Atticus Claw Goes Ashore Read online

  As you probably guessed from the picture, Atticus closely resembles me! I mean me, Henry the cat, not me, Jennifer Gray, the author. I’m thrilled to have so many fans and wanted to let you know that my, I mean, Atticus’s new adventure is even funnier and more exciting than the last one. Thanks Jennifer for turning me into an action-cat hero! And thanks, you guys, for reading.

  Henry (and Jennifer)

  Praise for Atticus

  ‘Atticus is the coolest cat in the world. This is the coolest book in the world.’

  Lexi, age 7

  ‘Atticus Claw is fantastic because it has interesting creatures and characters. I especially like Atticus.’

  Charlotte, age 8

  ‘I think that this book is the best book I’ve ever read because it’s so funny!’

  Yasmin, age 10

  ‘Fun and exciting, Atticus Grammaticus Cattypuss Claw is the most cutest. Once I opened it I just couldn’t put it down.’

  Saamia, age 9

  ‘It’s mysterious – it makes you want to read on.’

  Evie, age 7

  ‘I would recommend it to a friend.’

  Mollie, age 10

  ‘Once you start to read it you can’t stop!’

  Molly, age 8

  To Archie

  With special thanks to Susan, Hamish and Henry

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  Copyright

  Atticus Grammaticus Cattypuss Claw, once the world’s greatest cat burglar and now a police cat sergeant, was on beach-tidying duty at Littleton-on-Sea with the kittens from the local cats’ home. The cats’ home was where Atticus had done his first bit of community police-catting. His job was to teach the kittens how to stay out of trouble and do good things instead. It had taken them a while to get the hang of it but Atticus was pleased to see that all his hard work had paid off. Most of the kittens were meowing enthusiastically. They were keen to get started.

  It was early morning. Atticus squinted at the sky. It was going to be a beautiful day. The sun was beginning to shine through the mist and the calm sea was turning from a flat grey to a sparkling blue. The beach would be busy later and Atticus wanted to help make sure everyone had a great day out by keeping the sand rubbish-free.

  Atticus enjoyed his work as a community police cat. It beat cat burgling any day, even if it meant litter picking. Cat burgling was lonely work. When Atticus did it, he’d never had a proper home. He had to go from one job to another and adopt a new temporary human each time and pretend to himself that he didn’t really mind when he did. True, he got paid in sardines and travelled to lots of exotic places like Monte Carlo, but it didn’t really make up for the fact he didn’t have a family.

  Luckily for Atticus everything changed when he came to Littleton-on-Sea to do some burgling for Jimmy Magpie and his gang of thieving birds. That was when Atticus met the Cheddars and decided to stop being a cat burglar and start being a police cat instead. Now he lived with Callie and Michael and their parents, Inspector Cheddar and Mrs Cheddar. And he didn’t just have a family. He had loads of friends as well. His best friends were Mr and Mrs Tucker who lived at Toffly Hall and Mimi, the pretty Burmese. Mimi was the most sensible cat Atticus had ever met as well as the prettiest. He was looking forward to meeting her by the beach huts later and going for a stroll.

  ‘You start that end,’ he told one group of kittens. ‘The rest of you come with me.’ Atticus straightened the red handkerchief he wore round his neck, gave his police-cat badge a quick rub and set off briskly towards the pier, the kittens trotting behind him.

  It seemed strange going back to the pier. The pier was the first place Atticus visited when he arrived in Littleton-on-Sea almost exactly a year ago. It was where the magpies had their nest. It was where they hid the stolen jewellery before Atticus told them to take it back.

  The tide was out just like it had been on that first day. Atticus picked his way between the clumps of seaweed. It was dark under the pier, and gloomy. He gazed up at the iron rafters. The sunshine came in stripes through the wooden planks. Yes, there it was, the magpies’ old nest – a messy heap of twisted twigs, just as he remembered. He wondered where Jimmy, Thug and Slasher were now.

  Atticus’s whiskers twitched. Last seen, the three magpies and their mates had been trying to escape from a plague of locusts in an Egyptian pyramid along with Atticus’s old enemy Ginger Biscuit – a horrible tomcat who had once chewed Atticus’s ear when he was a kitten. Unfortunately Biscuit and the magpies had got away. So had Biscuit’s evil owner, Zenia Klob, Russian mistress of disguise. She was believed to be in hiding, possibly dressed as a melon seller. No one knew if the villains were still in Egypt. There had been no sign of them for several months. Interpol were still on the look-out.

  ‘Recycling in the blue bag; rubbish in the black one,’ Atticus told the kittens briskly.

  One of them yawned. ‘This is boring!’ he said. ‘I want to have an adventure, like you. I want to catch a criminal.’

  The kitten’s name was Thomas. He was a tabby, like Atticus. He’d once got into trouble with Inspector Cheddar for stuffing a ball of wool up the exhaust pipe of Inspector Cheddar’s panda car, and ripping the seats. He reminded Atticus a lot of himself when he was a kitten.

  Atticus looked stern. ‘Thomas,’ he said. ‘I’ve told you – adventures are dangerous. Criminals are bad news. Beach tidying is much more fun.’ Even as he said it, Atticus realised he didn’t sound very convincing. Beach tidying might be better than being a cat burglar but it wasn’t much fun compared to having an adventure. Thomas was right.

  Thomas wandered off to one of the iron pillars to sulk. The other kittens collected a few ice-cream wrappers and an old bucket and threw them into the rubbish.

  Atticus glanced round. ‘Thomas, can you grab that?’ he called. A squashed blue and white parcel rested against the base of the pillar. ‘Look. Just there.’

  Thomas slouched towards it. ‘Ergh!’ He prodded the parcel with one claw. ‘I’m not picking that up.’

  Atticus marched over to take a look. He grimaced: the squidgy parcel was an old nappy.

  ‘You do it,’ Thomas said cheekily. ‘You’re the police cat.’

  Atticus glared at him. Cats are very clean animals and Atticus was no exception. The thought of touching a nappy with one of his lovely white paws or, even worse, picking it up with his shiny white teeth made Atticus’s stomach squirm. But he had to set an example. That was what community police-catting was all about. Inspector Cheddar had made that very clear. And Inspector Cheddar sometimes got cross with Atticus if he didn’t do as he was told.

  ‘Okay,’ Atticus snapped. ‘Susan and Hamish, hold the black bag open.’

  Two other kittens came forward and held the bag.

  Atticus took up a position the other side of the nappy, facing away from it. ‘Ready?’ he called.

  ‘Yes!’ the kittens replied.

  ‘Aim!’ Atticus planted his two front paws firmly and braced himself. He wriggled his back paws into the sand under the nappy, being careful not to touch it. ‘Fire!’ He kicked backwards with his powerful hind legs. The nappy flew up into
the air and landed in the black bin bag. He turned to Thomas. ‘If you want to have adventures you need to be able to deal with a dirty nappy,’ he observed.

  Thomas looked surly.

  ‘Right, I think we’re all done here.’

  ‘Wait!’ it was Thomas again. ‘There’s something else.’ He pointed to the spot where Atticus’s hind legs had flicked the sand.

  Something glinted in one of the stripes of sunlight. For a moment Atticus thought it might be one of the jewels he had stolen for the magpies, which had fallen out of the nest. But then he reminded himself that all the jewels – every single one of them – had been returned to their owners when the magpies were arrested. It must just be another bit of rubbish.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Thomas said eagerly. He didn’t look surly any more.

  ‘Okay.’ Atticus was pleased. Thomas seemed to have learnt a lesson.

  ‘Maybe it’s treasure!’ Thomas scampered towards it.

  Or perhaps he hadn’t. Atticus sighed. He didn’t want to disappoint Thomas but sooner or later the kitten would have to learn that adventures didn’t come along just because you wanted them to.

  Thomas dug around the shiny object and pulled it out with his paws. ‘It’s just an old bottle,’ he said in disgust, throwing it down again.

  This time Atticus didn’t tell Thomas off. He felt sorry for him. ‘Green bag, please.’ Atticus picked up the bottle carefully with his paws ready to put it into the recycling. It was then he noticed there was something inside it.

  Atticus squinted at the bottle. It was dark green with a rubber stopper. On the side was a remnant of a label, which read:

  Thump … Trad …

  Beard …

  D …

  Thumpers’ Traditional Beard Dye! Atticus stared at it in surprise. Mr Tucker used Thumpers’ Traditional Beard Dye to dye his beard-jumper! Maybe the bottle had once belonged to him?

  Mr Tucker was a fisherman. He was very proud of his beard-jumper. His beard had got mixed up with his jumper (or the other way around) when he was a baby and he’d been growing it ever since. That was until it got mangled in a nasty incident with Ginger Biscuit and the magpies. Fortunately, after a lot of failed experiments, Mr Tucker had invented a special beard-jumper potion, which made it grow back bushier and woollier than ever. In fact, it was so bushy and woolly that Mr Tucker had been nominated to host this year’s World Beard-Jumper Competition. It was due to take place at Toffly Hall the next day. Mrs Cheddar was in charge of the organisation.

  ‘Can I uncork it?’ Thomas asked. He held out a paw. ‘Please?’

  ‘Okay but be careful you don’t get anything on your fur,’ Atticus said with feeling. Mr Tucker had once dyed Atticus white with Thumpers’ Traditional to fool the magpies. The memory of it was still painful. He watched as Thomas pulled the rubber stopper from the bottle with his teeth.

  ‘There’s a bit of paper inside.’ Thomas held the bottle out to Atticus. ‘Maybe it’s a message?’

  Atticus doubted it. But, like Thomas, the bottle and its mysterious contents had made him curious. This was how adventures started. Perhaps wishing for them did make them happen after all! Atticus pinged out a claw, reached into the bottle, hooked the scrap of paper and pulled it out carefully.

  The paper was thick and yellow, like something from an old storybook. The edges were rough, as if it had been torn from a bigger piece. Atticus unrolled it and smoothed it on a rock so that everyone could see.

  The kittens crowded round.

  ‘I told you!’ Thomas cried.

  Atticus squinted at the paper. It was a message! Thomas was right. Someone had scrawled across it with a blunt pencil in bold capitals.

  ‘What does it say?’ The kittens mewed. Not all of them could read yet.

  Atticus read it out loud.

  ‘I knew it!’ Thomas shouted.

  Atticus felt his heart beating fast. It definitely felt like the start of an adventure, but the message posed more questions than it answered. Where was the island? What was in the casket? Who was Fishhook Frank? And what was that strange picture of the skull and two bones in the corner? Atticus felt he’d seen it before, although he couldn’t remember where. It certainly seemed familiar. He examined it carefully. The skull’s empty eyes looked straight back at him. He shivered and turned the message over. On the back was a map of an island in the middle of a sea with squiggly lines and numbers scribbled all over it.

  ‘Well?’ said Thomas. ‘What shall we do now?’

  Atticus looked up. All the kittens were staring at him expectantly.

  ‘Let’s go and show it to Mr Tucker,’ Atticus suggested. ‘He’s a sailor. He’s bound to know what it means.’

  Atticus collected the other group of kittens and they headed off to get the bus to Toffly Hall.

  At Toffly Hall Mrs Cheddar was hanging up the banner for the World Beard-Jumper Competition with Mrs Tucker when Atticus stepped off the bus with the kittens. Each woman was perched on a tall stepladder at one of the gateposts.

  ‘Left a bit!’ Mrs Cheddar said. She looked down. ‘Oh, hello, Atticus! You’re just in time.’

  Just in time for what? Atticus hoped Mrs Cheddar wouldn’t ask him to help hang the banner. He couldn’t stand heights. Besides, the preparations for the beard-jumper competition would have to wait. Atticus had a feeling the message in the bottle was much more important. Mimi called it instinct: that funny feeling you got when you just knew something without being told. He started meowing loudly.

  ‘Not now, Atticus,’ Mrs Tucker said crossly. ‘Can’t you see I don’t have any sardines on me at the moment?’

  Atticus’s chewed ear drooped. The problem with humans was that they expected cats to understand English but they never made any effort to understand Cat. They always assumed when he started meowing that he wanted food when very often he was trying to tell them something completely different. (Actually, at that particular moment he wouldn’t have said no to food, but that wasn’t the point.)

  ‘Go and find the children, Atticus,’ Mrs Cheddar said kindly. ‘They’re up at the hall with Mr Tucker, sorting out the prizes for the fancy dress. I’m sure they’ll have a snack for you. Then they’ll find you something to do.’

  The children! That was a good idea. Atticus hurried up the drive. The bottle, which was tied in the flap of his red handkerchief, clunked against his neck. The kittens chased after him, playing around his legs.

  ‘Atticus!’ Callie greeted him at the front door.

  The kittens tumbled into the house and made straight for the sitting room to watch TV. All except Thomas, who remained with Atticus.

  ‘We were hoping you’d be back soon!’ Callie said, bending down to pick Atticus up. Atticus backed away. It wasn’t that he didn’t want a cuddle: it was more that he was worried the bottle might smash if it dropped on the floor. And he didn’t want to look babyish in front of Thomas when he was supposed to be police-catting.

  ‘Oh, I get it!’ Callie seemed to understand. She rubbed his ears instead. ‘Wait, what’s this?’ Her fingers felt the handkerchief.

  Atticus lifted his chin so that she could remove the bottle.

  ‘Michael!’ she called. ‘Come and look what Atticus has brought!’

  Atticus purred. At least Callie realised it was important. Children were clever, like cats.

  ‘A message in a bottle!’ Michael took the bottle from his sister carefully and examined it. ‘Where did you find it, Atticus? On the beach?’

  Atticus purred louder. Then he remembered that technically it was Thomas who found the bottle, not him. He nudged the kitten forward.

  ‘Thomas found it?’ Callie picked Thomas up. ‘Well done, Thomas!’

  Atticus’s good ear drooped. He wasn’t used to sharing Callie and Michael with other cats. He didn’t like it very much.

  ‘Let’s go and show Mr Tucker,’ Michael suggested.

  The children shot off across the hall with Thomas. Atticus scrambled after them, his paws slipp
ing on the polished floor.

  Mr Tucker was in the kitchen. He was standing on a stool leaning into a cupboard.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ Callie asked, putting Thomas down.

  Mr Tucker jumped in surprise. The stool wobbled dangerously.

  Atticus backed away. Mr Tucker had a wooden leg. Many years ago a giant lobster had clipped his real leg off when he was out on his boat. He could topple at any moment.

  Mr Tucker regained his balance. ‘I’s not looking for anything,’ he hissed. ‘I’s hidin’ me beard-jumper potion. In case any of those rascals comin’ to the competition try and get their hands on it.’ He closed the cupboard and clambered off the stool.

  ‘The other fishermen wouldn’t steal it,’ Michael said. ‘Would they?’

  ‘I’s not talkin’ about the other fishermen,’ Mr Tucker said darkly. ‘I’s talkin’ about the pirates.’

  ‘Pirates!’ Callie gasped.

  ‘Aye, pirates,’ Mr Tucker said tetchily. ‘Who else did youze think would be comin’ to a beard-jumper competition? Apart from fishermen.’

  Atticus was listening intently to the conversation. Pirates?! He wondered if Mrs Tucker knew.

  ‘Does Mrs Tucker know?’ Michael enquired.

  Mr Tucker went bright red. He didn’t say anything.

  ‘She doesn’t, does she?’ Callie persisted.

  ‘She doesn’t need to,’ Mr Tucker blustered. ‘That’s why we’s havin’ the prizes for the fancy dress, see? So when the pirates come Mrs Tucker doesn’t know they’s real pirates: she just thinks they’s in fancy dress!’

  ‘But …’ the children said together.

  ‘And don’t tell her!’ Mr Tucker said crossly. ‘Or she’ll cancel the whole thing.’

  Atticus felt his fur prickle. He knew about pirates. Michael and Callie sometimes read pirate stories to him at bedtime and he’d watched movies about them on TV when everyone was out. Atticus didn’t like the look of them. Pirates had swords and eye patches and bad teeth. They made people scrub decks and walk the plank. He didn’t feel very comfortable at the thought of them wandering round Toffly Hall pretending to be in fancy dress.