Michael and Mr Tucker dragged a reluctant Atticus into the bathroom while Mrs Tucker went with Callie to get changed.
The bathroom was full of bottles of different shapes and sizes.
Atticus eyed them warily.
‘What are all these for?’ Michael asked, staring at the forest of multi-coloured glass.
‘I’ll tell yooze.’ Mr Tucker tapped a few with the stick of his pipe. The glass made a tune. Next he started banging his wooden leg on the tile floor. Soon he had a rhythm going. He cleared his throat noisily. Suddenly, to Atticus’s astonishment, he broke into a sea shanty.
‘Once upon a time when men were fish,’ he sang,
‘They all ate each other and then went squish,
One of them invented eyeball oil, Just put it in a pan and let it boil …’
Michael giggled.
Atticus put his paws over his ears. He’d heard donkeys with tonsillitis sing better than that.
‘HERE COMES THE CHORUS!’ Mr Tucker yelled. ‘JOIN IN IF YOU LIKE!’
‘This one makes you hairy,’ he bellowed, tapping away at the glass, ‘this one makes you smaaarrrt,’ he banged his leg on the floor, ‘this one cures verrucas,
And this one makes you faarrrt.’
‘You’d better not get them mixed up,’ Atticus growled.
‘This one makes you smelly,’ Mr Tucker yodelled, ‘This one makes you moo, This one helps your hearing, And this one makes you poo!’
Michael was laughing his head off.
Atticus couldn’t understand why. There was nothing funny about it. Mr Tucker was bonkers. He was one scale short of a fish skin. He was mad, barmy, doolally and dangerous. There was no knowing what was in those bottles. Michael wouldn’t be laughing if one of them were about to get tipped all over him! This was serious. Atticus might turn into a cow or start farting or both. And he definitely didn’t have verrucas. Atticus felt so worried he thought he might faint.
‘Aaarrrr, here’s what we’s lookin’ fooorrrrr!’ Mr Tucker stopped singing suddenly and picked up a heavy green bottle with a blue label and a thick rubber stopper.
Atticus stared at the label in disbelief.
Traditional White Beard Dye
Puts years on you in an instant.
Strongly recommended by sailors.
(Can Also Be Used on Jumpers)
No … no … no … no … NO!!!! Before Atticus could jump away, Mr Tucker had bundled him into the bath, whisked off his red handkerchief and lathered him all over with Thumpers’ Traditional White.
‘It says on the label you have to leave it on for an hour to set,’ Michael said anxiously.
An hour! Stuck in the bath with this gunk all over him? Atticus didn’t think so. He got ready to spring.
‘We don’t have an hour,’ Mr Tucker grunted. ‘We’ll just have to hope it laaarsts long enough to catch them magpies. Rinse him off would you, Michael?’
Rinse him off??!! Didn’t they know cats hated water? Atticus panicked. He tried to scramble out of the bath but his feet kept slipping on the soapy white bubbles.
‘Sorry, Atticus!’ Michael started the shower. ‘I know you don’t like it, but you’ve got to let me do this.’
‘I’ve got him!’ Mr Tucker’s big hands closed round Atticus’s body.
Atticus wriggled helplessly. He heard a hiss then a gurgle. Suddenly he was hit by a deluge of water. Were they trying to kill him?! He was drowning! He couldn’t breathe! His fur was being matted and mangled! Even his chewed ear was soggy!
‘Careful it doesn’t go in his eyes,’ Mr Tucker remarked. ‘That stuff will sting like a jellyfish!’
‘I’m being as careful as I can,’ Michael complained. ‘Stop wriggling, Atticus, it’s just water!’
Just water?! How could humans say that? It was torture. It was cat cruelty. It would give him nightmares for years. Atticus screwed his eyes shut and let out a pitiful yowl.
‘There,’ Michael said eventually. ‘You’re done.’
Atticus stopped yowling. He opened his eyes cautiously. He was still alive – just – but freezing cold. He began to shiver.
‘Now, let’s get you blow-dried.’ Mr Tucker scooped Atticus up in a towel and took him through to the bedroom. ‘Then we’ll show the ladies.’
Being blow-dried was much better than being dyed. Atticus closed his eyes as the warm stream of air fluffed out his fur. It was like being tickled. The only off-putting thing was the noise. Someone should invent a hairdryer that didn’t scream.
‘Wow,’ Michael whispered solemnly when he’d finished. ‘You look completely different, Atticus.’
Atticus swallowed. Completely different. It didn’t sound like Michael meant it in a good way.
‘Have a look in the mirror,’ Mr Tucker encouraged.
Atticus padded over to the dressing table and hopped up on to the stool. He stared. A strange-looking cat with white fluffy fur and a chewed ear stared back at him.
Atticus blinked.
The cat in the mirror blinked back.
Atticus put out a paw.
So did the cat in the mirror.
It really is me, he thought. That’s weird.
‘Don’t worry, Atticus,’ Mr Tucker said. ‘It won’t laaarrrst very long.’ He made a slurping noise with his false teeth. ‘And mind yooze don’t lick it off.’
Yuk! Don’t worry, he wouldn’t. Atticus was glad the dye would wear off quickly though. He didn’t mind being a Persian cat for a few hours but he didn’t want to stay like that for the rest of his life. White made him look a bit of a sissy.
‘Atticus!’ Callie ran into the bedroom. ‘Is that really you? You look even more handsome than usual!’
Atticus purred modestly. Perhaps white suited him after all.
‘Huh-hum!’ A cough came from the doorway.
‘Oh, sorry!’ Callie made a little bow. ‘May I present Countess Salmonella Von Troutperch?’
Mrs Tucker waltzed into the room in a long puffy purple dress. She had a black shawl around her shoulders and a blonde curly wig on her head. ‘Darlings!’ she said in a posh American accent. ‘How perfectly peachy to perceive you!’
‘Edna, you look like a million dollars,’ Mr Tucker gasped. ‘I’d never have recognised yooze.’
Mrs Tucker grinned at Atticus. ‘And you look like you’ve seen a ghost! I wouldn’t have known you apart from the chewed ear,’ she chortled. ‘Let’s hope the magpies don’t notice it. Here, get these on.’ She fastened the fake ruby choker around Atticus’s neck and swept him up in her arms.
Mr Tucker whistled. ‘Make that two million dollars! You sure it’s glass?’
‘Supremely certain, darling,’ Mrs Tucker said in her posh voice.
The children clapped their hands in delight. No one would ever know it was Mrs Tucker. Or Atticus – as long as the dye didn’t rub off!
Mrs Tucker and Atticus admired their reflections in the mirror for a few seconds. Then Mrs Tucker raced to the stairs and took them two at a time. ‘Come on, everyone,’ she cried. ‘What are we waiting for? LET’S CATCH SOME CROOKS!’