Read Online The Amazing Adventures of Freddie Whitemouse by Elizabeth Jane Howard - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Jane Howard
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ground) and let him out into the garden. It had walls down its long sides and some kind of fencing at the bottom. He looked carefully to see
if there was any way out, but there wasn’t, unless he could jump over the fence, but there was a steep sloping bed in front of it that meant he would have to jump from a standing position.
Also the fence was covered with some climbing plant that, when he nosed it, turned out to be thorny.
‘Muffin! Muffin?’
She was calling him. He had a quick pee and, after leaving it long enough for her to realise that Muffin was not his name, he walked slowly back to the house. ‘Good boy!’ she said in
her treacly voice.
She talks to me as though I am a stupid baby,
he whined miserably
. Poppy never talked to me like that. Nor Alphonse
. At the thought of them, a fresh wave of misery overcame
him. As soon as he was inside, she shut the window and left the flat. He had a drink of water, but couldn’t face his food. He heard her car drive off and then all was silent. He went
miserably to his box and, sitting upright in it, he lifted his head and howled.
It was hours before she came back, and he pretended to be asleep. As she undressed she kept saying he was a good boy and she came and ruffled his fur up the wrong way before getting into her
bed. He didn’t sleep much, but when he did doze off, dreams of escaping flitted through his mind, and he woke because he was twitching with the excitement of bounding along – free. It
wasn’t much fun waking up in the cardboard box with the Hoot smell, which seemed worse in the morning.
Hoot let him out in the garden, and when he came back she was dressed and drinking some black drink that he recognised as coffee. She put some food down for him and then left. He heard her car
starting up and driving away. He was alone in this silent locked-up place.
Hours later she came back, put him on a lead and walked him in the street for a bit and then he was back in the flat again and she went off in her car again. She didn’t come back for
hours. In the evening she returned and took him for another dreary walk. He couldn’t even run, which would have cheered him up a bit, because she never let him off the lead.
And that was what the days were like. He ate hardly any food and simply couldn’t respond to her advances – patting him and telling him what a good Muffin he was. He sensed that this
was making her cross, but he really didn’t care.
And then, out of the blue, he had an enormous stroke of luck. Or possible luck. Two men – an old one and a young one – turned up one morning before Hoot left. Hoot seemed to know
them well. She took them to the kitchen. He heard her talking about him and then talking a lot more, and then she rushed out, rushed back and threw them some keys. ‘Goodbye, Muffin,’
she called as she left the flat.
He had been lying quietly in his box, but as soon as she had gone, he went to the kitchen. He wanted the men to like him, so he wagged his tail and looked into their faces. They stroked him and
spoke in kindly voices. The younger one, who was rather spotty, was making tea, and the older one, who had a beard, was unpacking a bag full of hammers and things. Then Beard said something to
Spotty. Spotty got up from the floor where he had been laying out parts of a washing machine and went out of the flat. Charley followed him to the door, which he left open, and watched to see if he
left the main front door open as well. He did, but only a crack, and Charley was afraid that by the time he would have managed to push it wide enough to get through Spotty would be coming back up
the path that led to the street. So he sat by the flat door, trying to look as though the last thing he wanted to do was escape.
He was quite right to wait. Spotty came back very quickly; he carried a paper bag that smelled delicious. He went to the kitchen and Charley followed him to the door. Beard was sitting on the
floor cleaning
if there was any way out, but there wasn’t, unless he could jump over the fence, but there was a steep sloping bed in front of it that meant he would have to jump from a standing position.
Also the fence was covered with some climbing plant that, when he nosed it, turned out to be thorny.
‘Muffin! Muffin?’
She was calling him. He had a quick pee and, after leaving it long enough for her to realise that Muffin was not his name, he walked slowly back to the house. ‘Good boy!’ she said in
her treacly voice.
She talks to me as though I am a stupid baby,
he whined miserably
. Poppy never talked to me like that. Nor Alphonse
. At the thought of them, a fresh wave of misery overcame
him. As soon as he was inside, she shut the window and left the flat. He had a drink of water, but couldn’t face his food. He heard her car drive off and then all was silent. He went
miserably to his box and, sitting upright in it, he lifted his head and howled.
It was hours before she came back, and he pretended to be asleep. As she undressed she kept saying he was a good boy and she came and ruffled his fur up the wrong way before getting into her
bed. He didn’t sleep much, but when he did doze off, dreams of escaping flitted through his mind, and he woke because he was twitching with the excitement of bounding along – free. It
wasn’t much fun waking up in the cardboard box with the Hoot smell, which seemed worse in the morning.
Hoot let him out in the garden, and when he came back she was dressed and drinking some black drink that he recognised as coffee. She put some food down for him and then left. He heard her car
starting up and driving away. He was alone in this silent locked-up place.
Hours later she came back, put him on a lead and walked him in the street for a bit and then he was back in the flat again and she went off in her car again. She didn’t come back for
hours. In the evening she returned and took him for another dreary walk. He couldn’t even run, which would have cheered him up a bit, because she never let him off the lead.
And that was what the days were like. He ate hardly any food and simply couldn’t respond to her advances – patting him and telling him what a good Muffin he was. He sensed that this
was making her cross, but he really didn’t care.
And then, out of the blue, he had an enormous stroke of luck. Or possible luck. Two men – an old one and a young one – turned up one morning before Hoot left. Hoot seemed to know
them well. She took them to the kitchen. He heard her talking about him and then talking a lot more, and then she rushed out, rushed back and threw them some keys. ‘Goodbye, Muffin,’
she called as she left the flat.
He had been lying quietly in his box, but as soon as she had gone, he went to the kitchen. He wanted the men to like him, so he wagged his tail and looked into their faces. They stroked him and
spoke in kindly voices. The younger one, who was rather spotty, was making tea, and the older one, who had a beard, was unpacking a bag full of hammers and things. Then Beard said something to
Spotty. Spotty got up from the floor where he had been laying out parts of a washing machine and went out of the flat. Charley followed him to the door, which he left open, and watched to see if he
left the main front door open as well. He did, but only a crack, and Charley was afraid that by the time he would have managed to push it wide enough to get through Spotty would be coming back up
the path that led to the street. So he sat by the flat door, trying to look as though the last thing he wanted to do was escape.
He was quite right to wait. Spotty came back very quickly; he carried a paper bag that smelled delicious. He went to the kitchen and Charley followed him to the door. Beard was sitting on the
floor cleaning
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