Porridge the Tartan Cat and the Brawsome Bagpipes Read online

  To Kate and Isla, who now have a tartan cat.

  How cool is that? Me-wow – A.D.

  To my lovely parents Mark and Galina – Y.S.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 Porridge Says Hi

  2 Snoring Sunday

  3 The Funny Chapter Where Not Much Happens

  4 Revenge!

  5 Magic Monday

  6 It’s Only Me!

  7 The Secret Secret Chapter

  8 The Secret, Mysterious Chapter With No Name (because I can’t think of one)

  9 Terrific Tuesday

  10 Walter

  11 All At Sea

  12 Wonderful Wednesday

  13 Trouble Ahead!

  14 Snow Joking Around

  15 The Milk Goes Off

  16 Thrilling Thursday

  17 Feeling Flat

  18 Thrilling Thursday Thunders On

  19 Scone Or Gone?

  20 Far-out Friday

  21 Far Far Out Friday

  22 Dumpling Danger

  23 Just In Time!

  24 The Last Chapter

  Copyright

  1

  Porridge Says Hi

  Hi, I’m Porridge the Tartan Cat.

  I bet you’ve never seen a tartan cat before. When I was a wee kitten I toppled into a tin of tartan paint, which is easy to do and not so easy to say.

  Toppled into a tin of tartan paint. Toppled into a tin of tartan paint.

  Now, us cats don’t like getting wet, so there was no way I was going to wash it off. Or lick it off. Me-yuck!

  So that’s how I became the world’s first and only tartan cat. I’m quite famous round here. Lots of people give me a wave, or better still, stop to tickle my tartan ears.

  I live by Loch Loch in a rambling old house with the fabulous McFun family. I’m very kind to them. I let them feed me fishy biscuits and sit with me by the warm fire. Och, I like the McFun family so much I’ve even given them names.

  There’s Gadget Grandad, Groovy Gran, Mini Mum, Dino Dad, Roaring Ross and Invisible Isla. I call them the Big Yins and I have a fab and funny story to tell you about each and every one of them. Aye, I’ve cat-a-logged all their braw adventures for you.

  So why not have a read? Gadget Grandad is up first. I’ll sit here with you and have a wee catnap while you enjoy it.

  Me-yawn.

  2

  Snoring Sunday

  Some say it all began one dark and stormy night when the wind was howling like a cat with an empty food bowl…

  But actually, it all began one sunny Sunday just after breakfast and this full stop. The twins were getting ready to spend another boring Sunday at their grandparents’ house. All Grandad did there was snore all day. Snore. Snore. Snore. Snore. Snore. Snore. Snore.

  I’m getting bored just telling you about it.

  Me-yawn.

  The twins – Isla and Ross – were born at exactly the same time as me. Porridge. You know, the Tartan Cat. And that makes us all the same age in human years. But I’m about six times older and wiser in cat years. Cats like me are very wise indeed. You never see us chasing after dogs or burying bones in wet cement. And we never ever say daft things like “Woof!”

  Me-oops.

  I just did.

  I tried to cheer up Isla and Ross by batting them a football with my tartan tail. They headed it to each other near the freezer, looking very cool. Freezing, in fact. Ross shivered as he shut the freezer door.

  Me-oops.

  I’d left it open when I got out a tasty fish lolly.

  Me-yum.

  Both of the twins are way better at football than me, even though we have the same number of legs. I can dribble a bit… especially when I think of fishy biscuits.

  Mmmm. Fishy biscuits.

  Mum was in another room, walking in circles on the phone. (Last time I did that I fell off!) After the call ended, she came into the kitchen.

  “That was Grandad,” she said brightly. “He wants you both to stay not just today, but all week while Gran is away on a cookery course.”

  Isla froze, even though the freezer door was shut. The football bounced into the bin and catapulted two wet teabags towards me. Ross dived and caught one, like a nimble ninja cat. (I’m a nimble ninja cat too. One day you’ll see – or maybe you won’t because I’m so nimble!)

  “But that’s like a week of boring snoring Sundays!” groaned Ross. “Can’t I stay here and Porridge go instead?”

  “Porridge is a cat,” sighed Mum, taking the other teabag off my head. “And you both know Grandad is allergic to cats.”

  “I wish he was allergic to twins,” grumbled Isla.

  3

  The Funny Chapter Where Not Much Happens

  Now I don’t like being left out, unless it’s being left out all night so I can chase dozy mice. So when the twins were driven to Grandad’s house for the week, I followed, full of curiosity and breakfast.

  First I jumped onto a low brick wall. Then I leapt into a tree and bravely tiptoed across its bendy branches. Twelve trees, seven lampposts, three street signs, two puddles and a poodle later I was standing in front of a red door.

  Mum’s car spluttered to a stop by the gate and I spluttered too as I darted under an upside-down flowerpot, just in time.

  Grandad opened the front door, his face full of joy (and his flowerpot full of cat). He greeted the twins with a jaunty tune on his tartan bagpipes.

  Isla and Ross (and one flowerpot) pottered through the door, while the old man tottered into his boring old lounge to lounge in his boring old armchair.

  “Lovely to have you here, and you too Porridge,” said Grandad, peering over his glasses. “My new anti-sneezing specs will come in very handy, or should I say nosy, today.”

  How did he know I was here?

  “Porridge! Your tail is sticking out through the hole in the flower pot!” laughed Isla.

  I cheekily shrugged off the flowerpot and stretched on the carpet, feeling quite at home not at home.

  “I think I’ll have a wee nap,” the weary old man muttered, hugging his bagpipes like a tartan teddy. “I suggest you three take it easy today and have an early night. Things are going to get pretty crazy around here tomorrow.”

  The twins didn’t believe that one bit.

  Now, talking of crazy things, the room was full of them. Grandad is always tinkering away at something in his shed. That’s why we call him Gadget Grandad. You can call him that too. He won’t mind.

  Today the house was so full of gadgets that there was no room to swing a cat!

  Me-phew.

  Ross stumbled over a strange silver machine with levers and letters and stubbed his toe.

  “Is that a typewriter?” he said, rubbing his toe.

  Me-owch.

  “It’s a tripewriter,” said Gadget Grandad, slyly grinning like a quick brown fox. “You type in any old tripe and out comes something sensible. I used to use it for my homework at school. Try it.”

  Ross randomly tapped the keys without looking. A wee silver bell rang and a neatly typed sheet of paper scrolled out.

  Sharks never run out of teeth because whenever one is lost a new tooth rolls into place.

  “I didn’t know that,” said Ross, impressed.

  It sounded fishy to me but Gadget Grandad said it was true. I leapt on the sofa and accidentally sat on a TV remote control.

  A cookery programme for kids appeared on the screen. The cook was bustling about making a lemon drizzle cake.

  “Take a sniff,” chuckled Gadget Grandad.

  As soon as we did, our noses tingled with
the zesty zing of fresh lemons.

  “That’s actually impossible,” gasped Isla.

  “That’s actually my SmellyVision,” said Gadget Grandad. “Whatever you see on the screen, you smell it too. Even if it’s a stinky old dug.”

  Me-yuck!

  Ross and Isla hunted for more gadgets.

  “This looks like an uninteresting umbrella,” Ross whispered, about to open it.

  “A fantastic Funbrella actually,” said Gadget Grandad. “Never open it in the house.”

  “Why? Do you get bad luck?” asked Isla.

  “You get spun into the sky. It’s great fun, until the wind turns it inside oot.”

  Ross put it down quickly.

  “And what’s this?” said Isla, holding up a slipper.

  “That’s a slipper,” grunted Gadget Grandad, his eyes closing sleepily. Within a second he was snoring. And this chapter got really boring. SO BORING we’re going straight to another one. Come on!

  4

  Revenge!

  We tiptoed quietly, trying not to wake Gadget Grandad.

  Then Ross accidentally tripped over an empty flowerpot (I wonder how that got there?) and landed on a pile of yellow newspapers.

  “These newspapers are older than me,” said Ross.

  “They’re older than all of us put together!” said Isla, peering at a crumpled front page.

  There was a picture of a small boy in long shorts, holding up a trophy the size of a small boy in long shorts, holding up a trophy the size of a small boy in long shorts, holding up a trophy the size of a… Och, you get the picture.

  “That’s me,” said Gadget Grandad, waking up again. “I got the school Dux.”

  “Your school had pet ducks?” asked Ross.

  Gadget Grandad chuckled. “No, I mean D-u-x, a prize for doing well in class. Though we had pet ducks too. You’re not the first to confuse them. On that fateful day my arch-enemy Fergus McFungus dived into the school pond and nabbed the school ducks, thinking he was stealing the prize off me. They pooped everywhere! Everyone laughed and Fergus stormed out, shouting, ‘Yuck!’ and ‘Revenge!’ That’s him scowling behind me in the photo.”

  “I didn’t know you had an arch-enemy,” said Isla.

  “Aye, Fergus McFungus and I have been rivals for as long as I can remember. Back then he was thin as a toadstool stalk,” said Gadget Grandad. “He wore a long coat and always had a spotted toadstool in his cap! Och, and very sticky fingers. So sticky that everything he touched he kept forever…”

  The twins wanted to know more, but the old man fell fast asleep again. Really fast – like in a nanosecond. (Not to be confused with a nanasecond, which is really slow, and is exactly as long as your nana takes to walk to the shops and back.)

  “I’m mega-bored already,” sighed Ross.

  “And me,” huffed Isla. “I hope it’s not like this all week!”

  Things stayed mega-boring until a smart watch beside Gadget Grandad started to BLEEP. The twins BLEEP took it BLEEP into the BLEEP kitchen so BLEEP it wouldn’t BLEEP wake Gadget BLEEP Grandad.

  There was a text message on the screen.

  THE STINKY SCOTCH PIES ARE OFF.

  What stinky Scotch pies? If any food was off I would have smelt it already.

  Me-sniff.

  There were no pies anywhere. The kitchen oven said zero degrees, which meant it hadn’t been turned on or gone to university.

  “Who sent the message?” asked Ross.

  “Groovy Gran?” guessed Isla. “She is on a cookery course.”

  “Naw, she only makes tattie scones,” said Ross.

  True. Whenever she tried to bake something else, she always ended up with traditional tattie scones.

  Hmmm. So if Gran hadn’t sent the message, who had? My pal Basil once said, “Always sleep on a big problem – and a big bed – until breakfast.”

  Good advice. So I curled up for a nap and hoped Monday morning would bring the answer, along with a bowl of fishy biscuits.

  By the time you get to Chapter 5 it will be Monday. Magic.

  5

  Magic Monday

  Gadget Grandad put hot porridge on the breakfast table. The kind of porridge you can eat. Not me – I’m cool Porridge. So cool I’ve got my own tartan clothing range. Available in all good pet shops.

  “I’m sorry yesterday was boring,” he said. “I was waiting in for a message. It didnae come.”

  Ross dropped his mouth open.

  Isla dropped her spoon on the floor.

  I dropped into the sink.

  Me-splash!

  It wasn’t very cool of me to fall off a windowsill. So let’s not talk about it ever again.

  Ever.

  Again.

  “But a message did come,” said Ross. “You were asleep and we didn’t want to wake you.” He scooped up the watch and eagerly showed Gadget Grandad the message.

  THE STINKY SCOTCH PIES ARE OFF.

  The old man leapt from his chair and darted around the kitchen, grabbing his battered hat and long black coat. “That message was sent by my robotic spy-in-the-sky. Let’s go. We have no time to lose!”

  He scooped his bagpipes under one arm, and slipped on his dark glasses. I slipped on a bar of soap and fell in the sink again. Shh! Don’t tell anyone. Not even me.

  “See you later, Porridge,” said Isla.

  No way, I meowed. Tartan cats don’t like to miss out.

  “What are we doing?” asked Ross, as he shouldered his surprisingly heavy rucksack. (It was full of Porridge, heh heh.)

  Gadget Grandad waved his fingers like wrinkled wands and whispered mysteriously, “Wait and see!”

  6

  It’s Only Me!

  A short while later, we boarded the number 37 bus.

  We had to stand all the way into town because the bus was full. Mainly full of an elephant called Basil, who lived with Mavis Muckle – the twins’ next-door neighbour.

  Mavis loved animals and they loved her. Any creature who strayed into her home was welcome. Even me. I loved Mavis and her cat flap. It led straight to a bowl of fishy biscuits.

  Me-yum!

  When the bus arrived at the park, Grandad took the twins to a bench nearby. As they sat down, he checked it for bugs that might secretly listen to what he was about to say.

  No bugs, I meowed, shooing away a nosy ladybird.

  Hearing me, Ross held up his rucksack. “I think we have company.”

  Gadget Grandad opened the bag and stuck his head inside. He let out a sneeze, and then a cat.

  “What are you doing in there?” he said, with a smile.

  Hiding, of course!

  “It’s too late to take you home,” said Gadget Grandad. “We’re on a mission. THE STINKY SCOTCH PIES ARE OFF is a secret coded message.”

  “What does it mean?” asked Isla.

  “The ‘Scotch pies’ are spies. They are ‘off’ to a hidden location where they will start plotting to destroy the world. And volcanoes. And fishy biscuits. And elephants. Unless we stop them!”

  “That does sound stinky,” said Ross.

  “The spies belong to a secret secret organisation called S.P.L.O.T. It’s short for Spies. Plotting. Lots. Of. Trouble.” Gadget Grandad sighed. “Really bad secret secrets go into the Chief Splotter’s recipe book – The Splotter’s Guide To Cooking Up Trouble. Only one copy of the book exists, and it can only be read once a year. Fergus McFungus is planning on stealing it. Today.”

  “Your arch-enemy Fergus?” asked Isla.

  “Aye,” said Grandad. “He once tried to copy the secret secret recipe book. But he was caught and thrown out of S.P.L.O.T. Now he seeks revenge. And the book. And world destruction. And probably lots of other bad things I can’t remember at the moment!”

  Me-HELP!

  7

  The Secret Secret Chapter

  “Everyone hold on to my coat. We must fly,” said Gadget Grandad. He blew hard into his bagpipes, and then something amazing happened! Three long pi
pes swung out and up from the swelling tartan bag and whirled overhead like helicopter blades.

  CHUK-CHUK-CHUK.

  We rose into the air, high above Tattiebogle Town and Loch Loch.

  “This is megamazincredibrill!” cried Ross. “Why are we up here?”

  “So we can spot the spies more easily. They like to wear big kilts and frowns,” shouted Gadget Grandad. He squeezed air from his bagpipes and we swooped down low. “Fergus has been up to no good ever since we were kids. I keep trying to stop his fiendish plots but he’s more slippery than a buttered slug.”

  “There’s a spy,” said Isla, spotting a man in a big kilt when we buzzed over a busy market. “And another. And another! Wait, they can’t all be spies…”

  “Hmmm, kilts must be very popular in Tattiebogle just now,” said Grandad.

  I jabbed my tail at a big sign.

  “This could be trickier than we thought,” groaned Gadget Grandad. “Keep your eyes peeled for Fergus McFungus.”

  “He’ll have a toadstool in his cap,” remembered Ross.

  “I see him!” cried Isla, pointing down at Loch Loch, where a man in a long coat was racing a hovercraft across the water.

  Without warning, a wild gust of wind turned the whirling bagpipes upside down and we plummeted towards the cold, choppy loch.

  “Do something!” shouted Ross.

  Gadget Grandad pulled a toy boat from his pocket.

  “How will we all fit in that?” asked Isla.