Porridge the Tartan Cat and the Unfair Funfair Read online

  To Adam, Andy, Mark, Pete (×2) & Sal – and all

  my other old friends! Enjoy the ride! – A.D.

  And special thanks to Lois for her

  brawsome work on the Porridge series.

  To all my friends – old and new,

  all over the world – with love – Y.S.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 A Few Words

  2 You Dared!

  3 Fishy

  4 Dodgy

  5 Stinky Drink

  6 On A Roll

  7 Tattieburgle Town

  8 Rabbiting On

  9 One Good Turn

  10 You Did It!

  11 The Workshop

  12 The Hole Truth

  13 Off The Rails

  14 Hide And Seek

  15 Hold Your Nose!

  16 Porridge Has A Plan (But It’s Not Very Good)

  17 Runny Porridge

  18 The Potion Notion

  19 Full Of Wind

  20 What A Blow

  21 Saved By The Belly

  22 End Of The Ride

  23 Whistle

  24 In The Bag

  25 The Final Chapter Of This Book, Where We Find Out What Happened To The Stinky Space Rock

  Copyright

  1

  A Few Words

  Hi, it’s me.

  I’m Porridge – the world’s only tartan cat.

  Everyone knows I toppled into a tin of tartan paint when I was wee. So I am not going to say any more about it. I am not going to tell you that I toppled into a tin of tartan paint and became TOTALLY TARTANY from top to toe.

  Me-oops.

  I just did.

  I ever-so-very-much want to tell you all about my latest tartan tale.

  I’ve just got to finish my fishy biscuits first.

  Me-crunch!

  I want to become big and strong like the McFun twins, Isla and Ross. They like eating lots of greens and oranges and other tasty colours. We need to eat so we have plenty of energy to go on our Porridgy adventures – especially Roaring Ross in this fangtastic story!

  Today we’re off to the FangFair. It’s a wee bit dark and spooky so you might want to read with the light on. (It’ll help you see the words.)

  If you’re so scared you need to look at something warm and fluffy, I’ll be curled up in the corner.

  It’s time for my catnap.

  Me-yawn!

  Read on… if you dare!

  2

  You Dared!

  Once upon a newspaper, there was a tartan cat.

  Me!

  (It’s a cat thing.)

  “Off you get, Porridge,” said Mum. “I want to put that newspaper in your litter tray.”

  Me-leap!

  “Hold on, let’s keep this one,” said Dad, quickly picking the paper up.

  “Why?” asked Ross and Isla, the twins.

  “Look.” Dad showed them the Tattiebogle Bugle. “Porridge wasn’t the only one on the front page.”

  “Dad! That’s you!” shouted Ross.

  Isla read the story aloud: “Local Tattiebogle archaeologist Mr McFun believes a stinky space rock crash-landed in the grounds of Tattiebogle Castle four-hundred years ago.”

  Me-wow!

  “How did you find that out?” asked Ross.

  “Archaeologists don’t just dig in the dust,” replied Dad. “I was digging around in the library and found an old book about the castle. It said a rock fell to earth and there was a terrible smell of stinky sprouts! A pong so strong that people who smelt it were knocked out for a week!”

  Me-whiff!

  “My guess is the rock was made of sproutinium,” said Mum, who is a scientist. “Sproutinium is the smelliest element in the universe. Always keep away from smelly old rocks.”

  “And Dad’s smelly old socks,” giggled the twins.

  “I’d love to do a dig in the Tattiebogle Castle grounds,” said Dad, “but a funfair has just arrived and the owner won’t let me near it.”

  “Is it the FangFair!?” Ross and Isla whooped in their clever-together way. (It’s a twin thing.) “Wahooo! It’s here at last!!”

  “What’s a FangFair?” asked Mum.

  Ross pulled a crumpled leaflet from his pocket.

  “Can we go?” asked Isla.

  “Aye,” said Dad. “Maybe I can do some space-rock snooping while you two have fun.”

  Och, there’s nothing fun about a funfair. I once got stuck inside a—

  “Hey, Porridge,” said Ross, with a cheeky grin. “Remember when you got stuck inside a squeaky candyfloss machine because you thought there must be a wee mouse in it?”

  How could I forget?

  I had jumped in.

  Me-spin!

  Then I’d whirled around, and came out covered in pink fluffy stuff! The twins said I looked sweet. I tasted sweet too. It took me a week to lick off all that icky sticky candyfloss.

  Me-yuck!

  And I never did find that squeaky mouse.

  Mmmm. Mouse.

  3

  Fishy

  Me-squish!

  Isla sat on a tartan cushion. Then she realised it was me! “Sorry, Porridge! What are you doing here?” she said in surprise and a car.

  I’ve just come along for the ride, I meowed. I didn’t want to miss out on the FangFair adventure. (It’s a curious cat thing.)

  “Och, you might as well come,” chuckled Dad.

  By the time we reached the FangFair at the big ruined castle, a huge cloud had covered the sky and darkness had fallen (then picked itself up and pretended nothing had happened). A million rides twinkled and swung and clattered and spun and I am not exaggerating.

  “Seven rides and three stalls,” counted Ross.

  OK, maybe just a wee bit.

  “There’s no one here.” Isla glanced around the funfair-filled grounds of Tattiebogle Castle. “It’s empty!”

  “Well, at least you won’t have to queue,” said Dad. He stretched out on a bench and yawned. “I’m going to wait here and rest and see if I spot any space-rock clues while you three have fun. Let me know if you smell anything sprouty and suspiciouzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…”

  “That was quick,” said Isla.

  “He’s fast asleep!” said Ross

  Aye, really fast!

  While Dad had a quick nap we strolled to the nearest stall, where there was a shallow pool of water behind a wee wooden barrier. Sad, dusty toys sat on some shelves nearby, and a wonky sign read: Hook a PERILOUS piranha to win a TERRIFYING toy prize!

  I hopped onto the barrier and keeked into the pool.

  It was full of toothy fish!

  Mmmm. Fish.

  Ross saw me licking my lips. “These piranhas aren’t real, Porridge. They’re made of wax!”

  Me-sigh.

  Suddenly someone stepped out from the shadows, making me jump!

  Me-jump!

  “Welcome to my FangFair,” said a man with a crooked grin. And a crooked wig. It looked as if he’d stuck a stack of old birds’ nests on his head.

  Mmmm. Birds.

  “Try your luck.” He handed Ross a crooked rod with a crooked hook on one end. (It all looked a bit crooked to me.) Ross leaned over the barrier and held out the rod, but it was too short to reach the pool. (I told you it was crooked.)

  “Porridge, give me a helping hand, I mean paw,” said Ross. “You’re brawsome at catching fish.”

  “It’s a cat thing,” said Isla.

  Hey, that’s my line!

  Ross picked me up and put the rod between my front paws. When he held me out, I was ever-so-very close to the pool. And
I hooked a piranha!

  Me-win!

  “Which prize will you pick?” asked Isla.

  “I’ll have that ScareSoaker please,” said Ross, pointing to a toy that could squirt out water.

  “No!” grunted the FangFair owner. “You and that cat were very clever but you don’t get a prize. You broke two rules.”

  He pointed to a tiny sign:

  “But that’s unfair,” said Ross.

  “It’s an unfair funfair,” sniggered the owner.

  “He thinks he owns the place,” grumbled Isla.

  “I do,” he said, waving them away with a crooked finger. “Off you go. That moth-eaten moggy is getting up my nose— CAT-CHOOOO!”

  We scampered away to explore a bit more.

  “Let’s find some things that go bump in the night!” said Isla.

  “Spooky ghosts?”

  “No, dodgem cars!”

  4

  Dodgy

  Two children and a tartan cat (me) stood by the dodgem car ride. It looked about as much fun as a trip to the vet.

  “It’s just a rickety shack where cars go smack,” rhymed Ross.

  The twins chose a blue dodgem car and squeezed in like sardines.

  Mmmm. Sardines.

  I clung to a tall pole on the back and we waited for the ride to start. All of a sudden, nothing happened.

  Then a bit more nothing.

  Suddenly something did happen! The FangFair owner climbed into a red dodgem car. I recognised his crooked grin and his crooked wig. And the crooked way he was staring straight at us. He was driving straight at us too! Sparks showered down from the pole at the back of his car.

  “Let’s get going!” urged Isla.

  “I can’t reach the pedal,” cried Ross. “This dodgem car is dodgy!”

  “Hold on, Porridge,” yelled Isla. “There’s going to be a big…”

  BUMP!

  We spun and spun. It wasn’t fun. I dropped dizzily onto the foot pedal, bashing it down with ma big bahookie.

  “You did it, Porridge!” boomed Ross, as we whooshed forward. “Let’s bump that car back!”

  BUMP!

  Ross spun the other car out of the dodgem shack… and I was flung onto Isla’s lap.

  Me-cuddle!

  The unfair funfair owner stormed over with a terrible face like thunder (and a terrible simile too because thunder is just a sound).

  “This is my dodgem ride. I’m meant to be doing all the bumping,” he said, doing all the grumping instead. “And I told you to get rid of that tartan cat! It’s time I went and found Nibbles.”

  I licked my lips.

  Me-yum!

  “I don’t think he means wee tasty treats, Porridge,” whispered Isla.

  “Aye. Nibbles is my pet wolf! She’d love to nibble some Porridge.”

  Me-gulp!

  He blasted out another sneeze. This one was bigger than before, with more O’s.

  CAT-CHOOOOOOOOOO!

  It gave me a such a chill, I nearly jumped out of my tartan coat.

  I ran off through the FangFair, not knowing where my frightened legs would take me.

  5

  Stinky Drink

  My legs took me into Chapter 5 and stopped by a tall tower with a round bell on the top. It was a tatty Frankenstein-themed test-your-strength machine.

  My mega-super-well-OK-not-bad ears heard frantic footsteps.

  “Phew. We thought we’d lost you,” said Ross, running up. “That would have been a CATastrophe!”

  Hey, I do the cat jokes around here, I meowed.

  “This looks fun,” puffed Isla. “You have to swing a big hammer to ring a bell.”

  Weary after all that running, I sat down heavily and…

  CLANGGGGG!

  …sent the bell soaring towards the end of this story.

  Me-oops.

  “Wow! Your furry bahookie just set a new world record!” laughed Ross.

  The excited twins were itching to explore the FangFair.

  scratch Whenever I mention itching I start scratch to get all itchy and have scratch to have a good old — What’s the word? scratch

  Aye, that’s it.

  Are you itchy yet?

  Scratch!

  “Can anyone see a really scary ride?” asked Ross.

  I pointed a trembling claw at a watery ride called Dreich Creek.

  Dripping WET boats were dashing down a WET river and splashing over a WET waterfall.

  I don’t want to be a SOGGY MOGGY! I yowled.

  “It’s OK, Porridge,” said Isla. “We won’t go on that one.”

  “Let’s try this creepy ride instead!” shouted Ross, running towards…

  THE HOWLERCOASTER!

  The rusty HowlerCoaster track wound around Tattiebogle Castle itself. It looped and swooped though the windows and doorways, with more twists and turns than school-dinner spaghetti.

  A drawbridge clattered down and something scary howled into view!

  Me-help!

  “It’s just an empty carriage,” said Ross, as it shuddered to a stop beside us. I cheered up when I spied the number 13 on the side. That’s my lucky number. (I can cram 13 fishy biscuits in my mouth in one go.)

  Me-yum!

  The unfair funfair owner shuffled towards us, with his crooked wig swaying like a wobbly haystack.

  Me-groan.

  Just in time, I jumped in the carriage and pretended to be fluffy tartan cushion. He snorted suspiciously, then grunted to the twins, “I’m glad you got rid of that irritating TARTAN cat. Have a ride on this HowlerCoaster. And a drink too.” He handed them both a crooked bottle of ScareJuice. “Only drink it when you see the sign. And look out for scarewolves.”

  “What’s a scarewolf?” asked Ross.

  “It’s a mythical mash-up of werewolf and wulver,” explained the owner in a low voice. “Werewolves are people who become wolves; they’re fierce and nimble. Wulvers are half wolf, half human. They love fish and are very good at sniffing out smelly missing objects.”

  Mmmm. Fish.

  As he walked off to a kiosk, the twins crammed into the carriage with me in the middle.

  “Don’t worry, Porridge,” said Ross. “Everything on the ride is fake and not what it seems.”

  “Aye, it’s bound to be fishy,” agreed Isla.

  Mmmm. More fish.

  Our carriage began to rattle along the rusty rails and take us into castle! That was when my mega-super-well-OK-not-bad eyes spied a hairy wolf! A real live wolf! Not a wax one or a cuddly toy! What did the FangFair owner say his pet was called?

  Nibbles!

  The wolf licked her lips as if I was one of the Three Little Pigs!

  Me-gulp!

  She looked at me, and licked her lips again.

  Me-gulp!

  Nibbles wanted… NIBBLES!

  6

  On A Roll

  Fortunately, carriage 13 set off, trundling away from Nibbles into the crumbling castle. It rumbled past a model of a scarewolf, fishing in the moat.

  “So that’s a scarewolf…” said Ross. “It doesn’t look very real.”

  “Aye, it’s just a mechanical monster,” agreed Isla.

  I knew it wasn’t real, but I flicked out my claws in full mega-super-well-OK-not-bad-ninja-cat mode. I was ready for anything the ride could throw at me.

  SLAPPP!

  A wet fish landed in my lap.

  Me-yum!

  “I told you this ride would be fishy!” giggled Isla.

  I gave the fish a cheeky lick.

  Me-yuck!

  It was made of wax!

  We clattered through the castle kitchen and swung under an archway into the Ye Olde Dining Hall. A painting hung on the wall of a dug with a ruff going ruff. We trundled by a table full of tasty-looking food.

  I sneakily chomped on a chicken leg.

  Wax.

  I munched a mackerel.

  Wax.

  A candle.

  Wax.

  Me-yuck-yuck-
yuck!

  “Silly old Porridge. Nothing is real, remember?” chuckled Ross.

  I practised my yowling as we trundled along:

  We left the fake kitchen and rumbled outside,

  Up up up up on a heart-thumping ride,

  Whooshing through windows and swooshing through holes,

  Swooping and looping with breathtaking rolls,

  We whizzed halfway up then we started to drop…

  Down down down down to a wheel-sparking stop!

  Me-phew!

  Our carriage was now in a creepy courtyard, surrounded by swirling mist and shadowy figures. And an iffy whiffy fishy smell…

  “This courtyard stinks of rotten seafood,” Ross coughed.

  The terrible pong was ever so strong!

  Me-eyes-water!

  A sign read: Now it’s time to enjoy your drink. Please wolf it down.

  “Purr-fect timing, eh Porridge?” gasped Ross. “I need a drink after all that HowlerCoastering.”

  “Me too,” agreed Isla.

  The thirsty twins quickly flipped open their bottles. Big bouncy bubbles bobbled out and burst on my mega-super-well-OK-not-bad nose.

  Me-sniff!

  The ScareJuice smelt very fishy to me. But not in a good way, like salmon or trout. It smelt wrong, like the fishy pong in the misty courtyard.

  Don’t drink it! I meowed, sensing danger and trouble for the twins. I leapt off the carriage seat – in mega-super-well-OK-not-bad-ninja-cat mode – and pawed Isla’s bottle onto the track. Then I acrobatically batted Ross’s bottle!

  Me-swipe!

  Too late. Ross had drunk every drop.