Really, that dog! Not content with barring my exit from the pantry window for my nightly stroll (and thereby landing me in the rice pudding) he now has some hare-brained scheme to prove his ‘doghood’! Apparently the Lionheart springer had foolishly referred to him as being old – a friendly term and not meant to be taken literally. Or not by anyone of sense. Alas, sense is not one of Bouncer’s better traits and he has applied a rigid interpretation. Thus, furious at being thought less than young he is hell-bent on cutting a dash and doing something youthful and daring. I shudder to think what – his normal rampages are bad enough. Nevertheless, the prospect is intriguing. Might he trash the chinchillas’ hutch? Vandalize the church vestry? Urinate on the Bartlett woman’s suede shoes? Hurl himself into the headmaster’s lily pond and terrorize the newts? Who knows,with that hound it might be anything! I await events with some nervousness – for whatever he does the thing could rebound and have unfortunate results for all of us!
Having kept a low profile by skulking in the shrubbery, I can now report that Bouncer’s plan has been revealed. It is, thank goodness, less crude than you might expect – in fact, if properly executed it could be mildly amusing.
Bored with worms and insects, I felt it time to look for some fresh diversion, and was just wandering off to see what I could find when Bouncer appeared. Before I could take evasive action, he tweaked my tail and in a throaty whisper said, ‘I say, Maurice, I’ve got a good wheeze. Want to hear about it?’
To have indicated otherwise would have been imprudent and likely to cause general uproar. Thus, marshalling supreme tact, I told him that I could hardly wait.
Plonking himself down and grinning from ear to ear he announced, ‘I am going to interfere with MacManus’s marrows.’
‘Interfere with his marrows?’ I exclaimed. ‘In what way – savage them, do you mean? I cannot see that tearing chunks out of vegetable marrows is going to enhance your image in the canine fraternity … it’s the sort of thing that an elderly Pekinese minus half its teeth might do, but not a fine fellow like you!’ I gave an indulgent laugh.
The dog thumped his tail impatiently. ‘No Maurice, you’ve got it wrong. My plan is much better than that.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ I said drily. And so he told me.
Apparently, according to Tootles (the gossipy tabby who lives opposite the MacManus house), one of the policeman’s few interests is cultivating giant marrows which he exhibits at local shows. Tootles says the things are without smell or taste and serve no discernible purpose. But evidently their owner thinks otherwise. So Bouncer’s plan is to sneak into MacManus’s garden late at night, wrench the marrows from their stalks, drag them into the middle of the front lawn and then scratch rude words across their skins. Thus, the marrows would be rendered unfit for exhibition, MacManus would go berserk and Bouncer would have struck a blow in revenge for his pestering of the Prim. Tootles would pass the word around that Bouncer was responsible for the bold sabotage, and since MacManus was known to dislike both cats and dogs, he would be applauded by all.
The account finished, its exponent sat back, panting. ‘So what do you think, Maurice?’
I cogitated for a moment, and then enquired what sort of words he had in mind.
‘Oh, easy ones,’ he said, ‘you know the sort: twerp, berk, ass, prat, dumbo, stoopidimberceel.’
I pointed out that the last term, having five syllables, was hardly easy.
‘Oh yes, but you can do that one,’ the dog replied carelessly.
‘Me!’ I hissed. ‘Surely you do not imagine I am going to get embroiled in this piece of braggadocio!’
‘Piece of what?’
‘Piece of … oh, never mind.’ I sighed.
The dog moved away, padded over to leer at Boris and Karloff in their cage, lifted his leg and then returned. ‘So how about it, Maurice? You’ll come, won’t you?’ He gave a falsetto yelp which he fondly imagines can charm. ‘It’ll be good sport!’
I was silent considering the pros and cons. If caught, we would surely suffer for it and be thought fools by neighbouring colleagues … and my chance of winning the CFE (Companion of the Feline Empire) would be scuppered. However, if successful Bouncer would win kudus; and assuming that Sir Perivale Puss-Coley was informed, I should be a step closer to gaining that noble award. Thus, I took a deep breath and a mad punt. ‘All right, Bouncer, I will come to oversee your antics.’ The cod was cast.
Thus, two nights later, we set out on our mission. Conditions could not have been better: warm, dry and moonless – and our mistress snoring her head off in bed. We sneaked out of the house via the broken panel in the basement door (typically P.O. has never had it fixed), and raced up the drive into the road before taking the shortcut across fields to MacManus’s back garden. Here everything was still and shrouded in darkness: excellent for an intrepid cat and dog, but less so for humans whose senses are defective.
I was slightly irritated to find Tootles lurking behind a watering can. Tabbies are notoriously nosy and he was obviously hoping to have a front seat at our activities. However, I told him that his presence was surplus to requirements but that if he wanted to be useful he could stand sentinel at the front gate. This seemed to appeal and he scampered off.
We soon located the marrow patch and I selected the sort Bouncer should deal with – the biggest ones and whose size would best accommodate the rude words. These we decided to inscribe once the marrows had been detached from their stalks and placed on the lawn. As a matter of fact, I was quite impressed with the dog’s dexterity in cutting the marrows’ moorings. I had expected frantic wrenching and twisting with much snorting and dribble. But to give him his due the job was done with relative ease. I suppose practice on his bones and the Prim’s insistence that he attends the dentist (F.O. never bothered) has kept those teeth in sharp condition.
‘First stage over.’ He grinned. ‘Now for the hard stuff.’ By this he meant dragging the things onto the front lawn where they could be observed in all their mangled glory. But fortunately the distance was only a few yards and the path uncluttered by plants or other obstacles. The marrows were too big for Bouncer’s jaws but he could roll them with his snout, while I could tug at the severed stalk ends. It was an arduous process but we got there in the end. After taking breath we then started to arrange them in a small circle, with the dog using his snout again and me doing some head-butting.
When we had finished Tootles came sloping over and said he thought they looked very pretty.
‘Pretty?’ Bouncer snorted. ‘They won’t be pretty when the words are on ’em!’ He lifted his paw and tried to scratch twerp. It wasn’t very successful: much scrabbling with little result. ‘Hmm. Perhaps I should try with my teeth,’ he muttered.
‘No, Bouncer,’ I commanded quickly. ‘I will do it.’ Unsheathing my claws I incised the words berk, prat and dumbo in impeccable calligraphy. Not for nothing had I been top of the kitten class all those years ago.
‘That’s pretty good,’ the dog grunted, ‘but you’ve got the long word now, stoopidimberceel.’
I selected the largest marrow and was just sharpening my claw for this last assault, when there came a sudden howl from Tootles back at his post by the front gate. ‘He’s coming!’ he screeched. ‘Take cover!’
We dived to the hedge and took up commando positions to watch the road. A large car was driving very slowly in our direction, and as it reached the turn into MacManus’s entrance it braked, and then stalled. (I know about stalling because when we lived with the vicar he was always doing it.) We heard the starter turning … And then we heard and saw something else. Another vehicle came hurtling along at breakneck speed, hit the rear of the first car, tipping it into the ditch, and with thunderous noise careered on into the night. We could hear the faint whine of its engine, followed suddenly by a screeching of brakes and then a most stupendous crash.
‘I wonder what that was,’ said Tootles conversationally as Bouncer and I scrambled out from the hedge.
‘Dunno,’ Bouncer said, ‘but I can tell you who’s in the ditch – it’s old Manus. We had better take a look.’
We scurried into the road and then down into the ditch where the car was half on its side. I leapt on top of the bonnet and, pressing my face against the glass, saw the policeman’s form slumped across the front seats. As I gazed he began to stir and then lifted his head. The tilted bonnet made perching tricky but I clung on and pushed my face closer against the glass to inspect the damage. MacManus seemed to start, and then, putting his hand over his eyes, cried, ‘Oh my Christ!’ The side window was slightly open so I heard this quite distinctly.
By this time Bouncer had come snuffling up. ‘I suppose we ought to let the blighter out,’ he growled. ‘Mind you, after those marrows I’m not sure my gnashers can stand any more biting and pulling. What do you think we should do?’ He stood on his hind legs and peered in at the driver’s window. Again, MacManus moved – to remove his hand from his eyes. But seeing the dog’s furry face, he replaced it instantly and groaned, ‘Oh, dear God, help me!’ I have to admit that I have had that reaction myself when the dog has broken my slumber, but why my own friendly face should have prompted such a response I cannot imagine. Humans are funny creatures.
‘Shall I try to bite the handle to make it open?’ Bouncer asked.
I said that on no account should he attempt such a thing, as if he broke his teeth there would be an interminable fuss. (I winced at the thought.) ‘I have a far better idea,’ I said, ‘which will release MacManus, save your teeth and bring much credit to both of us. Why, we could become heroes!’
The dog pricked up his ears. ‘Hmm, that sounds a bit of all right,’ he growled, ‘what is it?’
I told him that it was perfectly simple: that we should rush into the gardens of the adjacent houses barking and caterwauling for all we were worth until people came out to investigate and hurl abuse and bedroom slippers. Once they were alerted we could lead them to MacManus and the wreckage of his car.
‘Right-o,’ Bouncer barked, ‘I like that.’ Well he would, wouldn’t he? Anything that involves noise and drama. But before we commenced the alarums he asked where Tootles was.
‘Still admiring the marrows,’ I replied.