I’m a Chicken, Get Me Out of Here! Read online

  Titch bristled. ‘I don’t see that you can have anything to do with it. The boy brought me out here. But don’t worry, I have no desire to stay. I fully intend to get out of here as soon as I can. I am an adventurous hen, and I do not intend to sit around waiting for life to happen to me,’ she said, raising her voice in an indignant cluck. ‘In any case, it is not natural for a hen to share living arrangements with a tail-less rat.’

  ‘A – a what?’ Brian squealed. ‘I bear no relation whatsoever to those filthy creatures, and I will absolutely not be insulted in my own residence! I hate to break it to you, but if you have been put in here it is very unlikely that you will be able to get out until one of the family comes to liberate you. They decide everything when it comes to entering or leaving this place. Why, only this morning I was enjoying myself doing a spot of spring cleaning when the Terror came along and lifted me out.’ He gave a little shudder. ‘The next thing I knew I had been transferred to someone else’s pocket! I might never have seen my lovely home again if I had not decided to sink my teeth into the hand that appeared. I was picked up and flung on to the grass and have only just been returned home.’

  ‘That sounds awful!’ Titch exclaimed. The story momentarily distracted her from thinking of her own plight. ‘Whose pocket had you been put into?’

  ‘Apparently it was the milkman’s. I heard the mother say to him that it was his own fault if he got bitten as he shouldn’t have been trying to steal the family’s pets! The Terror never gets caught playing her nasty tricks.’

  Titch felt a flutter of panic. ‘Why don’t you run away from this “Terror”?’

  Brian gave a high-pitched laugh. ‘It’s impossible! Unless you know a way of opening a door that is locked from the outside?’ He gestured to a wire-meshed panel.

  ‘You mean you can’t come and go as you please?’ asked Titch.

  ‘See for yourself,’ said Brian.

  The little hen hopped over to the door and tilted her head so that she could squint at the fastening. There appeared to be a bolt keeping the hutch securely closed.

  Brian was right: they were locked in.

  Wilf awoke the next morning worrying about Titch. What if Mum changed her mind about letting him keep the hen and found a new home for her while he was at school?

  ‘I could hide her in my bedroom,’ he said to himself as he stretched and got out of bed. ‘No, that wouldn’t work,’ he sighed, and fumbled in his cupboard for his uniform. ‘She would poo over all my clothes and toys and things.’ He pulled on a crumpled pair of trousers and put on yesterday’s socks before sitting down again, deep in thought. ‘And even if I could find a special place in my room that would be a good home for a hen, Meena would be sure to tell Mum.’

  Ned padded in softly and began a low, rumbling purr at the sight of Wilf sitting half dressed on the floor. Not for the first time, Wilf found himself envying Ned. The cat did not have to have baths or get dressed or clean his teeth or eat vegetables. Life would be so much better as a cat, Wilf thought. He got on to all fours to approach his pet.

  ‘Hello, Ned,’ he said, sniffing gently at the cat and bumping noses with him. ‘What do you think? Should I hide Titch?’

  ‘Miaaaaoow,’ said Ned. He rubbed his head against Wilf’s cheek affectionately.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Wilf. ‘What would be the point in having a pet that you had to hide all the time?’

  Ned sat down abruptly and glared at Wilf. ‘Raaoow!’ he declared.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you agree,’ said Wilf. He knelt up, his head on one side, and considered his cat carefully.

  Wilf often spoke to his pets. Not that they spoke back to him in human language of course. But still, Wilf found that his pets were by far the most intelligent members of the Peasbody family. In fact, Wilf was of the opinion that ALL animals were superior to humans. Apart from Grandma. She was in the same category as the pets. She was almost as cool as a cat, but she was friendlier. And her jokes were funnier. Cats could not tell jokes. At least, not as far as Wilf knew.

  ‘Listen, Ned,’ Wilf went on. ‘You have got to stop frightening Titch. We can’t have any more of you pouncing on her like you did indoors.’

  ‘Miaoooow!’ The cat turned his head away from Wilf as though he was offended by the boy’s comment. Then he made to lift his back leg and give himself a wash as though he had better things to do than listen to Wilf. Sadly the effect was spoilt by Ned losing his balance and falling over.

  Wilf chuckled. ‘You’re getting too fat, Ned!’ he said. ‘We’ll have to stop feeding you that special cat food and put you on dry biscuits.’

  Ned flicked his ears and waved his tail irritably.

  Wilf peered at Ned with interest. ‘I wonder if you can understand me?’ he mused. Then, ‘Bet you can’t,’ he said sadly. ‘Oh, I wish I could speak animal languages. Maybe I am just not trying hard enough. Maybe I should sit very, very still and concentrate very, very hard and then maybe I would finally hear what you are saying.’

  At this Ned let out a prolonged hiss, baring his teeth. Then he pranced haughtily out of the room. If Wilf had had to take a guess at what that meant, he would have said that Ned was telling him he did not have a hope in heaven of understanding a single word.

  ‘Wilfred!’ His mother was shouting up the stairs at him. ‘Will you please get a move on? Grandma will be ready to take you to school in ten minutes and she doesn’t want to be late.’

  Wilfred knew this was not true. Grandma did not care about being late; it was Mum who cared about these things. Grandma liked to say, ‘I’ve got all the time in the world, my dear,’ which could not have been, strictly speaking, true, as she was getting very old, so surely she had less time than other people?

  However, this morning, Wilf was more grateful than usual for the fact that Grandma was taking him to school. He had some very important things to talk to her about, and, as it was a Friday, Meena would not be in the car with them. She had only just started in the infant class and they did not have Friday school until after Christmas, so she was staying at home with Mum, who did not work on Fridays. Wilf was sometimes jealous of this, but it did mean he got Grandma to himself, which kind of made up for it.

  Wilf hopped into the kitchen.

  ‘Why are you hopping?’ Mum asked, frowning.

  ‘I left one of my shoes down here last night,’ Wilf said, looking about him. ‘Have you seen it?’

  ‘No!’ Mum snapped. ‘And I haven’t got time to start searching high and low for it now. Oh, Wilf . . .’

  Wilf shifted his gaze to his sister, who was busy feeding her breakfast to Ringo while Mum wasn’t looking. This would have been all right if her breakfast was something sensible, such as toast, for example. But it wasn’t. It was marshmallows, which she had found in the cupboard and had then decided had gone ‘a bit gross and crispy around the edges’, so she had not wanted to eat them after all.

  ‘Meena, have you seen Wilfred’s shoe?’ Mum asked in exasperation.

  Meena sat up abruptly, dropping the rest of the packet of marshmallows at Ringo’s feet. Her face was slightly pink, but her angelic expression had returned, just in time. ‘No, Mummy. Sorry, Mummy.’

  Wilf hopped right around the kitchen table twice, partly looking for his shoe, but mainly to see if he could manage twice round without falling over. Birds quite often stood on one leg for ages, he thought. He had seen ducks do it by the pond in the park. How did they manage? he wondered as his leg began to feel a bit sore. He went round the table one last time for luck. Only it wasn’t lucky, as Meena stuck out her foot and tripped him up.

  He was just about to tell Mum what Meena had done when he saw what was sitting right underneath one of her feet, as though it had just been kicked off.

  He dived underneath the table and resurfaced with his lost shoe in one hand and waved it in the air. ‘Meena was wearing it!’ he yelled triumphantly.

  ‘I was not!’ Meena protested. ‘Ringo took it.’

  Mum sighed
and looked at her watch. ‘I don’t really care who took it, just put it on, Wilf.’

  Wilf obediently crammed his foot into the shoe and then howled in disgust. He pulled it hastily off again and tipped it upside down. A cascade of marshmallow-coloured lumpy, liquidy yuck came pouring out.

  Mum’s face went purple. ‘I am losing the will to live,’ she hissed.

  ‘I wish Wilfie would do that,’ whispered Meena.

  Grandma came down to breakfast just as Wilf was being shouted at for leaving his shoes lying around and Ringo was being noisily sick in Ned’s bed next to the radiator. Ned was hissing and arching his back in disgust and dancing around Ringo, taking a swipe at him every so often with needle-sharp claws.

  ‘Now perhaps you can see why I don’t want any more animals to look after?’ Mum was saying. ‘It’s not as if that hen has even laid any eggs yet. If she doesn’t lay one, I may have to change my mind about her staying, Wilfred.’

  ‘I want to keep her,’ Wilf pleaded.

  ‘I want to keep her,’ mimicked Meena.

  ‘Grandma agrees,’ said Wilf.

  ‘Grandma agrees,’ Meena whined.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Wilf, turning on his sister.

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ said Meena.

  ‘I am a stupid little girl,’ said Wilf in a very challenging tone of voice.

  Meena frowned and stuck her tongue out.

  ‘Looks like I have arrived in the nick of time,’ said Grandma.

  Once Wilf and Grandma had gone, Mum took Meena up to her room.

  ‘Meena, darling,’ she said. ‘Your room is getting very messy. There is not enough room in here to swing a cat. Can you do something about it, please?’

  ‘OK, Mummy,’ Meena said sweetly.

  Mum smiled indulgently. ‘You are a good girl,’ she said. I’ll leave you to it then.’ She left the room and went downstairs.

  Meena waited until she was sure that Mum was out of earshot, then she muttered, ‘Not enough room to swing a pussy-cat, eh?’

  She went into Wilf’s room and found Ned, who had curled up on a pile of dirty laundry to enjoy a nap.

  ‘Come to Meena,’ she said, scooping him up. ‘Meena needs your help.’

  She carried the sleep-befuddled feline into her room, and before the poor animal could realize what was happening she had taken him by the tail and was spinning him round and round in circles, holding him out in front of her like a fat, furry kite.

  ‘Raaaaooooooowww!’ Ned howled, his legs flailing and his eyes bulging from their sockets.

  Luckily for Ned, he was so heavy that Meena lost her grip almost immediately and he went flying through the air and crashed into the wall opposite, with a star-shaped ‘splat’. Then he slid down the wall, his claws taking ribbons of wallpaper with them as he fell.

  Meena giggled uncontrollably. ‘Mummy was wrong. There is lots and lots of room to swing a pussy-cat in Meena’s room,’ she said.

  Ned raced down the stairs and rocketed through the cat flap, leaving it hanging off its hinges. He normally did not even make it halfway through before getting stuck, but this time a surge of fear propelled him through and he whizzed across the lawn to safety.

  Ringo raced after him and tried to fit through the broken cat flap too, but only succeeded in pulling the plastic frame completely away from the hole in the door, so that by the time Mum came in to see what all the noise was about Ringo was sitting on the floor, shaking his head in a bemused fashion to try to get the frame off from around his neck.

  ‘Argh!’ she cried. ‘Ringo, you stupid, stupid dog!’

  Meena slunk into the kitchen and said, her bottom lip trembling impressively, ‘Don’t be cross, Mummy.’

  Mum immediately sank to her knees and enveloped her daughter in a hug. ‘Oh, sweetie, I’m not cross with you! It’s just the silly dog – look, he’s broken the cat flap. I shall have to go and see if I’ve got anything in the shed to mend it with. Can you keep an eye on him in the garden while I do that?’

  ‘Yes, Mummy,’ said Meena. ‘Come on, boy.’

  She snatched a bottle of washing-up liquid from the sink and dragged Ringo out into the garden, leaving Mum muttering about ‘the chaos these animals cause’ and how if she had her way ‘they would all go back to where they came from’.

  ‘Come on, Ringo,’ Meena cooed. ‘Let’s play.’

  She mixed the washing-up liquid into Ringo’s water bowl, which was by the back door.

  ‘Have a nice drink, doggie,’ she said, leading the Labrador to the bowl.

  Ringo never bothered to stop and sniff anything before he ate or drank; consequently he wolfed the lot in a matter of seconds.

  Very soon he was blowing bubbles out of his mouth, nose and ears. You might think this would be distressing for a dog – not Ringo. His tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, he jumped and pounced with glee as the bubbles floated around the garden.

  Meena was disappointed that Ringo was enjoying himself so much. She preferred it when her plans ended in chaos and misery.

  ‘What can I do now?’ she said to herself.

  She looked over to the guinea pig’s hutch, but considered how much Brian had freaked her out yesterday when he had bitten the milkman. The man’s hand had bled quite a lot and Meena did not fancy being bitten herself by those sharp little teeth.

  She thought instead about what she might do to the chicken.

  Chickens are scratchy and pecky, though, she thought. I will have to think carefully before I decide what to do with her.

  Meena went back inside to find that Mum had given up on the cat flap before she had even started. She was, in fact, back in her study on the computer.

  ‘What are you doing, Mummy?’ she asked, although she knew the answer already.

  Mum looked round absent-mindedly. ‘Oh, hello, darling. I’m just looking on the internet – I can’t remember why I started now –’ actually, she had been trying to find a demonstration of how to fix a broken cat flap, but had quickly been distracted by other things – ‘but look at these lovely dresses. I was thinking I needed a new look. Why don’t you help me choose, dear?’

  Meena rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t care about stupid dresses and new looks,’ she muttered. ‘Mummy, Meena’s bored!’

  But Mum was engrossed in placing an order and did not seem to hear her.

  Meena crept up to the desk and pressed a button surreptitiously on the keyboard.

  ‘What . . . ?’ Mum started. ‘Look at that! The screen’s gone blank – and right in the middle of my order too. Oh really, sometimes I think technology causes more problems than it solves. I shall have to start all over again.’

  ‘Mummy,’ Meena began, ‘if the ’puter is not workin’, you can play instead?’

  But Mum was already tapping furiously at the keys and talking to herself as she tried to find her order.

  Meena scowled and ran to the kitchen, muttering under her breath, ‘Stupid new look, stupid computer, stupid dresses. Mummy does not need a new look . . .’

  Then she stopped. She looked through the window at Ringo, who was lying flat out on the lawn, panting with exhaustion from chasing all the bubbles he had created. He looked extremely bedraggled and smelly, Meena thought.

  ‘Mu-um!’ called Meena down the hallway. ‘Pleeease can I give Ringo a baaath?’

  ‘What’s that, dear?’ Mum called back.

  ‘Ringo,’ Meena repeated. ‘He’s smelly and yucky. Can I give him a bath?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Mum.

  Meena’s eyes lit up. Mum would never normally say yes to Meena doing such a messy job on her own. That must mean that Mum was really distracted. But she had said yes . . . and an idea was forming in Meena’s mind.

  A new look. For Ringo.

  ‘Thank you, Mummy,’ she called in her sweetness-and-light voice. Then she smiled a nasty little smile to herself and skipped lightly back into the garden. ‘Come on, Ringo!’ she said. ‘Good boy!’

  Ringo jerked his he
ad up at the sound of his name. He had been deeply asleep, but the sight of Meena grinning at him set his tail thumping, and he leaped up to follow her. It was always worth following Meena as she was the only one who fed him titbits from the breakfast table. Even if they were the sort of titbits that made him sick.

  Meena led Ringo back into the kitchen. She climbed up on to a chair and from there she stepped on to a work surface so that she could fetch the dog treats down from one of the high cupboards.

  ‘Here, boy!’ she called to Ringo, dropping a treat on the floor.

  While the Labrador gulped it down, Meena filled the washing-up bowl with hot water and a huge frothy mound of soapy suds. Then she soaked a large sponge in the water and jumped on to Ringo’s back to hold him still. Ringo wheeled round in surprise just in time to receive a faceful of wet sponge. Meena rubbed his head briskly and then shoved a fist of dog treats into Ringo’s mouth to keep him quiet while she covered the rest of him in soapy water. Once that was done, she grabbed a tea towel and dried him off. She threw another handful of treats in front of Ringo’s nose and whisked open a drawer from which she produced a pair of kitchen scissors.

  ‘Just a little trim,’ she cooed as she began cutting great clumps of his fur off.

  By this time, Ned had reappeared from his hiding place outside. He had observed the bubble-blowing incident from a safe distance, and had been worried that more Meena-style mischief was on the cards, so he had decided to keep an eye on her. Now he was watching Ringo’s pooch-pampering session with growing alarm, his ears flat and his eyes wide. Much as he hated the dog, the sight of the poor dumb creature being attacked like this was more than he could bear. He launched himself at Meena with a howl, causing her to drop the scissors.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mum called from the study.

  ‘Nothing, Mummy!’ Meena assured her. ‘I just been findin’ a game to play.’