Bagpipes
E lsie Birkett lives next door to us at One Pebble Bay. She welcomed us here five years ago with a plate of jam fancies and a crocheted toilet-roll cover. Some people think she’s nothing more than a stickybeak who loves a bit of juicy gossip. But certain events have led me to believe that she is an undercover agent.
Late one Thursday night my dad was taking out the garbage in his undies, when he caught Elsie spying on him from her front porch.
‘Enjoying the view?’ he called out.
‘Oh dear, Mr Bloom,’ she said, hiding her binoculars. ‘I was making myself a cup of tea when I noticed a most unusual light streaking through the night sky. It was terribly bright and was moving so fast that it disappeared before I had a chance to identify it.’
‘It’s called an aeroplane, Elsie. We get those sometimes.’
‘Well I’ve never seen one heading straight down before. Anyway, I’d better let you go. You’ll catch a chill standing out here like that.’
The next day I was walking through our front gate when Elsie popped out from behind a row of hydrangeas.
‘Yoo-hoo! Avery Bloom. Home already and it’s only half past three. Did school finish early today?’
‘Nope. I just walked fast and I’ve got a lot of homework to do.’ The second part wasn’t true but I could tell that Elsie was about to rope me into something.
‘Perhaps you could do me a wee favour first,’she said. ‘Bagpipes is in your backyard and it sounds like he’s having a scrap with a possum. I do wish you wouldn’t feed those nuisance creatures. It only encourages them and you know how territorial Bagpipes is.’
Bagpipes is Elsie’s tomcat and his territory encompasses every property on Bell Street and all the surrounding bush. He’s always chasing native animals and getting stuck in pipes or on roofs. The fire brigade has been called so many times that they refuse to answer Elsie’s distress calls anymore, unless there’s an actual fire involved.
I went to our backyard and saw Bagpipes slowly circling our gum tree. He was making the low growling drone that he’s famous for.
‘SCRAM!’ I tried to shoo him away, but he held his ground and hissed at me. His head was low and his tail pointed up like an exclamation mark. His fur was almost crackling with electricity. The only way to get rid of him, without being scratched to death, was with water. So I turned on the hose and gave him a quick spray.
It worked a treat. He carved two mad circles around our backyard like a greyhound with its bum on fire and shot over the side fence without even touching it. I hate cruelty to animals, which is why I had to squirt Bagpipes. He is a skilled hunter and would have made mincemeat out of the possum.
I climbed the tree and spotted the frightened creature on a branch near the top. It had a long tail and was making a nervous chattering sound. Somehow it didn’t quite look like a possum. I pulled myself up onto the next branch for a closer inspection and realised that it wasn’t apossum after all. It was a monkey! I couldn’t believe my luck.
I made a clicking sound with my tongue and rubbed my fingers and thumb together as if I had food to offer. The monkey came swinging down through the branches and hung by its tail, just a few metres away from me.
‘Hello little fella,’ I said. But instead of a friendly response, he bared his teeth and screeched at me, with his eyeballs almost popping clean out of their sockets. It scared me but I didn’t want to show my fear. So I curled my lips back, went cross-eyed and screeched back twice as loudly. The monkey was momentarily stunned. He looked from side to side, scratched his head and made a strange purring sound.
‘We can be friends,’ I said. ‘As long as you know that I’m the boss.’ I stretched out my hand to shake on the deal. ‘My name’s Avery,’ I said.
Blood
B lood was still flowing from my finger when my sister Serenity arrived home.
‘Oh my gosh! What
E lsie Birkett lives next door to us at One Pebble Bay. She welcomed us here five years ago with a plate of jam fancies and a crocheted toilet-roll cover. Some people think she’s nothing more than a stickybeak who loves a bit of juicy gossip. But certain events have led me to believe that she is an undercover agent.
Late one Thursday night my dad was taking out the garbage in his undies, when he caught Elsie spying on him from her front porch.
‘Enjoying the view?’ he called out.
‘Oh dear, Mr Bloom,’ she said, hiding her binoculars. ‘I was making myself a cup of tea when I noticed a most unusual light streaking through the night sky. It was terribly bright and was moving so fast that it disappeared before I had a chance to identify it.’
‘It’s called an aeroplane, Elsie. We get those sometimes.’
‘Well I’ve never seen one heading straight down before. Anyway, I’d better let you go. You’ll catch a chill standing out here like that.’
The next day I was walking through our front gate when Elsie popped out from behind a row of hydrangeas.
‘Yoo-hoo! Avery Bloom. Home already and it’s only half past three. Did school finish early today?’
‘Nope. I just walked fast and I’ve got a lot of homework to do.’ The second part wasn’t true but I could tell that Elsie was about to rope me into something.
‘Perhaps you could do me a wee favour first,’she said. ‘Bagpipes is in your backyard and it sounds like he’s having a scrap with a possum. I do wish you wouldn’t feed those nuisance creatures. It only encourages them and you know how territorial Bagpipes is.’
Bagpipes is Elsie’s tomcat and his territory encompasses every property on Bell Street and all the surrounding bush. He’s always chasing native animals and getting stuck in pipes or on roofs. The fire brigade has been called so many times that they refuse to answer Elsie’s distress calls anymore, unless there’s an actual fire involved.
I went to our backyard and saw Bagpipes slowly circling our gum tree. He was making the low growling drone that he’s famous for.
‘SCRAM!’ I tried to shoo him away, but he held his ground and hissed at me. His head was low and his tail pointed up like an exclamation mark. His fur was almost crackling with electricity. The only way to get rid of him, without being scratched to death, was with water. So I turned on the hose and gave him a quick spray.
It worked a treat. He carved two mad circles around our backyard like a greyhound with its bum on fire and shot over the side fence without even touching it. I hate cruelty to animals, which is why I had to squirt Bagpipes. He is a skilled hunter and would have made mincemeat out of the possum.
I climbed the tree and spotted the frightened creature on a branch near the top. It had a long tail and was making a nervous chattering sound. Somehow it didn’t quite look like a possum. I pulled myself up onto the next branch for a closer inspection and realised that it wasn’t apossum after all. It was a monkey! I couldn’t believe my luck.
I made a clicking sound with my tongue and rubbed my fingers and thumb together as if I had food to offer. The monkey came swinging down through the branches and hung by its tail, just a few metres away from me.
‘Hello little fella,’ I said. But instead of a friendly response, he bared his teeth and screeched at me, with his eyeballs almost popping clean out of their sockets. It scared me but I didn’t want to show my fear. So I curled my lips back, went cross-eyed and screeched back twice as loudly. The monkey was momentarily stunned. He looked from side to side, scratched his head and made a strange purring sound.
‘We can be friends,’ I said. ‘As long as you know that I’m the boss.’ I stretched out my hand to shake on the deal. ‘My name’s Avery,’ I said.
Blood
B lood was still flowing from my finger when my sister Serenity arrived home.
‘Oh my gosh! What
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