Eddy Stone and the Alien Cat Attack Read online

  When Eddy Stone meets an alien cat on a mission to destroy Earth, his rainy weekend suddenly takes off. Shooting into outer space with his annoying cousin Millie, can Eddy stop the crazy kitty?

  3-2-1: Counting down to an adventure that’s out of this world…

  “Wonderfully told adventures.”

  Stephen Fry

  “Charming, surreal and batty.”

  Lenny Henry

  Dedication

  About this Book

  1. Soggy

  2. Hungry

  3. Bobbly

  4. Crazy

  5. Crafty

  6. Dopey

  7. Henry

  8. Bossy

  9. Sticky

  10. Thursday

  11. Slimy

  12. Teddy

  13. Farty

  14. Earthy

  15. Thirsty

  16. Lovely

  17. Mummy

  18. Chunky

  19. Shiny

  20. Emergency

  21. Funny

  22. Choosy

  23. Beaky

  24. Arty

  25. Cheeky

  26. Cloudy

  27. Sorry

  28. Softy

  29. Fishy

  30. Icy

  31. Mousy

  32. Giggly

  33. Fluffy

  34. Rainy

  A Bit of the Universe

  A selection of the jokes that prevented the world from ending…

  Read more amazing Eddy Stone adventures

  About the Author

  Copyright

  “It did break.”

  Eddy Stone looked down at the upturned face of his cousin Millie. Wide eyes gazed back at him through a tangle of curls that tumbled past her dimpled cheeks and over the shoulders of her pink princess dress. She made a very sweet picture – apart from the twisted handlebars that she held in one hand, and the oily chain that dangled from the other.

  “What do you mean, it did break?” said Eddy. “How could it just break? It’s a bicycle.”

  “I did not break it.” She bit her bottom lip. “But what would happen if somebody did?”

  “Somebody,” said Eddy, “would be in a lot of trouble.”

  The bottom lip began to tremble.

  No, thought Eddy, not more crying. He had had quite enough of Millie’s crying – a noise that was as loud as a police siren and as sharp as a lemon. In fact, he had had quite enough of Millie.

  “So,” Eddy added quickly, “it’s a good job that you had nothing to do with it and aren’t in trouble at all.” He hoped that would be enough to stop the tears from coming.

  The lip stiffened. It was going to be okay.

  Or as okay as it could ever be with Millie around. Which was not very okay at all.

  This was the first Christmas holiday that Eddy had spent in the little seaside town of Tidemark Bay, in the cottage that his parents had bought during the summer. He had been looking forward to playing outside in the snow and relaxing inside with the TV and his video games. The weather had ruined the first part with a week of grey skies and every kind of rain you could imagine, from drifting drizzle to torrential drenchings – so much that even the local ducks had taken shelter. And as for relaxing – Millie had soon put paid to that.

  Eddy’s Aunt Maureen and Uncle Ken had brought Millie with them to stay for the holidays, and the grown-ups had all agreed that what a four-and-three-quarter-year-old bundle of mischief really needed was her sensible eleven-and-a-half-year-old cousin Eddy to keep an eye on her and set her a good example.

  Eddy had not agreed. Eddy had not even been asked.

  Tonight, the grown-ups had decided that the best way of getting ready for Christmas was to practise having a good time, and they’d gone out for the evening.

  “We’re only down the road in the pub,” said his dad. “You’ve got your phone if there’s any problem.”

  So here he was, stuck with Millie and the job of entertaining and restraining her. Less than half his age, less than half his height, and more than twice as much menace as he could handle.

  She was already losing interest in the bike. She dropped the chain onto the floor of the hall where they were standing, leaving an oily smudge on the carpet, then tossed the broken handlebars over her shoulder. They looped through the air and smacked into the ceiling light, cracking the glass shade, before clattering down onto the hall table and sending a stack of Christmas cards flying.

  Eddy tried to be patient with her. But Millie used up every scrap of patience he had, and then came back for more.

  “Let’s get these bits out of the way,” said Eddy with a sigh, as he stooped to pick up the bicycle chain. “And then I’d better find the rest of the bike. Can you remember where you left it?”

  “I know it was in your bedroom,” said Millie helpfully.

  “My bedroom?” said Eddy. “Why was it in my bedroom?”

  “It looked tired,” said Millie. “I thought it needed a rest. It was very hard work getting it up all your stairs.”

  Eddy set off to bring it back down. He noticed the long scratch on the wallpaper by the staircase.

  “It is not there any more,” said Millie. “Not after it fell out of the window.”

  “And how did it do that?” said Eddy, trying to sound calm.

  “I don’t know,” said Millie. “It’s just a big mystery.”

  “I see,” said Eddy, struggling to scrape up a last bit of patience. “So it must have landed in the front garden.”

  He grabbed a torch from the hall stand. He could do without this. It was a filthy night outside. A fierce wind was howling in off the sea, lashing the pouring rain against the windows, and rattling through the letter box. He slipped the latch on the front door. The wind tugged it from his grasp and slammed it open.

  “Why is wind?” asked Millie, perched on the stairs.

  “Not now,” said Eddy. He shielded his eyes with his hand and peered out into the murky evening.

  He could see his bike splayed out on the front lawn. One of the wheels was at a worrying angle, and the seat was stuck in the hole where the handlebars usually sat, but apart from that the damage didn’t look too bad.

  He pulled on a raincoat that was hanging by the front door and ran out into the garden. The wind saw its opportunity and with a sudden swirl blew water down his neck, up his sleeves, into his face, and over the sides of his shoes, soaking his socks in an instant.

  “I hate rain,” he said, getting a good mouthful of it in the process.

  He grabbed the bike and turned to haul it back towards the house.

  As he did so, he spotted something lying on the ground, halfway up the garden path. Something brown. Or brownish. It was hard to tell in the dark and wet. It looked like a soggy bit of cloth. Maybe one of the grown-ups had dropped a jumper or a scarf on their way out? It was soaked through, its surface matted together. He had better get it out of the rain.

  He bent down to pick it up.

  “Mew!” The sound was a hoarse whisper.

  It jerked wearily away from him with a squelch.

  “A cat!” said Eddy. It was only because of the mew that he knew what it was. There was nothing furry or purry about it. With its hair slicked down by the rain, its tail trailing limply and water dripping from its drooping whiskers, it looked sodden and shivery and very sorry for itself.

  “You can’t stay out here. Let’s get you inside – oh.”

  It was ahead of him, already staggering through the open doorway and into the light and warmth of the hallway.

  “What is it?” Millie’s voice piped up. “And is it allowed in here? It’s dripping puddles on the carpet.”r />
  “It’s okay. It’s just a cat. And it’s only a bit of water. That’s not the end of the world,” was Eddy’s reply.

  He was about to find out that every part of that reply was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  “I know you don’t like it,” said Eddy, “but we need to get you dry.”

  The cat squirmed beneath the towel that Eddy was using to rub it down.

  “I have always wanted to have a cat,” said Millie, bouncing up and down with excitement. “I will call him Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws and I will love him.”

  Eddy thought that being drenched in the rain was quite enough for a cat to suffer in one evening, without having to answer to such a ridiculous name as well. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to upset her. And it didn’t matter what she called this cat – it wouldn’t be around for long. There was no sign of a collar or a name tag to tell them where it was from, but it must have wandered away from one of the houses nearby. Cats didn’t just fall out of the sky. The weather was too horrible to do anything about it tonight, but in the morning he would set off to find the owner.

  The cat now known as Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws wriggled out from under the towel. His fur, which had dried to a bright ginger, was fluffed up. He stood stiff and staring, and not at all snuggly. And when Millie reached out a hand to stroke him, he batted her away with a paw. And then lost his balance.

  “Poor Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws,” said Millie. “Don’t be frightened.”

  “He needs to get used to us,” said Eddy.

  “I bet he will be friends with Horaceboris,” said Millie, stamping off upstairs. “Everybody likes Horaceboris.”

  Horaceboris was her favourite cuddly toy. It had been knitted by her mother – Eddy’s Aunt Maureen. Aunt Maureen knitted with a passion and a style that was all her own.

  “Only beginners follow patterns,” she would often say. “Real knitters develop them.” Eddy reckoned that Horaceboris had probably begun life as a pattern for a polar bear. Or a pelican. Or possibly a policeman.

  It was hard to tell once Aunt Maureen got going. However it had started, Horaceboris had developed into a lumpy creature of a smoky blue-grey colour, with a saggy bottom, a wide red mouth, boggling eyes and a shock of orange hair on the top of his head.

  Millie loved Horaceboris. But she was wrong when she said that everybody else liked it too. When she thrust her cuddly toy towards Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws, the cat immediately backed away through the open door of the living room.

  “Why did he do that?” said Millie.

  “He’s not settled in yet,” said Eddy. “Let’s go and sit quietly with him. We can watch TV.”

  The cat eyed them warily from the far corner of the room, looking about as relaxed as a choc ice on a radiator. Eddy reached for the TV remote and clicked the screen into life. An advert for a bottle of something to make men smell nicer at Christmas was just ending. The picture changed to a sleek grey cat prowling across a carpeted floor.

  “Cats aren’t just friends,” a voice sighed over soft slinky music. The cat rubbed against a woman’s legs. “They’re family,” the voice went on, “and your family deserves the best.” The woman peeled open a sachet and tumbled glistening meaty chunks into a white bowl.

  Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws walked unsteadily over to the television, reached up and patted the screen with a paw.

  “Mew!” The sound came out more like a cough.

  “He’s saying that he’s hungry,” said Millie. “He saw the advert and now he wants his dinner. Who’s a clever boy?”

  The cat patted the screen again.

  “I should have thought of that,” said Eddy. “Come on. I think there’s a slice of cold chicken in the fridge. He can have that.”

  They found a bowl in the kitchen cupboard, shredded the last of the chicken into it, and laid it down on the floor.

  “There you are, Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws,” said Millie. “Yum yum!”

  The cat walked slowly round the bowl, eyeing it cautiously. Then he turned and sat his ginger bottom down on top of the food, and wiggled it around.

  “Ewwwww!” said Millie. “What is he doing?”

  “It’s very odd,” said Eddy. “I’ve never seen a cat do that before.”

  Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws sat still for a moment, as if waiting for something to happen. Then he lifted his bottom out of the bowl, turned round and pushed his face down into the pieces of chicken. When he raised his head again he was chewing slowly and uncertainly, like a child testing out a new vegetable.

  A sudden blare of brass, beats and barking blasted into the kitchen from the living room.

  “Come on,” said Eddy. “Hero Hound is starting.” He and Millie hurried back and dived onto the sofa in front of the TV.

  HERO HOUND was the latest hit action adventure series, the weekly tales of a doggy detective who thwarted dastardly villains and their schemes to take over the world. Once he had been an ordinary dog, but a mysterious radioactive flea collar had given him a handy selection of superpowers – from superspeed running to superhard claws, superloud barking to superpowered paws. His true identity was a mystery to everyone because of the mask that he wore across his eyes, but the pawprint logo on his cape and his cap was famous everywhere. He also had a neat line in rescuing puppies from raging rivers, burning buildings and cupboards under stairs.

  And he wasn’t just a hit on television. Eddy’s mum and dad ran a business selling fancy-dress costumes for pets (well, nobody’s parents are perfect), and the Hero Hound mask, cape and cap set was their biggest success – even more popular than the Sherlock Holmes waistcoat, pipe and deerstalker combo, or the full Queen Victoria (also available in extra-small sizes for guinea pigs). Hundreds of assorted dogs, from dachshund to Great Dane, were going to wake up on Christmas morning to find that, thanks to their owners, they would have to spend the day dressed in a mask, cape and cap with the famous pawprint logo – or at least, as much of the day as it took to tear the costume off and bury it in the garden when no one was watching.

  Eddy and Millie sat silently as this week’s thrilling HERO HOUND adventure unfolded – featuring a particularly bad baddy with a secret underwater base, a giant pet lizard, and a plan to steal Belgium. They weren’t the only ones who were hooked. By the time they reached the first advert break, the cat had returned from the kitchen and was also staring at the screen.

  “Mew!” Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws said huskily as another cat-food commercial came on – this time starring a not-quite-as-famous-as-she-used-to-be television chef, who took a deep sniff of the meat and jelly and told the world that it smelled so good she was tempted to try it herself.

  “I bet,” said Eddy.

  “Mew!” the cat repeated, waving a paw towards the screen.

  “He wants more food,” said Millie.

  “He can’t still be hungry,” said Eddy. “Not after all that chicken.”

  “Mew!” the cat insisted.

  “He says he is,” said Millie.

  “Okay,” said Eddy. “Let’s see what else we can find in the kitchen.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Hero Hound had defeated the villain and saved Belgium – along with a pair of very cute spaniel puppies that the giant pet lizard had been keeping for lunch. Now the superdog was using his superpowerful tongue to lap up gallons of the special beef-flavoured ice cream that was made for him by his owner, kindly old Mr Henderson (whose amusing short-sightedness meant that he had no idea at all about his dog’s double life).

  In the same forty-five minutes there had been three more breaks for adverts, each with an ad for cat food. And with each cat-food advert, Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws had mewed and mewed for more dinner.

  As well as the chicken, he had eaten a tin of tuna, a slice of ham, the inside of a fish finger and a leftover sausage.

  And now that the programme was over, the advert with the sleek grey cat was on once more.

  “Mew!” said Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws. And burped.

 
“There’s something not right about that cat,” said Eddy.

  “Mew!”

  “Rubbish!” said Millie. “He is my lovely Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws and he is perfect. He must still be hungry.”

  “Hungry?” said Eddy. “Look at him – his tummy’s so full it’s scraping along the floor.”

  “I will get him something. I love you, Mr Furrytummysnugglepaws. Come on, follow me.”

  Millie headed for the kitchen. The cat staggered after her, his trailing tum marking a faint furrow in the carpet.

  Eddy heard the fridge door opening. And closing. Then a rattling as Millie searched the kitchen cupboard.

  “There is a tin of rice pudding,” she shouted. “Do cats like rice pudding?”

  “He’s had enough,” said Eddy. “Just leave him.”

  “I will find out,” Millie said, ignoring Eddy.

  A moment later she came back into the front room.

  “Your cat has been sick,” she said. “It’s all over the kitchen floor.”

  “I know what cats like for breakfast,” Eddy’s Uncle Ken said loudly to the other members of the family, who were gathered round the kitchen table. “Mice Crispies!” he chuckled.

  There was always laughter when Uncle Ken was talking. Usually it was Uncle Ken doing the laughing.

  “Or a nice big bowl of mew-sli,” said Eddy’s dad. It was like this every time the two of them got together. They never stopped trying to top each other’s terrible jokes.

  “There’s nothing left in the house that we can feed him,” said Eddy. “He had it all last night. Until he gave it all back.”

  “What’s brown and sticky?” said Uncle Ken.

  “Not while we are having breakfast,” said Aunt Maureen.

  “What’s wrong?” said Uncle Ken. “It’s a stick. Brown and sticky – a stick.”

  Millie laughed. “That’s funny,” she said. “Because I thought it was going to be something horrid like poo.”

  “Thank you,” said Aunt Maureen.

  “You’re welcome,” Millie answered her mum. “For what?”

  “I’m going out to see if I can find where the cat came from,” said Eddy.