Nobby had always kept her guessing, which was what made him such an interesting friend to have.
Now she saw something in his face which was all too easy to understand. She saw simple fear. She saw what she felt herself (if she was honest) most of the time she was out of the cage. She saw nothing but the fear. All the jokes, all the fun, all the enjoyment of food or their hide-and-seek games together… they had just vanished. The fear was the only thing that was real any more. And the fear she saw in her friend’s face was something that took over and coloured everything that followed.
The Terror changed everything. Furball could feel Nobby’s fear spreading so it would very quickly engulf all of them.
All of a sudden, Mokey Moke appeared and came to the edge of the tray-trap. She called out Nobby’s name, but after this they stopped using words. Nobby called to his mother, and his mother called back in a high-pitched wail of grief. That was all that was real.
It is impossible to say how long it lasted. Several of the Rivals came out of the hole and clustered around Mokey Moke. She tried to push them away to keep them from Nobby’s fate on the sticky-trap. Buster was probably there too. When Furball tried to remember it afterwards the details became muddled.
Time changed. Hamsters and mice do not think about time in the way humans do, but even a human wouldn’t have known if a few seconds or a few hours had passed. They were all frozen in their fear and caught up in Nobby’s agony.
The fear was not over. It was only just beginning. Because, as they all stood there, horrified by Nobby’s plight, he called to them – ooms, ooms. All of them, including Furball, shrank back into the shadows under the dresser. A large pair of naked oom feet and the flapping legs of some pyjama trousers became visible. The feet came nearer to the dresser, and nearer and nearer…
They heard the oom make groaning and swearing noises. Then his great hand came down to the floor. His large stubby fingers, each one of them large enough to pick up a moke, reached towards the sticky-tray. There was more roaring and cursing. Then two of the large fingers reached towards Nobby himself and tried to pull him off the sticky-tray. But the trap just lifted with the moke, so Nobby screamed even louder and the oom dropped the trap. Next, the fingers tried to push Nobby, but nothing would budge his greyish-pink feet, and the more the fingers tried to move him, the greater the moke’s pain.
Then the oom left the kitchen. They could hear crashing and banging and he opened the back door into the yard. The oom came blundering back into the kitchen and they saw its great fingers lifting Nobby and the trap into the air. The oom was carrying Nobby in his trap out into the yard.
When they talked about it afterwards they had different memories about what he had called to them as the oom took him away. Some said he was just screaming. Some seemed to think he was calling their names. Buster always maintained that his brother had been defiant, shouting cheeky comments to the end, ‘Ooms stink, mokes rock,’ was Buster’s version. Furball didn’t like talking about that moment. All the same, she could have sworn that when he was lifted up on his trap,
Nobby looked down and said, ‘Wotcha, Furba! Wotcha!’
While the oom was in the backyard, the younger newborn mokes, the Rivals, clustered around Mokey Moke. Some wanted to snuggle near their mother. Others, already growing up into true mokes, despite such a short time in the world, couldn’t resist larking about, elbowing one another, squeaking, dancing in circles.
There was a shelf near the kitchen window with plants on it. Furball and Buster climbed on to it. They could see the yard from here. They could see the oom. It was Kitty’s dad. In one hand he carried a plastic bag. In the other hand he was holding a garden rake. The trap, with Nobby stuck to it, was on the paving near the back door. They saw the rake being lifted up, and they saw it come down – once, twice and then again.
In that moment, Furball could have been frozen to the spot with terror. It was almost as if the shelf where they stood was a sticky-trap and her feet would not move. But, with a squeal nearly as loud as Nobby’s had been when he was trapped, Buster gave a cry that united all of them. It was a cry of defiance against the ooms and it was a cry to rally all the mokes into retreat.
It was so loud and so powerful that even the tiny mokes who had been larking about near the dresser were summoned into action.
Buster, still squeaking and shrieking, had become their war leader. In many great struggles there comes a moment to retreat. There was nothing they could do to rescue Nobby, and there was nothing they could do to defeat the power of the oom and his garden rake. No thought, exactly – no thought, that is, in the sense of a plan what to do next, occupied the mind either of Mokey Moke or of Buster. But when Buster had reached the ground, he ran back under the dresser into the comforting darkness and all the mokes ran with him. Furball followed. They had not got under the dresser a moment too soon; the oom had come back into the kitchen. And there was not much doubt he wanted to kill more of them. Furball thought she heard him calling her oom name – Chum! Chum! She thought of Nobby’s bravery on the trap. She thought of what he had told her about old Murphy, the last hamster, and how the ooms had put him into the damp mud of the backyard. And she ran with the mokes.