12. Hunted

Hunted? What does he mean hunted? Shakespeare’s head was buzzing and adrenaline was rushing through his body. He caught his reflection in the mirror and noticed his fur was on end and his tail swollen. Ready for a fight! He remembered his mindfulness classes and breathed deeply. He knew he had to clear his head before any decisions were made. Stay calm.

Shakespeare forced himself to have a break. He made a cup of mint tea and enjoyed a sardine. Oily fish. Brain food. I’ve been up all night, he thought, cleaning his whiskers. And the whole mission now rests on me. I must think like a spy cat to act like a spy cat.

He spent some more time googling Mr Big, his shoulders sagging as he began to uncover the whole truth. Shakespeare had heard the name whispered but he was a bit like Voldemort – so scary that his name was rarely spoken. The cat soaked up information from the professor’s case files. Lara and Mr Big go back a very long way! The cat slapped arch-enemy and hunted to the Post-it wall. Emailing the police is definitely out. He remembered the gun at the professor’s head. Not good. The oily fish began working its magic and he ran through some ideas in his feline brain. Ben, thought Shakespeare. He might know what to do. The spy cat downloaded the dramatic video scenes to a memory stick and bounced out of the cat flap, the beginnings of a plan formulating in his mind.

Ben, Sophie and Ollie just panicked. Shakespeare swiped the iPad on to standby. That’s not doing us any favours, he thought. Time to introduce my plan. The children watched as the cat took a pencil in his mouth and moved to Ben’s desk. It was a struggle but he started drawing.

The children peered in. ‘He’s trying to tell us something,’ said Ollie. ‘What is it, puss? What are you drawing?’

Shakespeare was frustrated. It’s so hard drawing with a pencil in your mouth. I sooo wish I had hands like you guys.

‘He’s so clever,’ cooed Sophie, her tummy doing cartwheels of pride.

‘Is it a burger?’ suggested Ollie.

‘A burger?’ meowed the puss out of the side of his mouth. Why would I be drawing a burger? It’s a plane!

‘Is it a bird?’ guessed Sophie.

A blooming bird? It’s a plane. Vroom vroom, a plane! I suppose a bird is a lot closer than a burger. Shakespeare stretched his front legs out to the side to indicate fixed wings that didn’t flap.

‘Looks like a coat hanger,’ suggested Sophie unhelpfully.

The cat spat out the pencil and shook his head. This is ridiculous. He nosed the tablet back into action and clicked on the internet. He typed in drone, and pictures of spy planes appeared.

‘The professor’s spy plane?’ guessed Ben.

‘Get in!’ yowled the cat, pointing a paw at the boy. Electric fences. Can’t climb up and can’t go over. Can’t go under. So I have to fly. He tore into Sophie’s bedroom and searched through the dressing-up box. Two minutes later the puss returned, wearing a fetching Lycra cat suit. One of the professor’s better inventions, thought the cat. I’ve worn it before. It has webbed arms and legs so I can glide from the sky.

Sophie looked unsure. ‘Hang on,’ she said, ‘so if I’ve got this right, you want us to fly you in on the professor’s plane. And then you’re going to swoop down like some sort of superhero cat?’

Shakespeare stood tall and puffed out his chest in pride. The Lycra suit made him feel special. He spread his arms wide, revealing batwings. I love the sound of superhero, he thought. And yes, that’s pretty much the plan. This is now a rescue mission. Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it’s Bat Cat!