Daddy, Laddie, Rufus & Spook: If at first you don't succeed ...

By Ros Armstrong

When lives are at risk, we need good friends!!

Cat-hating neighbour, Old Mr Granville, has grabbed small, silvery cat Spook! What death-defying risks will furry feline Rufus and practical joker Laddie take to rescue their friend?

Rufus is a unique cat; he has a secret weapon. Rufus understands and can talk with humans and uses his skill to fool a bunch of bad men who deserve to be scared. Old Mr Granville's nephew Maitland, a nervous 7-year-old, whose sister Macy continually belittles him, finds a special friend in Rufus and helps in the rescue.

Rufus thrust in as leader of a rescue mission doubts his leadership skills. He learns to push past his pain and self-doubt and together with trickster Laddie and Maitland's help, discovers the importance of what it means to be loyal to his friends and 'If at first you don't succeed …

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543983135

Book preview

one

SNATCHED

‘Rufus! Rufus! Wake up! Wake up! Old Mr Grouchy’s grabbed Spook. Heard him yell that he’ll kill her!’ Laddie meowed.

‘Spook’s grabbed … who?’ Rufus mewed, half-opening one sage-green eye.

‘Old Mr Grumpy, Grouchy, Grumbly, Growly, oh you know, that Old Mr Grubby, Grizzly from the hovel next door!’

‘Granville,’ Rufus said and stretched his dove-grey fur that he often boasted was like a snow leopard. ‘His name’s Old Mr Granville,’ Rufus yawned.

‘Well, Old Mr whatever has tooken Spook!’ Laddie meowed loudly, his white and tabby paws pounding the dirt.

Rufus swivelled grey ears, pulled his thick, ringed tail closer and purred, ‘Laddie stop tricking. You’re always tricking.’ Dropping his head onto smoky-grey paws, Rufus sighed. ‘Nap time, Laddie, go back to sleep.’

Laddie, a lively tabby cat, hung his head, and his black and tan striped shoulders slouched. Suddenly he stood tall. ‘R-u-f-u-s,’ he meowed, ‘Old Mr whatever has tooken, you know, nicked, taken, stolen, Spook! He’ll kill her!’

His mouth wide-open Rufus yawned again; his nametag tinkling against his red collar and stretching, he re-arranged himself, lengthening his body and folded his paws under. Opening his mouth with another gaping yawn, Rufus settled to sleep. Laddie, tricking, as usual, he’s always joking. Told Daddy, Spook and me that he’d seen a black panther in the bush. He even said a crocodile lurked in the dam. No, just Laddie playing tricks, Rufus thought.

His eyes drooping, Rufus watched a dragonfly flit past, and he mumbled, ‘Laddie, I know you and your tricks. Kill? No, Old Mr Granville couldn’t catch Spook. She might have been the runt of the litter, but she’s too fast.’ Settling his head lower onto his paws and swivelling his ears to the Crows Fah-ah-aaaah call that drifted through the Blackbutt Eucalyptus tree, Rufus whispered, ‘Laddie, you’ve had your fun, now sleep. Siesta time. You’ll wake Daddy, and he needs to rest.’

‘I AM not joking Rufus,’ Laddie meowed close to Rufus’ ear. ‘In amongst the kangaroo paws, the wattle, the honeybush, oh you know the bush, near Old Mr Grubby’s dump – boy that place stinks – that grump grabbed Spook when she, oh you know, she accidentally padded onto the grouch’s land. Went near his, his smelly sheds. Trying to tease Old Mr Grumpy’s dog, Nero, I suppose. No Nero scares me, her, us. She got lost. Yes, trust Spook. Hope she didn’t go near his finches’. Laddie babbled. ‘Caught her by the scruff. You know how little she is. Tiny, tiddly, minuscule, a midget …I saw him, he stuffed her in a sack; she’ll suffocate. He’ll feed her to Nero. He’ll … ‘ Laddie yowled. ‘Rufus, you’ve got to help!’ Laddie whirled, and his stripes zigzagged as though he was chasing his tail.

Ever since Nero, the dog next door was a slobbery puppy, the cats had fun sneaking up to tease Mr Granville’s Boxer dog, but only if he was chained. Now a mean, beefy tan dog with a muscled chest, Nero attacked anything, and since Daddy had clawed Nero’s nose one day, in self-defence, he particularly hated the cats, Daddy, Laddie, Rufus and Spook.

‘Okay, Laddie. I’m awake’, Rufus meowed, opening his eyes wide.

Rufus, a roly-poly Australian Mist cat, loved living near the bush where the Carnaby Black Cockatoos fed in the Banksia trees. He loved clawing the straggly Red Flowering Gums trunks, hiding amongst the Mouse Ears shrub and even creeping past a plant called Cat’s Paw. He and Laddie chased water rats that nested amongst the reeds, they climbed Sheoak trees, played chasey and hid under the weeping wattle.

In the summer heat, Rufus and Laddie lazed with Spook and Daddy under the leafy green willow near Piesse Brook. They sharpened their claws on the twisted tree trunk and sprawled next to the tree’s roots that sucked up muddy water. The cats would raise their whiskers, sniff the warm air, and listen to Cockatoos squawk or the Magpies songs and through half-closed eyes watch the droopy willow tree’s fronds glide on summer breezes; the tips dipping in the murky water, then sleepy, the cats would settle back to snooze.

‘I heard him,’ Laddie jabbered. ‘Old Mr Grizzly growled, this time, he’ll, he’ll kill her!’

Now wide-awake, Rufus whipped his ringed-tail backwards and forwards. His green eyes glinted. Laddie wasn’t tricking, Old Mr Granville had taken Spook. She was terrified of their neighbour ever since he’d found her mother and the other kittens hidden in the bush and planned to do away with them or dump them far away. Only Eda, his neighbour and the cats’ owner, had stopped Mr Granville but now he was out to get Spook.

TWO

OLD MR GRANVILLE

Three of the cats, Daddy, Laddie and Rufus, had lived next door to ex-soldier, Old Mr Granville, ever since Eda and Jack had moved into their bush cottage in Pickering Brook. Their wooden house, built on tree-trunk poles and hidden amongst tall Swan River Blackbutt and Tuart trees, was like a big cubby house. Eda painted wildflowers and shrubs; Woolly bush, Cat’s Paw, Kangaroo Paws, and Jack wood-carved using Sheoak and Banksia timbers. They laid recycled brick paths, built a vegetable garden and planted peach, apricot and cherry trees.

Eda’s first run-in with Granville happened a short while after they moved in. Granville’s dog bailed up elderly Daddy, and Eda, waving a straw broom at the dog had cried, ‘Shoo shoo.’ Granville, who managed an apple orchard next door, was tramping along a bush track on the boundary and hearing Eda had bellowed ‘Shut-up you, that’s me dog Nero, better than any human, so leave him alone.’

Eda knew Granville lived by himself and thinking he might need company, wanting to be a good neighbour also to settle the upset, decided to go over to his cottage and offer him some home-grown vegetables — aubergines, beans, pumpkin.

‘Probably eats meat, Eda. In the army, I can’t imagine they developed a taste for home-grown vegetables, ‘Jack, Eda’s partner had laughed. ‘Hey, I read that out on patrol they issued soldiers with only three sheets of toilet paper. Might be a problem sometimes,’ Jack chuckled.

‘Jack, you’re terrible. Anyhow, I can try,’ Eda said packing a cane basket with freshly picked produce. ‘Besides he has those kids, his niece and nephew, Macy and Maitland living there sometimes and they need vegetables.’

‘Watch out for that vicious dog; he attacks anything that moves. Surprised Granville didn’t name the mutt Fang. He must think his dog’s an emperor. The Roman Emperor Nero was tough, so perhaps it’s the right name.’

‘Nothing like our poor old pooch Zara, Eda said. ‘What a goofy boxer dog. Remember her long tail slapping our legs? Hey, how come Nero’s tail is docked to a stump?’

‘It used to be the practice for boxer dogs, spaniels, corgis too,’ Jack frowned. ‘Breeders probably thought there was some benefit for the dog, but it was just cruel. Maybe Granville considers his dog’s more macho with a stump.’

A broken boundary fence of fallen scraggly gum branches divided the two bush properties. On Eda and Jack’s side wattle, Australian Bluebells, Hakea and Myrtle bloomed in spring. On Granville’s side, wildflowers battled dead twigs looping over fallen logs, rusty metal scraps, broken glass and rusted machinery. Unchained, Nero, his nose twitching, hunted and snuffled, trampling any fresh shoots. Only occasionally, in the gold-grey dusk, with Nero secured, did a possum, infrequent Quenda bandicoot or a solitary rabbit, brave the nearby bush.

‘Come on, let’s be neighbourly,’ Eda had said to the cats as she pulled on her gumboots, lifted the basket and clomped along the rough gravel track towards Mr Granville’s cottage. Daddy limped a short way, Rufus strode, while Laddie raced ahead and bounded into the bush before reappearing halfway down the track. All the cats halted and turned back when Nero, seeing movement along the