Figaro and Rumba and the Crocodile Cafe (10 page)

There was no answer, but the humming stopped. He peeped in through the window. It was very dark inside but he could just see the shapes of cats – ten, eleven, twelve of them!

‘Hello!' he called. He tried to open the door but there was a padlock and chain. ‘Why are you all inside on such a beautiful day?'

The cats didn't move. They stood frozen against the wall.

‘Is this musical statues?' he called through the window. ‘Can I play too?' Then he saw a little cat shake her duster. ‘Oh, I get it, this is a cat thing. It's Monday and you're cleaning your house!'

‘Oh, pleez to help,' the little cat said. ‘We are prisoners!'

‘I know that accent,' said Figaro slowly. ‘Don't tell me, you're from Cuba!'

‘Yez. We have been cruelly catnapped by a wicked crocodile.'

‘Aha! And does this crocodile have a voice like icing – all thin on top and nothing underneath?'

‘Yez, Yez!'

‘Does he have a musical waistcoat?'

‘Yez!'

‘I knew it!' said Figaro, pulling at his whiskers. ‘I think this crocodile is about to catnap my best friend.' He tried the padlock again. He pulled at the door handle. Nothing moved. The cats began to wail.

‘Wait,' he said, holding up his paw. ‘I have to think of a plan. Sometimes I just wake up with one,
bada-boom!
but often I have to wait for a good idea. Take the other day, I woke up and first thing I rang up my friend, Rumba – '

‘But,
señor
, we do not
have
a long time to wait –'

‘So as I was saying,' Figaro went on, ‘first thing I grabbed my phone and rang up Rumba and I said, “Rumba,” I said, “I know what we're going to do” – wait, did I say
PHONE
?' He scrabbled around in his pockets. ‘Oh, where is it?' His tail was beginning to thump with excitement. ‘You should never leave home without it, that's what the ads say. Here it is! Now, see, I am dialling 000.' Figaro drew himself up straight to speak.

‘Hello? Hello? This is Figaro. You must come at once!' There was a pause as Figaro listened. ‘Oh, don't bother me with details, just put your siren on. A crime is being committed right now!' Figaro rolled his eyes at the cats as he put away the phone.

‘Did you tell them where we are?' asked a cat, its worried white face pressed to the window.

‘Oh,' said Figaro.

When he'd rung back, he wiped his mouth with the back of his paw.

‘Don't you have a handkerchief for that?' said the little ginger cat with the duster.

‘The police dogs say they will come, and you will be set free,' said Figaro. ‘Meanwhile, I will run like the wind and rescue my friend. Aren't you lucky I found you? Don't go away.'

Figaro loped back to the café.

‘Thank goodness you're here,' said Rumba, leaping up from the table. ‘I was so worried about the deadly wasp nest!'

‘What deadly wasp nest?' said Figaro. ‘I've had a fabulous run. Now I'd love another one of those lovely green drinks.' And he winked furiously at Rumba.

‘What's wrong with your eye?' said Rumba. ‘Really, we should be going, Figaro. Our train will be back at the station soon.'

‘No, we have plenty of time,' said Figaro. ‘Let's sit back and enjoy the view. Think of Cuba!'

‘That's right,' said the crocodile. ‘The home of song and salsa.'

Rumba smiled a little anxiously. ‘Well, just another ten minutes perhaps.'

More green drinks arrived, and the crocodile pulled out a guitar. He played an old song that Rumba remembered from his childhood. Figaro was beginning to feel very sleepy. His eyelids were so heavy. He wanted to sink into something soft. A bubble bath, maybe, remember those bubbles in the bucket? But there was something he had to do. Something very important …

Figaro was asleep when the police dogs came.

The crocodile dropped his guitar in surprise. Before he could open his mouth the police dogs had lassoed it shut.

‘Figaro, wake up! What's happening?' cried Rumba.

The crocodile thrashed about, his big tail tipping over chairs and whipping tables.

Behind the police dogs, twelve cats leapt up on a table and began to sing. They formed a circle, with the little ginger cat leading the chorus in A minor.

‘Heavens, who are
you
?' cried Rumba.

‘We are the Cats from Cuba,' said the cats as they clicked their castanets.