living rough like Shakespeare had, you learnt to always be alert and ready to run – or fight.
After the last few weeks I’ve had
, thought the cat,
I’m lucky to be alive at all!
He looked around at Sophie’s bedroom – pink curtains, cream walls and a pair of fluffy slippers.
Perfect.
Shakespeare stretched out luxuriously, hooking his claws into the super-soft bedding.
Peace and quiet and a nice comfy duvet, at last. What more could a feline want?
The window was open and Shakespeare could hear some barking outside. His whiskers twitched nervously
. Bad memories.
He leapt effortlessly up on to the sill, being careful to
stay hidden behind the curtain, and spied on the meeting below.
What a strange gathering of animals.
He looked at the black and white dog standing at the front of the group, clearly in charge.
She’s the one who lives in this house
,
Shakespeare realized. He always scampered away before she came back into the house, but he’d seen the children playing with her and petting her. He’d tried not to pay too much attention to the obvious love between them all. Shakespeare had no time for that sort of thing.
Her name was Lara.
Strange markings
, he thought.
And an even stranger ear arrangement
, he noticed as Lara’s bullet-holed ear stood proudly to attention. Shakespeare listened intently. So she was a Spy Dog – whatever that meant. He wasn’t even sure what a ‘neighbourhood-watch team’ actually was, but what appeared to be a competition to choose a leader to look after things while Lara was on holiday would be interesting to watch either way. It was always good to know who the competition was on your patch. He scanned the group below; there didn’t seem to be anyone worth Shakespeare’s attention.
But then
, thought the cat,
a life of action and adventure isn’t really my thing.
Shakespeare was a loner. He only looked out for number one now. He cast an eye back to the warm bed that seemed to be calling him.
That’s my thing!
He listened to Lara’s instructions, stretching a back leg and licking between his claws while he did so. ‘The test is very simple. It’s a feline versus canine challenge. We need to see who’s cleverest, bravest and most energetic.’
Shakespeare continued listening and licking, his sandpapery tongue cleaning between his toes. ‘Imagine there’s a fire on the first floor of
number 22. And there’s a child asleep in the upstairs bedroom.’
‘
Yikes!
’ woofed the soppy-looking chocolate Lab. ‘Best get there quick,’ he said, bounding off towards the garden gate.
‘Archie,’ Lara bellowed. ‘Heel, boy. I said
imagine
. Come back here and listen carefully to the instructions.’
Shakespeare sniggered.
Dogs are so stupid.
‘Yes, boss,’ he woofed apologetically. ‘But what about the fire?’
Lara sighed and shook her head. Shakespeare was surprised to see her eye the tortoiseshell cat with what looked like hope.
Interesting, not automatically rooting for her own species.
‘There’s an
imaginary
baby at number 22,’ Lara continued. ‘And an
imaginary
fire. The first one to get into the house, upstairs, rescue the child and bring it back here is the winner, right?’
Archie looked chastened. ‘Yes, boss.’
‘I’m ready,’ miaowed Connie, giving Archie a competitive sideways glance.
‘Then what are you waiting for? Go!’ woofed Lara as the cat and dog sprinted off in opposite directions.
Thirty seconds later Archie came panting back. ‘Which is number 22?’ he woofed.
Lara jabbed her paw after the cat, who was already halfway down the street. Archie bounded after her, a chocolate-brown bundle of enthusiasm.
Shakespeare watched lazily from above. He’d stopped licking but his back leg was still outstretched, in striking distance if the race got boring. The competition had become slightly less interesting now it was clear that the cat was going to wipe the floor with the daft dog.
Shakespeare had no time for dogs
After the last few weeks I’ve had
, thought the cat,
I’m lucky to be alive at all!
He looked around at Sophie’s bedroom – pink curtains, cream walls and a pair of fluffy slippers.
Perfect.
Shakespeare stretched out luxuriously, hooking his claws into the super-soft bedding.
Peace and quiet and a nice comfy duvet, at last. What more could a feline want?
The window was open and Shakespeare could hear some barking outside. His whiskers twitched nervously
. Bad memories.
He leapt effortlessly up on to the sill, being careful to
stay hidden behind the curtain, and spied on the meeting below.
What a strange gathering of animals.
He looked at the black and white dog standing at the front of the group, clearly in charge.
She’s the one who lives in this house
,
Shakespeare realized. He always scampered away before she came back into the house, but he’d seen the children playing with her and petting her. He’d tried not to pay too much attention to the obvious love between them all. Shakespeare had no time for that sort of thing.
Her name was Lara.
Strange markings
, he thought.
And an even stranger ear arrangement
, he noticed as Lara’s bullet-holed ear stood proudly to attention. Shakespeare listened intently. So she was a Spy Dog – whatever that meant. He wasn’t even sure what a ‘neighbourhood-watch team’ actually was, but what appeared to be a competition to choose a leader to look after things while Lara was on holiday would be interesting to watch either way. It was always good to know who the competition was on your patch. He scanned the group below; there didn’t seem to be anyone worth Shakespeare’s attention.
But then
, thought the cat,
a life of action and adventure isn’t really my thing.
Shakespeare was a loner. He only looked out for number one now. He cast an eye back to the warm bed that seemed to be calling him.
That’s my thing!
He listened to Lara’s instructions, stretching a back leg and licking between his claws while he did so. ‘The test is very simple. It’s a feline versus canine challenge. We need to see who’s cleverest, bravest and most energetic.’
Shakespeare continued listening and licking, his sandpapery tongue cleaning between his toes. ‘Imagine there’s a fire on the first floor of
number 22. And there’s a child asleep in the upstairs bedroom.’
‘
Yikes!
’ woofed the soppy-looking chocolate Lab. ‘Best get there quick,’ he said, bounding off towards the garden gate.
‘Archie,’ Lara bellowed. ‘Heel, boy. I said
imagine
. Come back here and listen carefully to the instructions.’
Shakespeare sniggered.
Dogs are so stupid.
‘Yes, boss,’ he woofed apologetically. ‘But what about the fire?’
Lara sighed and shook her head. Shakespeare was surprised to see her eye the tortoiseshell cat with what looked like hope.
Interesting, not automatically rooting for her own species.
‘There’s an
imaginary
baby at number 22,’ Lara continued. ‘And an
imaginary
fire. The first one to get into the house, upstairs, rescue the child and bring it back here is the winner, right?’
Archie looked chastened. ‘Yes, boss.’
‘I’m ready,’ miaowed Connie, giving Archie a competitive sideways glance.
‘Then what are you waiting for? Go!’ woofed Lara as the cat and dog sprinted off in opposite directions.
Thirty seconds later Archie came panting back. ‘Which is number 22?’ he woofed.
Lara jabbed her paw after the cat, who was already halfway down the street. Archie bounded after her, a chocolate-brown bundle of enthusiasm.
Shakespeare watched lazily from above. He’d stopped licking but his back leg was still outstretched, in striking distance if the race got boring. The competition had become slightly less interesting now it was clear that the cat was going to wipe the floor with the daft dog.
Shakespeare had no time for dogs
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