13: MAX MOLE

 

   Oliver Tibbles, the hungry Mighty Mouser, never had to worry about his supper again after Wayne, the tubby young squirrel, slimmed down into a racing champion. For Wayne's surprise victory so impressed the members of the Catsville racecourse committee that they they not only gave Joshua Tibbles, Oliver's father, back his chequered flag, but also made him chief groundsman, responsible for keeping the racecourse clean and tidy, with a pretty little house next to the racecourse.

   The house had a big family room, because Joshua and Ruth Tibbles now had ten kittens - six boys, including Oliver, and four girls - living at home, and an even bigger diningroom, so that Ruth could also feed another ten who had gone off to make their way in the world, but liked to come back from time to time for a sardine tea on Sundays. There was also a kitten romper room, where the youngest kittens could fool around as much, and as noisily, as they liked, and lots of little kitten bedrooms, each with its own little padded cat basket.

   The kittens were generally very well behaved, and naturally they all helped their father. For Joshua found himself with plenty on his paws, because the groundsman before him had been a very elderly cat who found it hard enough to mow the racecourse lawn, let alone do anything else.

   He began by cleaning out all the racecourse buildings very thoroughly, and the kittens had a tremendous time chasing the racecourse mice back into their holes. Then he gave the buildings a fresh coat of paint. But he made sure the kittens stayed well away from his paint pots, because some of the younger girl kittens tried using their tails as paint brushes, and made rather a mess.

   Then all the kittens busied themselves helping him dig and plant and weed to get the racecourse gardens back into shape. The gardens were very messy and overgrown when they started, all nettles and brambles and weeds. But Joshua's six boy kittens - Oliver, Cyril, Andy, Benjy, Monty and Sandy - were all very handy with their front paws, the Catsville council parks department had lots of flowers and shrubs to spare, and Joshua persuaded a couple of the council lawnmowing sheep to lend a hoof here and there.

   Ruth and the four Tibbles girl kittens - Chloe, Zoe, Pandora and Mary - busied themselves planting. Or rather Chloe, Zoe, and Mary, who were three very good little girl kittens, busied themselves planting, but Pandora, who was sometimes rather mischievous, spent a good deal of time running in and out amongst the flowers chasing butterflies.

   Pandora was a very pretty little ginger kitten who loved exploring and playing games. She would pretend that monsters lived amongst the garden bushes, and frighten poor Mary, the youngest Tibbles kitten of all, by hiding behind a bush and suddenly pouncing out at her with the most fearsome growls. But one day she got rather a shock herself.

   She was sitting waiting for Mary to pass when suddenly the ground under her tail began to move. She shot into the air, came down on all fours, and sniffed at the ground suspiciously. It moved again.

   She backed away a little, her eyes huge with excitement. The ground twitched, and shook, and then a sharp little black snout pushed up through the soil, to sniff at the air.

   The snout seemed very suspicious, because it quickly vanished back into the flowerbed, and nothing happened for a moment. But then the earth began to move again, and suddenly a great cloud of soil erupted, massing into a little heap.

   Some landed on Pandora's nose and she sneezed. The eruption stopped dead. She crouched, watching the heap, and saw the sharp little black snout reappear. This time it came up very very slowly, with a cautious sniff, and a little wiggle, and then another sniff. Pandora inched closer, using her very best stalking skills, until she was almost nose to nose with the little black tip.

   The tip wiggled a couple of times, in an exploring kind of way, and then a small sleek black face with dark glasses covering its eyes, and a little black trilby hat, emerged. The face seemed rather badtempered. ‘Who are you?’, it asked in a not very friendly tone. It spoke in something like cat, but with a very earthy accent.

   ‘I'm Pandora,’ replied Pandora, who had been brought up always to be polite.

   ‘You're a cat,’ said the face, twitching its snout, and began to retreat back into the earth. ‘I don't like cats. I'm a mole, and cats don't like moles.’

   Pandora frowned. This was the best adventure she had ever had, but it seemed about to end before it had properly begun. She mewed at the heap of earth with her most charming mew as the tip of the mole's snout melted back into the heap. ‘Please don't go, Mr. Mole. I'm not a cat, I'm only a kitten, and I like everybody.’

   This was stretching the truth a bit, because Pandora was not sure that she liked mice, and mice seemed rather similar to moles. But a bright young kitten will do many things for an adventure.

   The heap of earth was still. Then just the tiniest tip of a snout emerged. ‘You don't eat moles?’

   Pandora made a face. ‘I live on sardines.’

   A bit more snout surfaced. ‘You won't pounce on me?’

   Pandora thought about this for a moment. She liked pouncing, but she preferred jumping at fluttering and buzzing things, like dragonflies and mosquitoes, though she also knew enough about buzzing things to steer well clear of bees and wasps. She decided to be most charming, and sat back on her haunches, with her front feet neatly together, in her best social position. ‘I promise I won't pounce.’

   The mole surfaced cautiously, pushed its trilby onto the back of its head, and held out a small black paw. ‘I'm Max Mole. I'd ask you to meet the missus and my kids, but they're back down my tunnel.’

   Pandora eyed the heap of earth doubtfully. ‘I don't think I'd like to be underground.’

   Max Mole shrugged. ‘I don't suppose you would. You're not a mole.’ He picked a flower from a nearby bush and began to chew it thoughtfully. ‘I don't think I'd like to be out in the sun all day.’ He picked a second flower. ‘Hmm, rather tasty these. Make a lovely salad to go with a dish of worms.’

   He began working his way around the bush, and then helped himself to a few primulas. Pandora watched him in growing alarm. Talking to a mole might be a great adventure for a kitten, but she had a very good idea that her father might take quite a different view if the mole started stripping his flowerbeds.

   Max Mole was now busy gathering a great pawful of primulas. Pandora rose, stretched, and settled herself again between him and the next clump of flowers.

   A small black snout twitched at her irritably. ‘Why did you do that? I like these flowers.’

   ‘My dad's the groundsman.’

   ‘So?’ Max Mole began to stuff the primulas down a hole in his heap of earth. ‘Flowers are part of nature. They belong to all animals. My kids need the vitamins.’

   Pandora felt the conversation was beginning to head in a totally wrong direction. She racked her brains for something she could say to stop this very determined little animal. ‘He'll get very angry.’

   Max Mole shrugged. ‘Don't care.’

   This was a pretty rude way to reply, and she decided to counter-attack. ‘He'll put down traps.’

   There was a flurry, and a scurry, and Max Mole vanished into his hole. Nothing happened for a few minutes, and then a small black snout emerged, and it was plainly quivering with rage. ‘Tell him,’ it spluttered, ‘tell him, if he puts down traps, I'll strip every flower he has, and dig molehills all over his lawn.’

   Then the snout vanished. Pandora tried mewing charmingly again a couple of times, but nothing happened, though she thought that she heard a couple of bad-tempered sniffs. But it was now time for tea, and she walked slowly back home, feeling rather sad.

   That evening she told her mother about her adventure, when Ruth Tibbles came to tuck her up in bed and kiss her goodnight.

   Ruth loked rather thoughtful for a moment. ‘Your dad's very fond of his flowers.’

   ‘It all began so nicely,’ Pandora mewed sadly.

   But he has a great ambition to build a pond in the middle of the racecourse lawn.’

   Pandora looked at her mother enquiringly. Ruth Tibbles was very good at floating out important ideas as though they were just passing thoughts, and Pandora could tell that she had something on her mind. She cuddled up close to her mother and buried her nose in her fur. Mothers could always be counted on for clever ideas.

   ‘Well, dear, moles dig tunnels, don't they?’

   Pandora sat up straight in her basket.

   ‘Your dad can't find any way of taking water to a pond without digging up his new lawn. He's been fretting about it something cruel.’ Ruth Tibbles patted Pandora back into a nice round little curl. ‘He wants the pond, but he doesn't want to spoil his lawn, and he can't see his way out.’

   Pandora smiled sleepily. ‘I'll go and ask Max Mole when I get back from school.’

   She returned to the heap of earth next day. The flowerbed was a sad sight. Max Mole had already stripped all the flowers and bushes close to his first heap, and Pandora noted with alarm two further heaps of earth in a line marching straight for the racecourse lawn.

   She tapped gently on the ground with her paw. She was unsure how best to call a mole, but she imagined it might be very sensitive to sound.

   Nothing happened for a while, but then - just as she was beginning to lose hope - a small black snout twitched at her.

   ‘Is he putting traps out?’ Max Mole sounded very grumpy indeed. Mrs. Mole had been growing rather tubby, and had decided that flower salads were just the right food for a mole diet. But she was already bored with primulas, and demanding rose petals, and Joshua Tibbles had planted all his rose bushes on the far side of the racecourse lawn.

   Max knew tunnelling under the lawn would be asking for trouble, and he was a mole who wanted to live to a ripe old age.

   Pandora told him quickly about the pond. ‘Can you tunnel?’ She asked uncertainly. She knew that dreadful things would happen if he could not, and she was rather frightened.

   Max Mole's head surfaced, complete with trilby and dark glasses. ‘Tunnel? Me tunnel? Can moles tunnel?’ He sounded quite offended. ‘I'll have you know, young kitten, that moles are born to tunnel, and that I'm one of the best. I'm a champion tunneller, and very fast too.’

   Pandora felt her spirits rise. ‘Water tunnels?’

   Max Mole shrugged. ‘I'll dig a dry tunnel, and your dad can then connect it to water.’

   ‘Will it take long?’

   He thought for a moment. ‘About as long as it takes you to fill a really big basket with rose petals.’

   Pandora stared at him. He was really a sweet little animal, all things considered, even if he did have a bad temper. ‘Rose petals?’

   Max Mole came as close to blushing as a mole can come, given that its fur is all black. ‘It's for the missus. Her health.’

   ‘No mole hills?’

   He squirmed a little. ‘I'll have to go down quite deep, I'll get the missus to help. But the air gets bad if there ain't any ventilation.’

   Pandora thought for a moment. She was helping to plan a project, and it made her feel quite grown-up. ‘Can't Mrs. Mole start from the other end?’

   Max Mole smiled. His smile started as a little mole smile, but then it widened as he thought of tunnelling on his own, without his wife nagging behind him. ‘For a kitten, sweetheart, you'd make a really clever mole.’

   Pandora went home to tell her mother. But she was still a little nervous, and she rushed straight to her bedroom window when she woke next morning, to stare out at the racecourse lawn.

   The lawn was perfect. Well, almost perfect, for a mole had dug a big molehill right in the middle. Pandora raced to the molehill, just as her father came out of the house, using some very bad language indeed.

   ‘It's a molehill, daddy. He's done it.’ She danced round the molehill excitedly.

   Joshua Tibbles stared at it grumpily. ‘I can see it's a molehill, silly. I'll have to get some traps.’

   ‘No, daddy.’ Pandora looked at him in alarm. ‘It's a tunnel.’ By now all the rest of the Tibbles family had gathered round. ‘Look.’

   She pointed with her paw. Max Mole and Mrs. Mole had worked very hard overnight, and had done a good job. There was a large round hole in the middle of the molehill, almost big enough for a kitten. ‘You can have your pond now.’

   She explained quickly about meeting Max Mole in the flowerbed, and his need for rose petals - though she left out any mention of primulas, because some things are often best left unsaid. ‘He told me he was a champion tunneller, and I said we'd pay him. He's been ever so quick.’ She eyed her father nervously. She had made a promise, and given her word. But gardeners can be funny when it comes to picking flowers.

   Joshua Tibbles kissed her. ‘He can have all the rose petals he wants.’ He began pacing out the shape of a pond, talking half to himself, half to Ruth and the kittens. ‘Maybe we can have a little fountain in the middle.’

   Pandora tugged at his fur. ‘What about the rose petals, dad?’

   Joshua Tibbles stopped pacing. ‘Quite right, kitten. We must pick rose petals first.’

   So both Tibbles parents and all ten Tibbles kittens picked rose petals, until they had filled several big baskets, and then they took them to the molehill in the flower bed, though Joshua swallowed rather hard when he saw what Max Mole had done to his primulas.

   Max Mole was touched. He came to the surface, and made a little speech, saying he had never met such nice cats in the whole of his natural life, and the kittens all cheered. But Mrs. Mole was a little less pleased, because she had to live on nothing but rose petals for quite a while after that, and though she lost a lot of weight, she swore to herself that she would never, ever touch a rose petal again.