Oscar and the CATastrophe

For Jack Jenkinson, who has already written a book

AM

For Harry and Thomas H

SH

First published in Great Britain 2018

by Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2018 Alan MacDonald

Illustrations copyright © 2018 Sarah Horne

The moral rights of the author and illustrators have been asserted

First e-book edition 2018

ISBN 978 1 4052 8724 1

Ebook ISBN 978 1 7803 1797 7

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

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CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Dedication and Copyright

CHAPTER 1: Moving In

CHAPTER 2: Uppity

CHAPTER 3: Wall Games

CHAPTER 4: Diamond and Carrots

CHAPTER 5: Stop Thief!

CHAPTER 6: Dangerous Dogs

CHAPTER 7: Counting Cats

CHAPTER 8: Short Cuts

CHAPTER 9: Paw Prints

CHAPTER 10: Twinkle, Twinkle Little Cat

CHAPTER 11: The Bottom of the Matter

CHAPTER 1

MOVING IN

On the first floor of 18 Beach Road a boy and his dog stood looking out of a window. The boy was wearing blue patterned pyjamas while the dog wasn’t wearing anything, apart from a collar and a worried frown. The dog’s name was Oscar and his boy was called Sam. Anyone passing by on the road wouldn’t have suspected there was anything out of the ordinary about them.

‘It’s okay, Oscar, it’s only a furniture van,’ said Sam. ‘I think someone’s moving in next door.’

Oscar pressed his nose closer to the window. He didn’t trust vans, not since a black one had carried off two of his friends and they’d had to rescue them from a dog pound. This van, however, was large and blue with Heaver and Sons Removals written on the side. It was parked outside number 20, the house next door that had a SOLD sign in the front garden. The workmen were unloading the furniture onto the pavement.

‘Look, there’s a pet basket,’ said Sam. ‘You never know, they might have a dog.’

Oscar gave him a look as if to say there was only one dog in the neighbourhood and that was him.

Downstairs a heady smell of coffee, toast and sausages filled the kitchen as Mr Shilling made breakfast. The coffee was for him, the toast for everyone, and the sausages were for Oscar, who claimed tinned dog food was not fit to eat.

‘It looks like someone’s moving in next door,’ said Sam, pouring himself some cereal.

Dad nodded. ‘Yes, I saw the van,’ he said, closing the kitchen door. He lowered his voice. ‘Before your mum gets down, you haven’t forgotten, have you?’

‘Forgotten what?’ asked Sam.

‘Her birthday of course – it’s next Saturday. I wrote it on the calendar so you wouldn’t forget.’

Sam had forgotten. He rarely looked at the calendar because most of the time it recorded things like ‘dentist appointment’ or ‘parents evening’. Saturday still gave him a week to get a present but he had no idea what to get. As it was almost the end of the summer holidays, he’d spent most of his pocket money too.

‘What are you giving her?’ he asked.

‘Me? I’m working on a little idea,’ said Dad. ‘I’ll show you when it’s ready.’

Sam nodded. He hoped it wasn’t one of his dad’s less successful inventions like the Hercules Speedy Pop-up Toaster, which had almost set fire to the kitchen.

Dad set Oscar’s food bowl down on the floor. ‘There’s a birthday list on the fridge,’ he said.

Sam read the list, which he obviously hadn’t noticed.

A holiday – anywhere hot

A new car!

Swimming costume

Beach towel

Slippers

He was pretty sure he couldn’t afford a holiday, unless his mum wanted a bus ride to Winklesea. They hadn’t gone away this summer because his parents had been busy running the beach cafe, which Dad had bought after selling one of his inventions. Originally it was called The Toast Cafe, but then Sam and Oscar had the genius idea of turning it into The Waggy Dog Cafe – the only cafe in Little Bunting to welcome dogs.

Oscar barked loudly, interrupting his thoughts. Usually this meant someone was coming and a few seconds later the doorbell rang.

It was Mr Trusscot, their busybody neighbour, who was known in Sam’s family as Mr Fusspot. As leader of the town council, Trusscot had once tried to turn most of the town into a dog-free zone, so he and Oscar were old enemies.

‘Mr Trusscot, how nice to see you,’ lied Dad.

Trusscot nodded to them. As usual, he was wearing his brown tweedy suit with a checked bow tie. Sam thought he’d probably been born wearing a suit. Oscar eyed him suspiciously.

‘I imagine you’ve heard the news,’ said Trusscot. ‘We’re getting a new neighbour.’

‘So I gather,’ said Dad. ‘I expect you’re going to tell me who it is.’

‘As a matter of fact I can,’ replied Trusscot, smugly. ‘It’s Mrs Bentley-Wallop.’

‘Mrs WALLOP?’ giggled Sam.

‘Bentley-Wallop,’ said Mr Trusscot. ‘And I fail to see what’s funny about it. Perhaps you’ve heard the name?’

‘I haven’t,’ replied Dad. ‘I think I’d remember a name like that.’

‘Well from what I hear she’s from a wealthy family and she’s very well connected,’ said Trusscot. ‘She’s just the sort of person we need to improve this neighbourhood.’

Sam and Dad exchanged looks. Mr Trusscot was always talking about improving the neighbourhood. He complained that the Shillings’ doorbell played ‘Jingle Bells’ and their garden was a disgrace, littered with batteries and bike parts for Mr Shilling’s inventions.

‘In any case, she’s arriving this morning so you might want to tidy up,’ said Trusscot.

‘Why? Is there going to be an inspection?’ asked Dad.

‘I suppose that’s one of your jokes,’ said Mr Trusscot, frostily. ‘I’m sure we all want to make a good impression on Mrs Bentley-Wallop. I for one am very much looking forward to meeting her.’

‘Good, then I won’t keep you,’ said Dad.

‘Oh, and one more thing,’ said Trusscot. ‘You’d better keep your filthy dog away from her.’

Oscar bristled.

‘He’s not filthy,’ said Sam, crossly. ‘He had a bath last week and, anyway, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘Well I don’t want him upsetting Mrs Bentley-Wallop,’ said Trusscot. ‘My advice is to keep him indoors where he can’t do any harm.’

Oscar took a step forward and proceeded to give Mr Trusscot’s hand a thorough licking. He knew very well this would annoy him. Trusscot hated dogs and he didn’t want any of their slobbery germs. He pulled his hand away.

‘He’s only trying to be friendly,’ said Sam.

‘Well I’d rather he didn’t,’ snapped Trusscot, wiping his hand on a hanky.

‘Anyway, thank you for calling by and if we ever need your advice we’ll be sure to ask,’ said Dad. He closed the door and rolled his eyes at Sam.

‘Nincompoop!’ he said and marched back to the kitchen.

Sam waited till he was gone and looked at Oscar.

‘Uh oh.’

‘If he thinks I’m staying indoors to please him, he can forget it!’ said Oscar.

‘It’s only old Fusspants, ignore him,’ said Sam. ‘Anyway maybe Mrs Thingy Wallop likes dogs.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ asked Oscar.

‘Mr Fusspot for one,’ said Sam. ‘But I saw a pet basket, so maybe she’s got a dog herself. We should go next door and find out.’

‘All right, as long as it’s not a poodle,’ said Oscar. ‘They never stop yapping.’

Sam looked round as his Dad reappeared, heading upstairs.

‘Who are you talking to?’ he asked.

‘No one,’ said Sam. ‘Just, you know – Oscar.’

Dad sighed and shook his head.

‘How many times? He’s a dog, Sam. He doesn’t understand a word you’re saying!’

CHAPTER 2

UPPITY

Sam had first discovered that Oscar could speak the day after he’d arrived on a number 9 bus. His very first words were: ‘I’m not an idiot, you know.’ Actually, those were his second words because on the first evening he’d murmured ‘Goodnight,’ just as Sam was about to go to sleep. Sam hadn’t believed his ears that time, but by now he was used to the fact that Oscar could hold a conversation. It was a secret known only to the two of them. Sam hadn’t told his parents or even his best friend Louie, although sometimes he wondered if Louie suspected. Next door the removal men trooped in and out as the morning wore on, carrying carpets and items of furniture. Sam saw white rugs, table lamps and even a couple of statues that had forgotten to get dressed.

Eventually a car drew up and Mrs Bentley-Wallop herself got out. Sam had to admit she was more interesting than Mr Trusscot who was about as glamorous as a cardigan. Mrs Bentley-Wallop had thick blonde curls, bright red lipstick and a double chin. She wore a long, grey, fur-trimmed coat. Sam thought she looked like a film star – although obviously quite an old one.

Back inside, he told his mum about their new neighbour.

‘Bigley-Wallop? Are you sure that’s her name?’ asked Mum.

‘Bigley or Bottomly, I don’t remember,’ said Sam. ‘But Mr Trusscot says we ought to keep Oscar indoors so we don’t upset her.’

‘Mr Trusscot can mind his own business,’ said Mum. ‘All the same we ought to make Mrs Whats-her-name welcome. Maybe I’ll pop round later to say hello.’

‘I’ll come!’ said Sam, eagerly. He’d never actually been next door. He wanted to know what the naked statues were for. Besides, he was keen to find out if their new neighbour had a dog. That would be the final straw for Mr Trusscot – two dogs on the road in barking distance of each other. He might even have to move to Australia.

After lunch they called next door. Mum took a tin of her homemade flapjack. Oscar came along but at the gate he stopped and hung back, leaving Mum to go ahead.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Sam.

‘There’s a funny smell,’ said Oscar, wrinkling his nose.

Sam sniffed. ‘I can’t smell anything.’

‘Your nose doesn’t work,’ said Oscar. ‘I know that smell and it means trouble.’

It was too late to go back now. Mum had rung the bell and Mrs Bentley-Wallop was opening the door. Sam hurried to join them. Their new neighbour wore quite a lot of make-up but that wasn’t what caught Sam’s attention – it was the enormous white cat sitting in her arms. It was as big as a pumpkin with green eyes that glittered when it saw Oscar.

‘We live next door,’ said Mum. ‘We brought you a little welcome present.’

‘Oh, how terribly kind of you!’ cried Mrs Bentley-Wallop in a plummy voice. ‘Flapjack! I haven’t eaten that in years!’

‘Mum made it. Her flapjack’s the best,’ Sam informed her.

‘I’m sure it tastes delicious!’ said their neighbour. Her face fell when she spotted Oscar. ‘Oh goodness, you have a dog!’

‘Yes, this is Oscar,’ Sam told her.

‘Doesn’t he have a lead?’ asked Mrs Bentley-Wallop.

‘He doesn’t need one, he’s very well behaved,’ said Sam. He shot Oscar a warning look.

‘Of course, I’m a cat-lover myself,’ Mrs Bentley-Wallop was saying. ‘This is Carmen, isn’t she a darling pusskins?’

The big cat purred as Mrs Bentley-Wallop stroked her head. She narrowed her eyes at Oscar whose ears twitched. Plainly he didn’t think Carmen was a darling pusskins at all.

‘I’d love to ask you in, but as you can see the place is such a state,’ trilled Mrs Bentley-Wallop. ‘And I’m afraid I don’t have dogs in the house. Carmen doesn’t like it and they do make a mess.’

‘Oscar isn’t messy,’ said Sam.

‘Well, only a little,’ laughed Mum. ‘But he is quite clever, sometimes we wonder if he understands what we’re saying.’

‘Heavens! I hope not!’ laughed Mrs Bentley-Wallop.

Carmen wriggled in her arms and she set her down on the floor.

‘It’s all right, princess,’ she cooed. ‘No one’s going to hurt you. Carmen’s a Persian, they’re terribly sensitive.’

Sam didn’t think Carmen looked sensitive. If anything she seemed to be enjoying the fact that Oscar couldn’t get at her. She hid behind her owner’s legs and peeped out now and then, playing a game of peek-a-boo.

‘I’m sure Oscar wouldn’t hurt her,’ said Mum. ‘Perhaps they’ll be friends?’

Carmen dared to venture a little closer. She rubbed her back against her owner’s legs, purring loudly and swishing her long tail. It was almost as if she was daring Oscar to come after her.

Oscar had seen enough. He barked.

‘OSCAR!’ cried Mum.

Mrs Bentley-Wallop scooped up Carmen in her arms and stepped back from the door.

‘Well, perhaps I ought to get on,’ she sighed. ‘It was so sweet of you to pop round. I’m sure we’ll bump into each other again.’

‘Yes, of course . . .’ began Mum – but the door had already closed.

They walked back down the path.