The Wondering Wanderings of Marmaduke Mogg

By Duncan Wherrett

Twenty fascinating and original stories about cats. Exciting adventure fairy tales suitable of children and adults. Cat stories to shock and amaze.
Learn the true story of how America was discovered with the Norwegian Forest cat.
How the White Odd-Eyed Persian saved the king and the princess.
The ancient magic of Cornwall with the Cornish Rex.
Run free with the wild Ocelot.
The adventures of the Manx cat and the Spanish Armada.
What connects the Abyssinian cat with the Fire of London?
Can the Silver Tabby ever been freed from a wicked spell after 14 centuries?
The unexpected havoc caused by the Foreign Red cat in Roman times.
The fun and games with Polly Puss and Percy Penguin.
There is love, hate, revenge, intrigue, courage, deception, guile, death & destruction, fun & games, joy, dreams, sadness, loyalty and eternity - and much more . . . . .

• Language: English
• Publisher: Duncan Wherrett
• Release date: Feb 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311233462

Book preview

The Wondering Wanderings

of Marmaduke Mogg

by

Catherine Day and Duncan Wherrett

Copyright 2014 Catherine Day, Duncan Wherrett.

All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 9781311233462.

Smashwords Edition

Welcome

My name is Marmaduke Mogg and I come from Mogadishu, in Somalia.

I'd like to introduce you to the amazing adventures of some of my cat friends around the world. These incredible adventures will, quite frankly, amaze you. Some of the tales come with photographs, too.

Here you can join the strange travels of my cousin the Abyssinian, follow the adventures of a king and a princess, run with a wild Ocelot and learn the true story of how America was discovered.

You can read about adventures with the Spanish Armada, experience special magic in ancient Cornwall, and much more.

Happy readings,

Marmaduke

The Stories

Unexpected Company

The story of the Ragdoll cat

C.D.

Burnt Loaves

The story of the Abyssinian cat

C.D

Ballet in Three Acts

The story of the Birman cat

C.D.

A Fireside Conference

The story of the five pet cats

C.D.

Faster, Faster

The story of the Ocelot cat

D.W.

The Choosing of Rannveig

The story of the Norwegian Forest cat

C.D.

The White Marble Cat

The story of the White Odd-eyed Persian cat

C.D.

Cornish Magic

The story of the Cornish Rex cat

C.D.

Chips with Everything

The story of the Cream Tabby American Shorthair cat

C.D.

For King and Country

The story of the Manx cat

C.D.

Hi there, KC !

The story of the Exotic Shorthair cat

D.W.

The Cat on the Moor

The story of the Silver Tabby Shorthair cat

C.D.

The Forest Pool

The story of the Black British Short-hair cat

C.D.

Genius Loci

The story of the Foreign Red cat

C.D.

A Leap in the Dark

The story of the Maine Coon cat

C.D.

The Perils of Flying

The story of the Golden Persian cat

C.D.

The Fish, the Frog, the Cat & the Boastful Duck

The story of the Turkish Van cat

C.D.

Towards a Summer's Evening

With the Tortoiseshell and White, British Shorthair cat

D.W.

Polly Puss and Percy Penguin

With the Ginger Pet cat

D.W.

Reflected Gold

The story of the Russian Blue cat

C.D.

The Eternal Eye

The story of the Egyptian Mau cat

D.W.

Unexpected Company

The story of the Ragdoll cat

Emily! shouted Agnes, pushing down her starched apron as it flapped in the wind. Emily! Tea-time! she called again encouragingly, and then added to herself, Oh, bother the child! She clamped the hand that was not holding down her apron to her housemaid's cap, then crossed the terrace and set off across the stepping stones in the damp lawn.

Oh, bother tea! said Emily who, expecting the summons at any moment, had heard them before anyone else would have done. She bent her head close to the grey kitten in her lap. Why are grown-ups always eating? she asked.

Don't ask me. It's the same in my house, said the boy opposite her. They were both sitting on the pile of old boxes and he, too, was holding a kitten – a beautifully-fluffy ginger one that was trying to eat his jacket button. It's as if grown-ups never have anything better to do than eat. I can never understand why we can't eat when we're hungry instead of having to stop doing things just because it's Tea-time, or Luncheon, or whatever, he agreed.

Emily! The shout was nearer and unmistakeable.

Why don't you pretend not to hear? suggested George.

Oh, Agnes is bound to know where I am. Anyway, she knows all about your kittens.

Emily, if you're in that potting shed again, come out at once. Mrs. Radford is visiting and your mother wants you to say hello to her after tea.

I'll have to go, said Emily, specially if I've got to put on a posh frock as well as having tea. She gave the kitten carefully back to its mother, who was industriously licking the fur of her two other offspring. Can I come again tomorrow?

'Course, replied George decisively, then asked, Are you going to ask your mother again if you can have one?

Emily turned on the threshold and took a longing look back at the grey kitten. There's not much point. I know she won't let me. I could ask for a million years and she'd still say no. 'Bye. Till tomorrow. She ran between the currant bushes to the bottom of George's garden, climbed a heap of logs onto the garden wall and dropped down onto the conveniently-positioned old step-ladder on the other side. Then she ran between the apple trees and emerged onto the lawn. I'm here, she shouted.

Hurry up, then, miss. I suppose you've been mooning over them there cats again. Agnes turned towards the house and Emily had to carry on running to keep up with the flapping white cap ribbons. Have they started lapping yet? Agnes asked, betraying her private wish that she could play with them, too.

The ginger one has, but not the others yet, Emily replied, happy to supply all the details. I do wish Mama wouldn't be so mean.

Now, it's no good going on about it. A cat's got claws and a kitten's likes playing an' climbing an' scratching the furniture an' your mother's house is for humans not animals, said Agnes reciting the all-too-familiar list of objections. Emily sighed and went indoors to the tedious task of best dresses and being nice to Mrs. Radford.

Unfortunately, it rained heavily after tea, so there was no chance of a last visit to George's house to see the kittens before it got dark. Instead, Emily went up to her bedroom and tried to decide what to do until bedtime. She took some of her favourite story books off the shelf, propped a big cushion against the shiny brass bedstead and sat cross-legged on the white counterpane amongst her collection of rag dolls in pretty, colourful dresses who always lived at the foot of the bed. She turned a few pages, but decided that she was not in the mood for stories. She looked about the room for better inspiration. In the corner was a big wooden chest with games in boxes and next to it her dolls' house, the rooms half-decorated with wall-paper she was painting herself. A skipping rope dangled over the back of a rocking chair, while its seat was occupied in state by her three best china dolls. All these were nice and all were favourite things in their own way, but, well, none of them was alive. Oh, if only Mama would let me have a real live kitten, she thought. I could talk to it and play with it, and it would love me and play with me. It's not fair. George's family seems to like cats. P'raps I'll ask Mama again if we could have a cat and let it live in the scullery. No. It's no good. She's only say that it would sneak into the house and jump on all the furniture. I'm sure I could teach it not to. And anyway, cats are only kittens for a while. Emily sat day-dreaming and planning how she might persuade her mother to give in.

Agnes came to announce bedtime. When she was ready and just about to climb under the eiderdown, Emily caught sight of the knitted black cat that Agnes had made her sitting on the mantlepiece with his white pipe-cleaner whiskers and red ribbon round his neck. She fetched him.

I'll make you another one with grey fluffy wool, said Agnes, guessing what Emily was thinking.

Oh, thank you. But I wish I could have a real twin brother for him!

I think you'll have to make do with sharing George's. But that's better than nothing, isn't it? she replied as she turned down the lamp and went towards the door. Good night. Sweet dreams. She went out.

Emily lay with the black cat in the crook of her arm and stared out of the window. She preferred the curtains to remain open so that her felt owl and various other of his companions sitting on the window-seat could watch what was going on in the nighttime garden. The clouds had passed, leaving the sky to the stars and a bright three-quarters moon. Suddenly, a spark streaked across the darkness. Ooh! A shooting star! she said aloud to her knitted cat. Quick, I must make a wish! I wish... I wish I could have a real cat to look after, she said, then squeezed her eyes tight shut for extra luck.

I'm real. What about me? said a strange voice.

Emily opened her eyes very wide to help her think more clearly. Had she really heard a voice? She pushed herself up with her elbows behind her and asked of the moonlit room in general, Who's real?

I am, of course, said the voice a little sharply. Then she noticed a rather large cat lying on its stomach amongst her toy animals on the window seat. He looked black because she could only see him in outline against the brightness of the panes.

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you at first.

Well, perhaps I'm better move to another place, the shape said and promptly disappeared.

No, don't go away, said Emily quickly.

I'm not going away. The voice had moved to the top of the bookshelves, to be followed shortly by the appearance there of the cat himself.

That's better. Now I can see you.

Now that the light fell on his face, she was able to see that the creature could not really be cross with her because it was grinning all over its face.

It was a large grin matching its large ginger body. She sat up properly. Who are you? Did you come because you heard my wish?

I'm always coming and going, so when I heard your wish I just thought I'd pop up here for a chat, he began explaining.

Oh! I know who you are! she interrupted excitedly. You're the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. You must be because I've never seen such a large cat, nor one with such a large grin. In fact, I've never seen a real cat who grins at all before. You are real, aren't you? she asked again, suddenly remembering that she was in her own bedroom and not inside a story. The Cheshire Cat, meanwhile, had caught sight of himself in the mirror on the other side of the room and was making funny faces in it to see how far his grin would stretch. Emily was remembering what happened in Alice's story and was therefore not surprised when his body started to disappear. Don't go! Talk to me properly, she pleaded.

I'm not going, just disappearing, the Cat replied with his own logic and vanished entirely.

Oh dear. It's very difficult to talk if I don't know where you are.

It's all right,. I can hear you from anywhere. This time his fuzzy outline appeared on the mantlepiece. Luckily, it was one of those very wide old-fashioned mantlepieces that could accommodate such a thing as a cat of generous proportions.

You still haven't told me how real you are.

Well, I suppose that depends on whether you mean when you can see me or when you can't. But, of course, from my point of view I'm always real as far as I'm concerned.

Emily tried to sort out this new piece of logic, then decided to look at the problem from a different angle. If you're from Alice in Wonderland, you must belong to Alice. I'm glad you've come to visit me, but it you're Alice's, you couldn't really belong to me, could you? I was really wishing for a cat who would be mine all the time. Oh dear, she said again as he stared to fade. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that I wouldn't like to take you away from Alice, and I'm sure you've got lots to do in Wonderland.

The Cheshire Cat suddenly did a quick-as-lightning disappearing and reappearing trick to change his position and ended up balancing on the top rail of her bedstead. Yes, you're right. I am kept pretty busy there and I do quite a lot of turns to entertain everyone at the Mad Hatter's frequent tea parties. However, perhaps when I get a spare moment I can recommend someone else to come and keep you company.

I didn't know there were any other cats in Wonderland.

No, I was actually thinking of another acquaintance from Storyland. Well, must dash. He vanished instantly.

Don't go so quickly. Tell me who you're thinking of. Or at least, Emily complained, give me time to say good-bye. He half came back onto the mantlepiece and said,

Good-bye, then.

Good-bye. Thank you for coming, said Emily and watched as he disappeared in the manner made so famous by Alice's story – in other words, gradually, finishing with his grin.

Emily was delighted with his visit, but couldn't help thinking as she snuggled down under the blankets, It was nice of him to come, but he wouldn't do at all instead of a cat of my very own, He'd drive me mad with all that coming and going. He'd never be there when I wanted to talk to him. She soon fell asleep.

The next night, she was hardly surprised to be woken by a curious, rather eerie sort of singing. At least, the sound of the singing was surprising, but the fact that something magical seemed about to happen was not. She got up, gently opened the window and looked out. There, close by on the sturdy branch of a tree was a cat gazing adoringly with its big, golden eyes at an owl. He was dressed in the most beautifully-marked brown and beige feathers and had his eyes closed, an expression of great happiness on his face as he sang to the cat. Emily climbed onto the window-seat, drew up her legs and listened with her chin on her knees. Eventually, the cat noticed her. Good evening, she (for the Cat was a she) said politely. We heard you wanted a cat for a friend, so we thought we'd come along and keep you company. This is Owl, she added, pointing rather needlessly to the singer.

Good evening, said Emily. She hesitated, unsure whether to interrupt further, but the Cat looked friendly, so she went on, I suppose the Cheshire Cat told you about me. It's very kind of you to come and talk to me. You must be the Pussy Cat and the Owl who got married. Did you really go for your honeymoon in a pea-green boat?

Oh, yes. In fact, we often go for a sail in it. Owl, dear, stop singing for a moment while we talk to Emily.

Yes, my love, answered the Owl and gave a little start as he opened his eyes and realised that Emily was there. Hello. Excuse me singing, but I'm so happy I can't help it.

Oh, please don't apologise. Emily sighed secretly, deep down inside herself. These two creatures obviously belonged very much to each other and had a very special friendship. This Cat would never be my special friend, she thought, because she loves the Owl so much. Still, it's nice of them to spare some thoughts for me.

Would you like to come for a sail with us one day to see the Land of the Bong-trees? asked the Owl.

Oooh... I don't know. Well, yes, I would, she answered, But, well... In fact I'm not sure, because people would notice I wasn't here if I went away on a long journey. Thank you for asking, though. But I'd still be very pleased if you could come and visit me here from time to time.

Of course we shall, said the Owl.

Owl, dear, don't forget the message we had to give Emily, said the Cat.

Dear me, I nearly forgot, replied the Owl, who had started to hum again. The Country Cat says to tell you that, as he'll be passing this way, he'll call in to say hello, too. I think he said he'd be coming tonight.

Who's the Country Cat? asked Emily, intrigued by the prospect of more storybook company.

He's the cat who travels up to London a great deal. The answer did not clarify things much, but Emily, the Owl and the Cat continued chatting for an hour or so, the visitors going into enthusiastic descriptions of their favourite holiday destination in Bong-tree Land.

The moon rose higher and still Emily sat on the window-seat, enchanted by her new friends. Suddenly, a voice called up from the flowerbed, Hello! Is there room for another body up there? and a moment later a very smart tabby cat appeared on the branch. He wore long buff-coloured boots and doffed a flamboyantly-feathered velvet hat as he bowed elegantly and said, The Marquis of Carabas's Chief Steward at your service, ma'am. Honoured to see a couple of old friends, too, he added turning to the Owl and the Cat.

Hello Boots, replied the Owl in a familiar way.

Good evening, said Emily in her Sunday-best voice, feeling rather impressed by the new arrival's grand air. I hope you had a good journey. She wasn't at all sure that this was the Country Cat she had been expecting, but couldn't think of a polite way of asking.

Oh, indeed yes. Lord and Lady Upton were delighted to accept the invitation I took them to the Marquis's garden party. Then I had a most successful meeting with the Imperial Ambassador to arrange for the Marquis and the Princess to visit his country.

Name dropping again, Boots! interrupted the Owl. You don't have to impress us with all this talk of lords and ladies.

I am merely, said the smart cat, replying to the young lady's question.

I wonder why the Owl calls him Boots? thought Emily. It's a bit unceremonious for someone who lives with lords and ladies.

Then suddenly she realised who the newcomer was and couldn't help exclaiming, You must be Puss-in-Boots!

The one and only, he replied, turning towards her and flourishing his hat again in a deep bow.

Emily quickly scrambled to her feet and curtsied, as she remembered that this was what her story books said ladies should do when meeting grand or important people. Puss-in-Boots bowed again and Emily felt very flattered – it made her feel important, too.

Well, this is rather fun. Is anyone else coming to join us? he asked.

In fact, said the Owl, we were expecting the Country Cat when you turned up.

Oh, jolly good show! It'll be fun to catch up on what he's been up to lately. Bet he hasn't been to as many social events as I have, though.

Emily thought that Puss-in-Boots had indeed gone up a long way in the world since being the mere household cat of a penniless miller's son. Not only had he gained wealth and titles like his young master, the present Marquis, but he had also even learned to speak like a cat born to a superior position in society. They chatted on and Emily listened in fascination as Puss-in-Boots told her every detail of how he had thought up all the plans to make his master rich and how he had taken all sorts of gifts to the King in person and so gained the royal favour. Of course, it wasn't only the gifts, you understand. The King really came to like me as a cat and he treats me as a friend now.

The talk continued and the Owl sang a few more songs. He was just in the middle of one about sailing on the ocean when the Country Cat arrived. He was a small, fit-looking black cat with big, green eyes.

Had a busy day? asked Puss-in-Boots when the greetings and introductions were over.

"Oh, fairly average. I went to visit the Lord Chancellor and hunted in his wine cellar for a while, then I went up to the Palace to see the Queen. I did a spot of hunting for her, too, as usual and chased a mouse right under Her Majesty's throne. She didn't mind, you know, because she trusts me. She knows I do a good job with mice and wouldn't let one escape to cause chaos at her privy counsel meetings.

Not quite the same as the mouse I demolished, old bean, said Puss-in-Boots. After all, mine might have turned back into an ogre at any second and eaten me. But I was too quick for him. He gave one front paw a self-satisfied lick.

That's as may be, but it's not every cat who's allowed to chase mice right up to the throne of the Queen herself during official meetings, said the Country