Hi! My name is Edward and I'd like to tell you a story.
No ordinary, boring grown-up type story, but a story about the time I became the greatest ten year old scientist in the history of the world! All I really wanted was to solve our family's burg...
Squiggles had certainly become a force to be reckoned with. No longer was he the timid, shy pet I had come to know and love. He now had no fear.
Pets are great, and many people on our street had pets. There was old Mrs Murphy with her dog Chomp, a couple of doors down there was Mr Moore with his variety of exotic birds, the Shackles family at the end of the street had a lamb, and our neighbours had a cat.
Our neighbours were Mr and Mrs Edwards and their pet cat Poopy. Poopy was a white Persian with a beautiful long coat and was very well looked after. The Edwards were friendly folk and Poopy often paid us visits. Unfortunately Poopy often took it upon himself to leave little gifts upon his departure. These 'gifts' weren't the sort of gifts you or I would expect for Christmas, or on our birthdays. These gifts were a little sloppy, a little smelly and a little annoying. Have you guessed? Yes, that's right, Poopy's 'gifts' were Poopy's poos, and they were always left on our doorstep, usually one pace from the door for ultimate frustration.
Dad, usually the first to leave for work in the morning, was more often than not the one to cop the full brunt of Poopy's deposits. He would open the door where he would be greeted by the fresh morning air, take one step and, squelch! Not good!
The other problem associated with Poopy was his intimidation and bullying tactics towards Squiggles. Poopy often found a way into our shed, don't ask me how, and tormented poor Squiggles.
We always knew when this was happening due to the loud, high-pitched frightened squeaks from Squiggles, as well as the hissing and screeching from Poopy. On these occasions we would run out to the shed to find Poopy, claws and all, attached to the cage while Squiggles would be curled up, frightened in the corner. Poor Squiggles was always a nervous wreck after these incidents.
However, the next time was different. The next time happened in the very early hours of a Saturday morning. Mum, Dad, Alyssa and I were all fast asleep, until we were awoken by the usual noise of Poopy's hissing and screeching coming from our back courtyard. This could only mean one thing. Poopy was up to his old tricks, tormenting poor, defenceless Squiggles.
We all jumped out of bed in our pyjamas, ran out into the courtyard and towards the shed to rescue Squiggles. Only this time as we were about to open the shed, we heard a different screeching sound from Poopy - one we hadn't heard before. This was a frightened screech - a screech of pain and a screech of fear.
We opened the shed to find Poopy's tail in the grip of Squiggles' locked tight jaw. Squiggles was still in his cage, standing there looking quite macho and he wasn't letting go of his prized trophy. Poopy on the other hand was not looking so macho. He was thrashing, squealing and kicking, trying to get away from Squiggles' death grip. Luckily for Poopy, Dad was able to rescue him by offering Squiggles a piece of cheese he found on the floor in the shed. Poopy darted out of the shed and over the fence as soon as Squiggles let go.
'Well, it looks like Poopy has finally met his match.' Mum said. 'What have you been feeding him?' asked Dad. 'He looks like a gym instructor.'
'I've just been giving him extra salami,' I lied. I didn't want Mum or Dad to know what I was up to. 'Well, it doesn't look like it's done him any harm,' Dad replied. 'He certainly fixed up old Poopy!' We all laughed.
Dad closed the shed door and we went back inside to bed. For a while I couldn't get to sleep. I kept thinking about what I could do to make Squiggles larger. I felt that I was so close. What could be the secret ingredient?
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