He's wrong; it's a lot longer than that. It may be something to do with him spilling paint on the carpet, but who knows?
We blame Sam. He'd been very sneaky and not told us that the Pokémon battles in his Game Boy have taken on a completely new dimension. When the Pokémon started battling it out in the lounge, it all ended in tears when the little one with the flaming tail was thrown across the room into the curtains, setting them alight.
The heat of the fire has melted some of the snow up in the attic. It refreezes as ice and Lizzy slips over and breaks her arm again. She doesn't mind too much as I paint her plaster beautiful colours and she's off dishes and housework, and doesn’t have to do the crosscountry.
Me and Lizzy like having a wacky house. Sam does, I can tell. Sofie, I'm not too sure. She looks all serious like she doesn't, but I think she does. She likes odd things and is always looking up weird stuff on the internet, like dogs with two heads and people spontaneously combusting on the toilet. Once, I ran into her room and before she could click the mouse, I saw a woman with three boobs. Weird or what?
Dad and Mum don't like weird stuff. Dad says, 'No more, it’s got to stop. It’s all going to turn sad. Somebody’s going to get hurt and we’ll have the police around. Worse still, we’ll have the T.V. and newspapers, then it’ll turn real sad; people don’t like odd things happening.'
He does go on.
'What are we going to do?' asks Lizzy.
'Err…,' says Dad, looking thoughtful. 'We’ll go on holiday.'
'What about Caticus?' asks Lizzy.
'He can come along too,' says Mum.
Dad suggests Fiji, but when Sam points out that Caticus's skeleton will show up on the x-ray machine at the airport, there's a change of plan. So, we're off to Wherearewe in the Far North instead.
Chapter 9 – Wherearewe
We drive for hours then bump down a narrow track to a dark green cottage tucked in the sand dunes. It has a wonderful view out across a stream and into the Pacific. It's half way along a long sandy beach that stretches for miles and there's lots of dunes to explore. It's still school term time so we have the stream, the beach and the dunes all to themselves.
I wonder what Mum will write on the note to school; Louise Short had a nasty sniffle or There's weird things going on in our house so we ran away. Probably the sniffle.
'Boooooring!' says Sofie. 'No shops, boring, boring, boring.' She vanishes for most of the week, exploring; only coming back at meal times. At the end of the week she says, 'I want to live here. I'm going to write a book and buy this cottage and live here.'
She’ll probably write about our family.
Mum sits on the old sofa on the veranda with the newspaper, does the Sudoku and reads books. Sam curls up in the corner with his game boy and Dad goes fishing. Dad only ever comes home when he's out of work. He always gets sacked. Good job too, otherwise we would never see him. I wouldn't sack him, I like Dad. Me and Lizzy bake cookies and make Mum cups of tea. If we can keep Mum happy, everything ticks along just nicely.
As for the cat, Mum has a theory about the cat. 'Something's magiced him,' she says 'So we'll unmagic him. We'll give him lots of love and attention. We'll lay him out in the sun during the day and in front of the fire at night. If that doesn't work we'll revert to Plan B, opening a can of cat food and leaving it right in front of his nose.'
Come Friday we revert to Plan B and on Saturday morning the cat is sitting on Mum's lap purring.
Not for long though, at precisely 1.32 a.m. in the middle of the night.
Zap! Yowl!
We run into the living room, bumping into things in the dark. Dad finds the light switch and flicks the lights on.
'Oh, no,' says Mum, 'The cat's been zapped again!'
The cat has been zapped again. He’s frozen solid in the middle of the lounge.
'I saw green sparks,' says Sam, who's still in his sleeping bag on the sofa.
Chapter 10 - A Spoticus
'But look,' says Lizzy, getting down on her knees, 'He's caught something!'
He has. There in his frozen paws, is a little thingy, sparrow sized with skinny little arms and legs, a beak like mouth and a curly tail. It has soft, bright green reptilian skin dotted with large orange spots and sports a funny little hat with a spiral at the top.
'It's a Pokémon,' exclaims Sam.
'Tis not,' say me and Lizzy. 'It's a ..., it’s a ...'
'A Spoticus,' says Mum.
'Not a Spoticus,' says Sofie, who knows such things. 'Definitely not a Spoticus, it looks more like a ..., like a ...'
'Like a Whatsit,' says Dad.
'Spoticus, Whatsits. No, no, no, it's a ... it's a Domingo!' says Sam.
'Is it dead?' I say, taking a careful look at the little thing. The cat, who's frozen solid, cold like a block of ice this time, has sunk his claws into little Domingo and blood is oozing out. I carefully pull Caticus' frozen claws out. Lizzy picks up the spotty thing and cradles it in her hands. ‘It’s frozen,’ she says.
'Don't worry about the blood. Just wrap it up and hold it close to you to warm it up slowly,' says Dad. He throws a couple more logs on to the embers of the fire and wrapping Caticus in a couple of towels, places him in on the hearth to thaw out.
Yawn, yawn.
'Excuse me, I must go back to bed,' says Mum.
That gets Sofie going.
Yawn.
'Let's all sleep in,' says Mum.
Off to bed we go, Lizzy taking wee Domingo with her.
Chapter 11 - Sam defrosts Caticus
I'm up first in the morning. I'm always up first. It's still night when I plonk myself onto the old sofa on the veranda and watch the sky brighten in the east and the stars fade until there's just one bright one left. Then it's gone, the clouds are painted purple and orange and the sun arrives in a blaze of light and warmth. I sit out there dozing until the sun has risen up and is hiding behind some low clouds, then make a mug of hot chocolate and toast with lashings of peanut butter. I gulp my chocky down in loud slurps. When no one's listening, you don't need to be polite.
'Lulu,' calls Sam, hopping around the lounge in his sleeping bag. 'Do you have to slurp so loudly?'
Oops, sprung!
I can hear Sam bashing around in the kitchen.
'Cat's still stiff,' he mutters. 'I'll stick her in the microwave.'
Odd thing to do, I wonder if it’ll work.
Sam stomps and clatters and bangs around in the kitchen.
I hear Mum's muffled voice call from the bedroom, 'Can you make a bit more noise, please Sam.'
Bash, smash!
'No probs Mum,' calls Sam and quietens down.
Beep, beep, beep, whirrrrrr.
The microwave starts up.
As it whirs away, I go back to watching the world go by. Two seagulls are playing tag with a dead fish. They swoop and dive and chase each other off up the beach.
Whirrrrr.
'Sam, what are you doing?' asks Sofie abruptly.
'Thawing the cat-'
'STOP RIGHT NOW!' yells Sofie.
Bing!
Yowllllll!
Caticus shoots out the door, like a scalded cat and vanishes around the corner, leaving a trail of smoke and fur.
Suddenly everything is quiet again. The sun pops out from behind its cloud and lights up little wisps of smoke which spiral about in the air. Bits of fur drift across the grass. Sofie and Sam begin to laugh. They laugh and laugh, until they’re rolling helplessly on the floor holding their sides.
Chapter 12 - Dad gets Up
I stand up and peer in through the window to get a better view. Dad walks in, zombie like, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and trips over Sofie who's still lying on the floor. Sniffing at the air as he picks himself up and says, 'I can smell burning.'
'It was,' says Sam. 'It was ...'
'The toast!' says Sofie. 'We burnt the toast!' Then unable to keep a straight f
ace; cracks up again.
Sofie grabs some bread and sticks it in the toaster. She twiddles the dial around to max.
Dad shakes his head, flicks the kettle on and comes outside. As he flops himself across my sofa I plonk myself down and try to push him off with both legs.
'My spot!' I say.
'Don't you mean, Good morning, oh Dad oh wonderful,' he says, wriggling about to try and gain more space.
'Sharesies,' I say, then when the kettle clicks off and he disappears inside to make his cup of tea, I grab the whole sofa for me, pressing my legs against the end to jam myself in. When Dad comes back out, he sits on me until I beg for mercy and give him half the sofa.
I hear Sofie whisper to Sam, 'No Sam, never put the cat in the microwave. You could have killed him.' They start laughing again.
Dad can't hear, he's too deaf.
Chapter 13 – Mino
No one else stirs until well after noon. Sofie, Sam and Dad go for a long walk up the beach. Big black clouds come roaring up from the south and I watch them fighting their way back into the howling wind, arriving back wet and cold.
'Did you see Caticus this morning?' asks Dad as he relights the fire. 'Is he okay?'
'He was okay this morning,' says Sam, trying to keep a straight face. 'I saw him run out the door.'
'Funny,' says Dad. 'He hates the rain. I wonder where he is.'
Lizzy is next up. She comes in carrying a shoe box full of socks and knickers. 'Look, look, look,' she says. There amongst the socks and knickers is the spotty little form of Domingo.
'With all those spots, we should have called him Domino,' says Sam.
'Mingo, would be a better name,' says Sofie. 'Or maybe Mino, as in: me know, me know nothing.'
'Me know, me know,' comes a little voice from the box.
'Drat!' says Lizzy. 'It's alive! I thought it was dead and was going to bury it at sea. It's all planned. We’ll pour petrol over it and our old socks and knickers, set it alight and push it out to sea.' She looks around the room, then says, 'Is the cat dead? Maybe we can bury him instead!'
'Cat alive,' says Sam.
'Cat alive, me know, me know,' parrots the little voice from the box.
'Oh, shut up!' says Sam smiling.
'Shut up, shut up, cat alive, Mino, Mino,' says the little voice and we all laugh.
'Cupa tea. Where's my cup of tea?' comes a cry from the bedroom.
'Cupa tea, cupa tea. Shut up, shut up, cat alive, Mino, Mino,' pipes the voice from amongst the knickers.
'T-E-A!' calls Mum.
'Okay Mum!' shouts Sam, impatiently.
Lizzy picks Mino out of the box and lays him on a cushion. His eyes are still shut and he looks a mess, there's big scratches with blood oozing out where Caticus got him. I fetch a bowl of warm water with disinfectant and carefully swab his gaping wounds.
'They are going to need stitching,' says Dad.
'Let’s take him to the doctor,' says Lizzy.
'No, no, he needs a vet,' I say.
'No, no, no,' says Sofie. 'We can’t take him to a doctor or a vet. Is he a person? No! Is he a cat? No. A dog? No! Horse? No. Goat? No! Mouse? No! He’s not like anything anyone has seen before on Planet Earth. They’ll all freak out. He’s got to stay top, top secret or life will be hell for us and even worse for him.'
'I’ll patch him up,' says Dad, pouring Mum’s tea.
'Where’s my tea?' comes the cry from the bedroom. 'Tea, tea, TEA!'
'Hat?' demands Mino, opening his golden eyes. 'Hat, hat, hat, hat, HAT!'
For a spotty little thing, who looks to be at death’s door, Mino certainly has a lot of spirit. I search through the knickers and pull out Mino’s hat.
I place it on his wee head. Mino pulls it off again and turns it around so the spiral goes the other way and that is where it stays, as if it's been stuck on with superglue, which is just what Dad uses to patch him up. Using a toothpick, he puts a little superglue on each cut and gently pushes them closed. Soon Mino is asleep amongst the knickers and socks, Dad is superglued to his espresso cup, and Caticus is still nowhere to be found! When Mum surfaces it's decided that there's no going back without the cat, so Dad rents the cottage for another week. Everyone is happy, especially us kids; we'll get another week off school.
Chapter 14 - Surf's Up
The next week is laid back, an extra week to chill out after a week’s holiday. On the animal front things are quiet for most of the week. Mino appears to go into hibernation and there's no sign of Caticus.
On Tuesday morning a mist hangs over the beach and the gentle slap of the waves turns to a thundering roar. A distant storm has kicked up the surf. The rising sun shines bright green though the waves and paints the spray golden yellow.
Sofie is off along the beach at the crack of dawn and apart from a text message, Surfs up. Back in 2, xxxSofie, nothing is heard from her until Thursday. Mum is just starting to panic when a Kombi van with boards on the roof bounces down the track to the cottage. Out pops Sofie followed by a giggly little red haired girl call Pip.
'We’ve come to cook breakfast,' announces Sofie, carrying a shopping bag full of breakfasty things.
Soon there's a mountain of toast on the table and a big platter of bacon, eggs, mushrooms and fried tomatoes. As it’s placed on the table, people appear as if by magic.
Mum appears from the bedroom, 'Something cooking?'
A big Maori fella with a tangle of black hair and a tattoo of a sardine on his forearm strolls in from the beach with his weedy little mate, who’s hiding under a mop of blond curls. 'Hi, I’m Goliath. Call me Golli,' says the big fella. Putting a big brown hand on his skinny friend's shoulder, he adds, 'And this is Twig. We’ve come to teach ya how to surf.'
After breakfast Golli and Twig show us how to surf. The big surf of Tuesday has dropped down to fun little waves about a metre high. Using long boards, we are all up and surfing before long. Lizzy, rides on the front of Golli's board. We’re glad we have our wetsuits, the water is freezing.
In the evening, when the tide is low, Golli and Twig drag net for flounders and everyone else collects pipis. There's a moment of excitement when something big and toothy gets in the net. Golli and Twig give a yell and get dragged back about ten metres. There's a load of splashing and whatever it is, gets away. When they haul the net up on the beach, they have two good snapper and half a dozen flounders, a big hole and about fifty sand crabs that take ages, like an half an hour to untangle. Zen, Pip's dog, won't leave the crabs alone and gives a yelp each time he gets pinched on the nose.
We collect driftwood, light a big fire on the beach, and cook everything up. Delicious it is too. As it grows dark, Golli and Twig throw a few more logs on the fire, drink beers and play guitar. The next morning the Kombi bounces off up the track; the last that we see of Sofie for a few months.
Me and Lizzy have stuffed our shoe box in the corner of the wardrobe and forgotten about it; again! We’re in for a surprise when we check on Mino. Not only is Mino spotty, but the knickers, the socks and the box are orange with green spots. We take the box outside and sit in the sun on the sofa with the box between us. Mino lizards in the sun and slowly comes to life, stretching his wee arms, legs and tail. He blinks a few times, rubs his eyes and opens them wide. 'Me know,' he says. 'Mino better.'
'What a funny little thing,' says Mum when she comes out with her coffee. 'He’s okay, but what about the cat?'
'Cat, cat, cat,' says Mino, jumping down and running inside.
'Me know cat, me know, me know cat,' he says, jumping up and down in the middle of the room. The floor suddenly becomes clear like glass and there, under the house, we can see a very sorry looking Caticus. He looks up, snarls at us and crawls away.
'Me know cat,' says Sam, obviously feeling guilty, and volunteers to go under and fetch Caticus. He tries to squeeze under but can't fit, so cuts a long bamboo down from behind the house and makes a noose at the end with a piece of string. I shine a torch
and spot the cat's green eyes reflecting back. Sam positions his noose and gives the string a jerk. There's a screech of protest and out comes Caticus, lassoed around the tail.
Caticus is in a sorry state, a very sorry state. He's all singed around the edges, his fur is matted and his eyes milky. He's on death’s door. This is not something love and attention and a spot of sunshine is going to fix.
'Poor Caticus,' says Dad. 'We’re going to have to put him down.'
'Me know fix,' comes a little voice. 'Mino fix.' Off shuffles Mino chanting, 'Fix cat, fix cat, Mino fix.'
Sam fetches some milk for Caticus, but the cat wouldn’t touch it. He lies flat on his stomach on the veranda with tufts of fur falling off and blowing away in the breeze. Even his whiskers are shriveled. Dad finds a banana box and, folding an old blanket to make it comfortable, lies Caticus gently inside.
Mino arrives back about an hour later carrying a little patchwork bag stuffed with leaves, twigs and dirt. Laying stones in a circle, he makes a tiny fireplace in the corner of the lawn and piles up dry grass and twigs ready to light. He pushes some sticks into the ground to make a pot holder. 'Pot, pot, POT,' he demands.
Mum finds an empty tomato puree tin and Dad makes a hanger for it out of wire. Mino half fills it with water and hangs it above his fireplace then, stepping back a pace or two, raises an arm in the air and flicks down sharply. The sticks erupt into flame. Mino lets the fire burn for a few minutes until the flames die down and the wee pot is boiling away merrily, then opens his bag and starts adding ingredients. Slugs go in first, three of them, followed by nettles and dock; deadly nightshade berries, twenty-one of them in all, counted two times to make sure; dandelion flowers all squished and squashed between some round stones, and a lump of clay slowly stirred in. Mino dips a teaspoon in and has a taste.
'Mymate, Mymate,' he says. 'My Mate.'
'Lulu,' says Mum. 'Can you fetch the Marmite?'
When I arrive back with the Marmite, she unscrews the lid and Mino dips his teaspoon in and eats a whole spoonsful. His eyes roll back in ecstasy. He has another and his eyes roll back again.
'Don't eat it all,' I say.
Mino dips his spoon in again and this time lets the Marmite slowly flow off into the bubbling liquid. When it's mostly gone he pops the spoon back into his mouth to get the last little bit. I quickly scoop up the Marmite jar before Mino can finish it off. What will Mum have on her toast in the morning if Mino cleans it up? It's miles to the nearest shop.