Tibs was washing his paws when he overheard his folks having an alarming conversation. He pricked his ears and crept closer to the kitchen table.
‘Pleeeeeeease, Dad!’ pleaded Molly, crunching her crackly cereal. ‘She’s got big ears. Very long legs. And is all lovely and grey.’
Tibs flicked his tail and meowed, ‘Hey, what about me? I’m lovely and tabby!’
Dad carried on, ‘You’ll have to look after her, Molly.’
‘I am old enough!’ she said, pulling a face. ‘I go to school and everything.’
Dad buttered his toast. Tibs held his breath. Dad poured a cup of tea.
Finally, he said, ‘Well, I suppose we could make room for one.’
Eeek! Tibs had heard enough. He dived through the cat flap, scooted down the garden and leapt over the fence. Grey. Big ears. Long legs, he thought, while he hurried to the alley. That sounds suspiciously like…
‘An Elephant! If I’m not mistaken,’ said Felix.
Ginger twitched her whiskers. ‘You don’t want to be getting under their feet.’
‘And they love trumpeting,’ said Felix, jumping on a rubbish bin.
Tibs groaned. ‘How will I ever nap?’ he asked, rolling a tin can with a front paw.
‘Then there’s the giant poo,’ said Ginger.
Felix smoothed his black and white fur. ‘I think you’ll find it’s called “dung”. And, like a rhino or hippo, no way can a wrinkly pachyderm with trunk and tusks fit inside a house.’
Phew! Tibs thanked his lucky whiskers – of course there was no Elephant. He set off for home with a spring in his step.
As Tibs approached the garden, banging and thumping rumbled from the other side of the fence. He leapt onto it and stared at the jumbo-sized hole in the side of the house leading on to the patio. An Elephant entrance?
Two men wielding sledgehammers thudded on, making the hole bigger and bigger.
Tibs jumped down, scuttled over the grass and squeezed through his flap into the kitchen – only to find a trumpet lying on the table. He gulped. The Elephant’s favourite instrument!
When the banging stopped, he ventured along the hall to the room-with-the-hole. He peeped round the door and sneezed. Dust danced in the air. The draught ruffled his fur. All the furniture had disappeared apart from a huge new pot in one corner. For giant pongy poo?
Tibs groaned. The room was being made Elephant-ready! His tummy squirmed. Eeek! What if he was being…? No, surely not? He could barely even think it. Replaced?
The men returned and resumed hammering. He fled down the hall.
‘Don’t panic! It’ll soon be finished,’ called Dad.
Tibs shot through the kitchen and scooted to a sunny spot at the bottom of the garden.
What did I do wrong? he thought, washing away the dust. He curled up in the warmth and nodded off to the THUMP, THUMP, THUMP of the sledgehammers…
But when Tibs woke, he had the answer. He stretched and yawned. All he had to do was remind his folks that he was the PURR-fect pet!
That evening, Tibs was careful to scoff all his grub. He even licked the bowl clean. Then he helped Molly play with his toy mice.
‘Again! Again!’ she giggled, waving one over his nose.
Tibs tottered up yet again, his hind legs aching, and gave it another swipe. He had to be purr-fect!
After Molly had gone to bed, he sat on Dad’s lap for ages while they watched another of his awful shouty television programmes. Purring all the time.
Dad chuckled. ‘You’re being unusually attentive tonight, Tibs’ he said, tickling him behind his ears.
Tibs meowed, ‘That’s just what top pets do!’
A few days later, after having used the proper ‘toilet area’ on every occasion, Tibs hurried to the alley to update his friends. ‘My cheeks hurt from all the purring. But now the jumbo hole has a jumbo door.’
‘The Elephant will soon be tootling and pooping all over the place,’ said Ginger.
‘Dung-ing,’ said Felix. ‘Time to face facts, Tibs. Your folks are upgrading to a more exotic pet. Better walk before you’re pushed.’
Ginger twitched her whiskers. ‘I’m afraid the time has come to pack your trunk and hit the road.’
Before leaving home, Tibs munched his last scrummy supper. Gourmet tuna!
He rolled his favourite toy mouse between his front paws for the final time.
‘I know when I’m not wanted,’ he sniffled, snuggling down in his basket for a last cosy nap. But he twitched and turned in a nightmare dream where Molly sobbed as Dad threw him out into the cold, dark night before a mammoth…
TRUMPETTTTINGGGGGGG!!!
…bamboozled him awake.
The Elephant’s here! With his tummy squirming, Tibs crept towards the converted room. But as he peeked inside, he could have jigged the Dance of Nine Lives. There was no Elephant in the room! Just a piano. And Dad playing the trumpet. Two new armchairs. And a big jungly plant in the huge pot.
Tibs strutted back down the hall, meowing, ‘I’m still top pet! I’m still top pet!’ But when he strolled into the kitchen, his hackles rose. His claws shot out. He stared and stared and stared at the imposter snuggled in his basket. It had:
No trunk.
No tusks.
No wrinkles.
But it was grey and furry.
With long gangly legs.
And big pointy ears.
Tibs gulped. It looked suspiciously like–
‘A kitten, Tibs!’ giggled Molly, bursting into the room. ‘Meet your new friend, Smokey.’
I’ve already got some purr-fectly good friends! he thought, as Molly stroked his fluffed-up fur. He stalked off to the alley. This is a…
‘CAT-astrophe!’ said Ginger.
Felix lounged on a rubbish bin. ‘The fur-ball will be under your paws. Wanting to play. All day!’
‘With your toys,’ said Ginger. ‘There’ll be fisti-paws.’
Tibs groaned. ‘I’ll never nap again.’
‘There’s nothing for it, Tibs. Your days will be numbered unless you show the fluffy feline the ropes,’ said Felix.
Ginger twitched her whiskers. ‘Like cadging a treat. Or finding a sunny spot.’
‘Huh! We’ll see about that,’ said Tibs, stomping off home.
As he ducked through the flap, music drifted into the kitchen. Tibs followed the sound to the non-Elephant room where Dad tootled on the trumpet and Molly plinky-plonked at the piano.
‘Oh, Tibs, here you are!’ She scooped him up and dumped him on an armchair next to Smokey.
Oomph! Tibs meowed and wriggled while she stroked them.
‘Look, Dad! They’re best friends already,’ said Molly.
Dad chuckled. ‘Well, if you can’t beat them, Tibs, might as well join them.’
Tibs flicked his tail. Hmm… the new chair was quite comfy. And why should he move?
Smokey snuggled up to him, purring.
Well, perhaps he could lend the youngster a helping paw now and again. He yawned. There may be an annoying kitten but he thanked his lucky whiskers there was no room for a rootling-tootling, plenty-of-pooping pachyderm.
But just as Tibs was dozing off, there was a loud RAT-A-TAT-TAT on the jumbo door…
Louise Jones worked for BBC Sport in London before re-locating to the northwest. She’s currently working on a middle grade animal adventure and a chapter book series. She also writes picture books with one of her texts being placed in Writing Magazine’s Picture Book Prize. Louise has a disability in the form of the auto-immune disease rheumatoid arthritis and now lives in Cheshire where she enjoys writing in local cafes. She also likes photography and travelling and, as her animal tales are inspired by her travels, she’s looking forward to more trips further afield.
