Ginger the Gangster Cat by Frank Kusy

Author:Frank Kusy [Kusy, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PublishDrive
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

The Road to Barcelona

A long hour later, Joe’s battered old Transit rolled into Heathrow and came to rest in one of its labyrinthine multi-storey car parks.

As he reached forward to switch off the ignition, the last part of Ginger’s cunning plan came into play and he spat a large fur-ball – one he had carefully prepared earlier – down Joe’s neck. The sound of it being regurgitated was conveniently obscured by the last few revs of the dying engine.

‘Uurrrr!’ cried Joe, leaping out of the van and tearing off his shirt. ‘What the heck was that?’

And in the confusion that followed, both cats made their getaway without being noticed.

‘Well, that was the hard part,’ said a satisfied Ginger. ‘The next bit’s easy-peasy!’

‘Really?’ said Sparky, gazing at the maze of twisting car-park concrete surrounding him. ‘Where are we?’

‘We’re in Terminal One – I clocked it on the way in – and Terminal One is where my mate Lee stops before he goes off to Spain.’

‘You’ve got a mate?’ said Sparky, quietly impressed. ‘And he’s going to be here?’

‘Well, he’s not really a mate – just an ooman wot talks a lot and gives me a free ride because I don’t talk back. And I know he’s gonna be here because it’s a Sunday, and he always comes on a Sunday. He “knows” someone, he says, and he picks up a few bottles of duty-free rum for his old dad in Portsmouth. His dad is very partial to the rum!’

Sparky’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. They hadn’t got to Barcelona yet and Ginger was already speaking in foreign tongues.

‘Duty free? Rum? Portsmouth? You’re frightening me. I want my humans back!’

‘You’ll see them soon enough,’ said Ginger consolingly. ‘But we got a deal, you and me, and I’d hate to see you break your word. Look, you’re a good little pussy, you are, and I need you bad for this trip. I’m not just bringin’ back a sombrero of grub this time. I’m going for the Full Monty – a whole truck-load of the stuff!’’

‘What is it with you and Spanish food?’ sighed Sparky despairingly. ‘You can get it right here in Surrey.’

‘I is a gour-met cat,’ said Ginger with a stubborn pout. ‘And I don’t want no imported rubbish. I want the real fing and I want it fresh off the table!’

‘If you say so. But what are all these strange words you’re using? What’s “rum”, for instance – and why do humans like it so much?’

Ginger gave a hollow laugh.

‘Rum is like catnip to oomans. Well, some of them anyways. My old lady, the one wot adopted me, liked her rum. She drank it like water, and then she started singin’ to herself and dancing around the carpet. After that, she just fell over. Sometimes on the sofa, sometimes on the floor, but she never made it to her bed. Poor ol’ fing. Rum was her only friend.’

Sparky’s mind fled nervously to his kitchen back home. Was there any rum there? No, but he had seen ol’ Joe pass out on the futon a lot lately.

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