There are times when a young kitten needs the kind of TLC that a monkey just can’t provide.

  Here we see Xena offering some big sisterly advice to Targa Tribble.

  And making sure that Kinky Tribble is clean behind the ears and presentable.

  And conducting a masterclass in advanced snuggling.

  Kai, however, has not quite grasped the idea of what mentoring is supposed to be about.

  Here we see him sharing Wickerbowl Two with a squashed Tribble.

  Twelve: Camouflage

  Camouflage theory is one of the most important lessons in the training calendar. Looking cute might disable a human at close range but what about times when you’re too far away?

  And how can you hide from anyone when your fur is bright orange?

  This week’s exercise has Kai and Xena helping demonstrate the do’s and don’ts of successful kitten camouflage. No prizes for guessing who's doing the don’ts.

  First up we have Xena showing the subtle use of cover and shadow.

  Note how she uses the grey of the stone and gravel to further enhance her hiding place. And also how easy it is to spot an orange Tribble once they break cover.

  Here we have Kai demonstrating the popular, but flawed, 'if I can't see you then you can't see me' theory of camouflage.

  Many kittens swear by this technique and every one of them gets caught.

  Tails are a particular problem. Even the kittens who manage to conceal the bulk of their body have a tendency to spoil everything by leaving a long length of furry tail protruding, and sometimes flicking, from their hiding place.

  Next, we see Kai demonstrating a close relative of the previous theory. The 'I still can't see you but I don't really care if you can see me 'cos I'm the one with my head in the kibble bag.'

  Now it’s the Tribbles’ turn. But where are they? And what’s that orange starfish doing in the picture?

  A good attempt at camouflage by the Tribbles – ten out of ten for imagination – but would it fool an enemy agent searching for kitten intruders?

  He might think, "No international kittens of mystery in this room. Only a starfish," and walk on.

  But, more likely, realizing that starfish were marine animals and there was a distinct lack of seawater in the room, he’d suspect something was up.

  It’s one to remember though if ever sent on a seabed mission.

  Above we see a high risk and flawed attempt at camouflage not to be encouraged under any circumstances. However thirsty one might be, standing in a dog’s bowl pretending to be a biscuit is just silly.

  Finally, we have a group of Tribble students showing that even a nest of bright orange Tribbles can be difficult to spot when they learn the correct use of twig and shadow.

  Thirteen: Advanced Climbing and Balancing

  This week Kai and Xena have been asked to hold a masterclass on advanced climbing and balancing techniques. Xena was asked because she is the expert at scaling the tallest tree, has superb balance, and can even climb down ladders.

  Kai’s been asked because ... well, how can I put it? Kai is not a natural climber. He thinks he is. But he isn’t. He’s more of a natural wobbler and dangler. Which makes him both very entertaining and an expert on recovering balance.

  Some have suggested that Kai’s balancing problem may be the result of too many voles being eaten between meals. And it is true that he can look portly from some angles. But that could be because of his long fur. And the fact that he's not striped. Everyone knows that stripes takes inches off a kitten’s waistline. And Kai is hooped – which does the opposite.

  First up, we have Xena showing how the arboreal kitten can navigate complex branch structures without falling off. In fact she doesn't even have to look where she's going. She feels her way along the branch using paws, claws and a cleverly aligned tail for extra balance control.

  Next up we have Kai demonstrating the wrong way to climb a fence. And how to hang on when everything looks lost.

  Remember, kittens, do not try this at home. Kai is a fully trained stunt kitten and contortionist.

  Students of balance will note how he's hanging on by a combination of the back paws clawing at one horizontal plank while his front paws grasp the plank above.

  His posture is wrong, his torso twisted and his tail is having to curve forward to compensate.

  Next on the list is a demonstration of the ‘The High Bar Standing Jump, Twist and Turn’ – a high banister maneuver without a net. He’s jumped, he’s wobbling, his balance has fled the building, and any second his back end could swing down and he'd be hanging from the banisters with his back paws around his ears.

  But Kai recovers, regains his balance and then ... makes the mistake of looking down.

  Another warning for aspiring arboreal kittens, keep your eyes on the branches around you because sometimes when you look down...

  Your legs go weak. And it's all too much.

  Fourteen: 24 + 2

  The day begins with a frantic phone call from Jack Miaower at the Counter Terrier Unit.

  "Oh noes!" wails Jack. "We haz big trouble. There iz mole in CTU and squirrels in the White House!"

  And that’s not all. The First Lady has gone missing. The squirrels might have her or...

  Someone might have turned the First Puppy!

  Nooo!

  Jack had been compiling a list of known terriers and squirrel sympathizers. He’d found reports linking a group of dissident poodles to weapons grade flea shampoo. Worse than a dirty bomb, this was a super clean one. No cat would be safe!

  Then the CTU computer died – its power cables chewed through by moles. Now he was asking for help. Only the International Kittens of Mystery could be trusted to unravel such a complex set of mysteries and save the world from a tsunami of insecticidal shampoo.

  Minutes later Orbiting Kitten Command Center confirms Jack’s fears. They’ve intercepted a call to the White House. "Pay us a million dollars in unmarked cheddar by noon tomorrow or the First Lady becomes the Last Lady."

  Noon tomorrow! Only twenty-six hours to save the world. Twenty-four if you take two hours off for a nap.

  Xena rushes to her to console and starts downloading data from Kitten Command Center. There’s something fishy about that ransom note. Why are squirrels asking for cheddar? Everyone knows the only stable currency is tuna.

  Meanwhile, Wickerbowl Two is placed on runway standby. Three Tribbles wait anxiously for the call knowing that any second they could be beamed into danger. Three hundred megatons of cute waiting to be unleashed...

  Hours pass. Tension mounts. Xena can’t find any link between the poodles and the squirrels. Nothing makes sense.

  Unless...

  She takes another look at the satellite photos of the White House lawn from earlier that day. Are those squirrels or ... mice in disguise!

  The evidenced is conclusive. They’re definitely mice. She runs their faces through Kitten Command’s Whisker Recognition software and gets three hits. All of them known terrorists on the Feline Bureau of Investigation’s Most Tasty list.

  But where are they now? The satellite pictures show them scampering into trees to the west of the South Lawn. Are they still there? Have they escaped? It could take hours to go through every camera image.

  And where’s the First Lady?

  A call is patched through from Jack Miaower. He’s been chased by dogs, shot at, captured and forced to wear reindeer antlers and a Santa Claus coat by a family of demented monkeys.

  Here we see a picture from earlier, courtesy of a Kitten Command Center intercept, showing Jack, having removed the antlers and coat, consulting the Geneva Conventions regarding treatment of captured kittens.

  But now not only has Jack managed to escape, he’s tracked down the First Lady. She’s being held captive in the First Barn.

  By mice. Three of them.

  "I canz not get in," says Jack. "All wayz into barn blocked and door booby-trapped. I canz see trip wire."

  The whole barn is probably rigged with explosives ready to blow at the first attempt to storm the building.

  "And I canz smell flea shampoo," says Jack.

  Nooo!

  Kitten Command Center backs up Jack’s nose. A thermal imaging satellite camera picks up the telltale heat signature of lukewarm insecticidal shampoo. A bucket of the stuff is suspended over every door.

  "Send in the Wickerbowls!" says Xena.

  Three Tribbles brace themselves. Ten seconds later they’re still bracing.

  "We canz not get co-ordinates," says Kitten Command Center. "Mices must be jamming signal."

  They tried again and again. They could get co-ordinates to beam a wickerbowl close to the barn but not inside.

  "Monkeys coming," said Jack. "Must hide."

  An hour passes. White House Security had surrounded the First Barn but must have noticed the trip wires on the doors and had backed off. They’d set up a perimeter a hundred yards from the barn and were evacuating the White House. No one was being allowed anywhere near the area.

  Even a CTU agent as famous as Jack Miaower.

  "I iz being dragged away," whispers Jack over his concealed comm line. "Monkeys got me. Iz uploading pictures of barn now."

  His line goes dead. But he’d transmitted the pictures in time. Kitten Command Center has them. Could Jack have found another way into the barn?

  He had. There was a small gap under the bargeboard on one of the gable walls. It was only a few inches wide but...

  Only one kitten – Kai – had the training to get through such a tight gap. But the gable was too high for him. Xena had the ability to make the climb but she’d never be able to squeeze through the gap. Kinky Tribble could only climb monkeys. Could White House Security be persuaded to form a human pyramid?

  "I canz do it," says Kai.

  Silence falls. Handlers, kittens – everyone – suddenly find something very interesting to look at on the ceiling.

  "What?" says Kai.

  "Well..." says a handler. "Don’t you think you might be a bit too..."

  "What?" says Kai, "I not too important. I likez danger."

  "You likez tuna too," says Kinky Tribble who is quickly hushed.

  This is not a scene to dwell on. Suffice to say there were three more embarrassed silences followed by a frank exchange of opinion. References were made to Kai’s weight...

  And the incident last week aboard Wickerbowl One when someone suggested to a seething Kai that maybe he was slightly on the large side for the sports model wickerbowl these days.

  "We could put him on a crash diet," suggested one of the handlers. "A lot of steam baths, hard exercise and vole lite."

  But is there time to get Kai down to a size zero? Is there time to get Kai down to a size 12?

  Kai insists there is and starts immediately. Here we see him working hard on the chair exercise – giving it good raking with his back claws. Look at the effort in his face.

  Time passes. Several meal times come and go. Kai spurns them all – even second breakfast. The twenty-six hour deadline approaches.

  It’s time. A tired and slimmed down Kai climbs aboard Wickerbowl Two. The countdown starts. Three ... Two ... One. He materializes at the foot of the First Barn’s gable wall. He starts to climb.

  Here we see Kai, two stories up, climbing the First Wisteria.

  All looks good until ... Kai slips!

  And worse, he notices three monkey guards sneaking toward the barn. They’re coming from the other direction so he can use the gable wall as cover. But if they turn the corner and look up...

  They’d drag him away like Jack!

  Only one thing for it.

  Launch Wickerbowl One!

  Wickerbowl One materializes at the foot of the gable wall. Spiky Tribble leaps out and rushes to intercept the sneaky monkeys.

  "I iz lost," says Spiky, ramping up the cuteness quotient to levels that even protective goggles couldn’t contain. "Canz you take me home with you?"

  It might mean being dressed up in reindeer antlers for a day but that’s just the kind of sacrifice an international kitten of mystery is trained to make.

  Meanwhile, up above...

  He leaps! He dangles! He spreads his claws!

  And swings up behind the bargeboard and through the tiniest of gaps into the First Barn.

  Here we see Kai on top of the First Straw Bales. He sizes up the situation, signals to the First Lady, waits for the opportunity. He needs all three mice in close proximity.

  Kai leaps...

  The mice rush into the straw. Kai follows...

  Five minutes later Kai emerges from the First Straw.

  But where are the mice?

  "They not with you?" asks Kai, licking his lips.

  THE END

  (bonus chapter from What Ho, Automaton! on next page)

  What Ho, Automaton!

  As a bonus here’s an extract from Chris Dolley’s What Ho, Automaton!

  “A fun blend of P.G. Wodehouse, steampunk and a touch of Sherlock Holmes. Dolley is a master at capturing and blending all these elements. More than fascinating, this work is also rip-roaring fun!” - SF Revu

  o0o

  “It’s time you were married, Reginald,” said Aunt Bertha.

  I blanched. This was going to be one of those conversations, the ones where quick footwork and the ability to feign a passable heart attack were essential.

  “I’ve tried, esteemed aunt, but no one’ll have me. I don’t know why. They’re keen enough to get engaged, but no sooner do they come under starter’s orders than they pull up or fall at the water jump. I fear Reginald will never see the winner’s enclosure of the Matrimonial Stakes.”

  “Nonsense. Your problem is that you don’t try hard enough.”

  “Trying’s not the problem, venerable A. It’s the going. For some reason the Matrimonial Stakes is always run on heavy ground.”

  “Do you talk like this to your fiancées?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a blithering idiot.”

  “I say–”

  “No, you will not say. You will listen. The new season has begun and there are dozens of young debutantes about to be launched into society who have never heard of you. Time to snare one before they do.”

  “But–”

  “No buts, Reginald. I have discussed the matter with my friends. As of this morning, you have invitations to every ball and dinner party on the calendar. If, for any reason, you fail to make an appearance, I will hear of it. By pneumatic telegram. I have had assurances of this from every hostess in London. You, my boy, are getting married.”

  There was only one thing to do.

  “And stop writhing on the floor, Reginald. It fools no one.”

  o0o

  I believe Armageddon commences in a similar fashion – with the Aunt of God unleashing The Four Groomsmen of the Apocalypse. ‘Go forth and round up every bachelor and march him down the aisle,” quoth the Aunt. ‘No excuses will be heard and no quarter given. And don’t look at me like that, Jesus. You’ve been single far too long.’

  I sighed, and took a long, lingering look around my drawing room. I was immensely fond of my Charles Street flat. Everything about it was perfect – the proportion of the rooms, its location, its size. But if I got married...

  Would I have to give it up? Buy something larger? Set up home in the country?

  It wasn’t as though I was averse to marriage. I had every intention of tying the knot one day and listening to the patter of tiny Worcesters fleeing down the corridor pursued by an irate nanny. But not this year. Marriage was an estate for an older, more responsible Worcester.

  “Would you care for a cocktail, sir?” said Reeves, my gentleman’s personal gentle-automaton.

  “How are you on poisons, Reeves? Know any swift acting ones that mix well with gin?”

  “It is not a subject I have studied extensively, sir.”

  I explained my situation to him at length, ending my sorry tale by showing him the handwritten invitation I’d received to the Duchess of Rutland’s ball in Denmark Street.

  “It’s this evening, Reeves. The runners for the Matrimonial Stakes are in the paddock and I’m about to be well and truly saddled. Know any boats sailing for Botany Bay?”

  “I would not recommend such an action, sir.”

  “Would you not? I suppose there’s always America, or the Paris Zeppelin. Are the Foreign Legion still hiring?”

  “Might I suggest an alternative, sir?”

  “Suggest away, Reeves. Any part of the globe except Denmark Street.”

  “I was thinking that it may be judicious to acquiesce to your aunt’s wishes.”

  “What? Get married? Steady on, Reeves.”

  “No, sir. I would never suggest anything as precipitous as that, but ... there may be considerable merit in being seen to be trying to get married.”

  “Aha, feign acquiescence, you mean? Then pull up the Worcester stallion a furlong from home?”

  “I would advise a distance considerably longer than a furlong, sir. Having observed your aunt, I am of the opinion that dragging a stallion over a distance of 220 yards is well within her capabilities.”

  I had to agree. And well within the capabilities of some of the young ladies of my acquaintance too.

  “Have you a plan, Reeves? Are those little grey cells whizzing around with turbot-charged vim this afternoon?”

  “I do have a suggestion or two, sir. It has been my observation that young ladies are oft times of a somewhat shallow disposition and would look with considerable disapprobation upon a young gentleman who was unfortunate enough to have a blemish upon his countenance.”

 

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