The Further Adventures of Miss Petitfour by Anne Michaels

Author:Anne Michaels [Michaels, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tundra
Published: 2022-08-30T00:00:00+00:00

From the direction of the village, faintly through the warm summer air, came the distant squawks, peeps, crashes and rumbles of the marching band tuning up. Miss Petitfour held out her lovely hand and Mr. Coneybeare held it in both of his and, paw to tail, Minky, Misty, Taffy, Purrsia, Pirate, Mustard, Moutarde, Hemdela, Earring, Grigorovitch, Clasby, Captain Captain, Captain Catkin, Captain Clothespin, Your Shyness and Sizzles, shouldering their bulky Confedible-filled backpacks, waited one tiny moment and, as soon as they heard the marching band begin, with its first blast of the tuba, Miss Petitfour caught the breeze. Off they flew to the parade!

Oh, it was a delicious day for a flight! Gentle little gusts tossed the air about so it was not too hot in the sunshine. Miss Petitfour and the cats and Mr. Coneybeare each delighted in the summery scent of lilacs and the shine of little glints of light on the water of backyard wading pools below, and soon they were within range of the full raucous, that is to say, loud, sound of the marching band. They could see the gleaming brass buttons of the band’s uniforms and the tall stiff hats with pom-poms jiggling on top and the sleek black straps under bandmembers’ chins. Miss Petitfour elegantly adjusted the tablecloth to the breeze and, not making a sound (although it was exceedingly unlikely anything could be heard above the enthusiastic performance of the marching band) they breathlessly hovered high above the green. Miss Petitfour and the cats waited with attentive anticipation for Mr. Coneybeare’s signal, and at the nod of his head and his rallying cry—Confetti-ho!—they all, at the very same moment, tugged their strings.

The blizzard was let loose! Out showered Confedible, which swirled down in a flurry. But, just at that very moment, the gentle summer gusts became a little more energetic and then suddenly, exceedingly frisky (undoubtedly quite a high number on the Beaufort scale). In fact, a sudden squall arose that turned the delicate descent of dainty Confedible into a raging whiteout. As the first Confedible reached the ground, all the villagers looked up in surprise at the same time, and the entire marching band smashed into itself. No one could see a thing: the drummers bashed into the trombones, the baton twirlers crashed into the cornets, the tubas toppled into the piccolos! The floats were flummoxed, and Mr. Patel’s twenty-layer cake was now on the heads of half the seventh graders, whose books had gone flying into the crowd. Confedible calamity! Marching band mayhem! Parade Day pandemonium! Which is to say, all SYNONYMS aside, the parade was in a mess.

Far above, Miss Petitfour and the cats and Mr. Coneybeare all looked at each other in consternation. The High Street and the green were swarming, everyone was rushing to and fro; it was like watching a cupful of marbles capsize, rolling in every direction. Confedible flew about everyone’s heads and, whenever the air seemed to clear, great gusts blew the Confedible back again.

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