Merry Meerkat Madness Read online

  Just as she did, there was a stuttering roar and a vroom-vroom! from that direction. A moment later, a cloud of red dust floated above the trees.

  “Stay put! No danger!” came Broad Shoulders’ instant call. “It’s the Tick-tocks’ mobile escape tunnel—but it’s heading away from us.” He kept up a comforting All-clear call while the others remained in the open.

  “What do you make of the Blah-blahs strange behavior, Fearless?” Radiant asked her husband.

  “Well, now! Come to think of it. Just one moment…!” cried Uncle Fearless, puffing up his fur and standing tall. “Aha! I have it! Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before, by all that fogs my royal brain? Now, did I ever tell you about my early adventures among the Blah-blahs, long ago in the old days, when I was King of the Sharpeyes?”

  “Very often,” muttered Skeema quietly to himself.

  “Do you mean before your accident, Uncle?” asked Little Dream, who was more polite.

  “Harrrumph!” said Uncle, clearing his throat. “Let’s not go into that just now.” It was painful for him to remember the moment in his prime when he suffered so badly. He had dropped his guard for one moment. That was all it took. The Silent Enemy, the eagle owl, had seized his chance, swooping down, grabbing him in his talons and whooshing him high into the air! That was the terrible time when he had lost his eye, his queen, and command of his first mob, the Sharpeyes.

  Fearless gave himself a shake-up that made his fur snap with electric sparks. Pull yourself together, old boy! he told himself. And then he was in command again.

  “Wup-wup! Attention, Really Mads!” he ordered, while dashing around and marking the surrounding area. “The sun is at its height,” he announced. “The babies are tired. You kits are hot and need rest. Stop foraging, everyone. Take your positions in the shade. Make yourself ready for Recovery Time, what-what! I have a tale to tell.”

  Radiant gave him an adoring look and a lick and gathered the babies under a shrub where they flattened their tummies onto the cool sand. Fearless’s sister, Fragrant, took her place in the deep shadow of the driedoring bush that Broad Shoulders had chosen as his sentry post.

  Uncle made a sign for the kits to move in close to him under the broad leaves of a patch of tsamma melons. It was soothing to roll among the firm, cool fruits and to listen to the bees humming drowsily amid the yellow flowers. The kits closed their eyes and stretched out, waiting to hear another one of Uncle’s tales about his glory days.

  “As I was saying,” he murmured, half whispering, “your strange experience reminds me of something I saw long ago with my very own eyes—when I still had both of them to look with, harrrumph! It was in this very Season of Plenty.” He slapped the side of his head with his paw. “D’you know, I do believe it was on this very same day! Or was it the day after? No matter! The point is, it was soon after the chief of the Click-clicks first brought his tribe to the land of the Sharpeyes, where I was King and Lord of Far Burrow. They were tall and clumsy, but I soon tamed them, what-what!”

  “Hooray!” cried the kits. “Well done, Uncle!”

  “Shhh! Not too loud! You’ll disturb the babies!” chuckled Fearless. A tick on his belly suddenly did what ticks do. Fearless curled up and nibbled at it furiously… “Mmm-nnnyung, you pest!” …and then went on. “I wandered freely among their flapping pointy mounds. Free as a bee. I had no fear of being trampled, not me, oh no! Fearless by name, and all that! Now, on this particular day, they all put on their brightest colors and gathered together for a feast, noisy as hyenas. Then they turned a large bird around and around over a circle of fire and gave each other lumps of it to eat!”

  “Was it a martial eagle?” asked Mimi eagerly.

  “Or an eagle owl?” asked Skeema, thinking of their worst enemy.

  “Serve them right!” Little Dream piped up.

  “Hush! Voices down!” said Uncle, who had no idea. “It was one of those, I expect. And then,” he continued dramatically, “the Click-clicks danced and sang and they covered the tree with bright lights and with shiny creepers, just as you saw the Tick-tocks do.”

  “But why do you think Blah-blahs do it?” asked Skeema, always looking for answers.

  “I’m coming to that,” said Uncle. “Just be patient because I want to tell you about something ASTONISHING that happened next. In point of fact, it is possibly the most ASTONISHING thing that any meerkat has ever seen Blah-blahs do.”

  It is very hard for meerkat kits to be patient, but at least they all did their very best to keep silent. Uncle seemed to take ages clearing his throat, but eventually he went on.

  “Now, where was I? Ah, yes! All of a sudden a donkey appeared, dashing over the sand and making a shocking jing-jing-jing noise! It was pulling a big, heavy, slidy thing behind it. And do you know what was sitting on that big, heavy, slidy thing, holding a great big pouch on his back?”

  “Don’t tease, Uncle! What was it?” clamored the kits.

  “Well, I’ll tell you. It was an enormous Blah-blah covered in huge red skin with white fur around the edges!”

  “Did he come for a fight?” asked Mimi. “Was he from a rival Blah-blah mob, coming to take over their burrow?”

  “Clever of you, my little princess!” cried Uncle. “Those were my thoughts exactly. I thought: Good show! We’re in for a battle here! Now we shall see some fur fly! Because, I tell you, this Blah-blah had a whopping white beard! And he was shouting noises as he came, like this: ‘HO! HO! HO!’”

  “And was there a fight?” asked Skeema eagerly.

  “Sadly, not at all,” said Uncle. “The Click-clicks got very excited and charged toward the stranger when he stopped, but there was no biting or wrestling or scratching.”

  “Not even spitting?” asked Mimi, disappointed.

  “No. Quite the opposite,” said Uncle. “As a matter of fact, the red Blah-blah dipped into his pouch and took out some bright-colored funny-shaped packets, big as bees’ nests… and he gave one to each of the Click-clicks!”

  The kits lay, thoughtfully making scratch-marks on the green skins of the little melons growing around them and wondering, What was all that about?

  Uncle guessed what they were thinking. “I can only imagine,” he mused, “that all Blah-blahs everywhere get like this at this time of the year. You see, during the Season of Plenty there are lots of young males on the prowl. My guess is that the Blah-blahs make themselves fine and flashy-looking, and have a feast and do lots of dancing to be as attractive as possible to mates.”

  “But what about the fire and the sparkling tree and the funny fruit?” asked Skeema.

  “Obviously those are the Blah-blahs’ way of marking their territory!” declared Uncle. “I mean, have any of you ever seen a Blah-blah who can manage a good marking?”

  The kits hadn’t.

  “Well, there you are!” said Uncle triumphantly. “The fire and the tree are their way of warning rivals and enemies! KEEP OUT!”

  “What I don’t get is this giving thing,” said Mimi.

  “Nor do I!” admitted Uncle. “I mean to say, your drongos and your baby meerkats are sensible; they beg and steal. But when you come to think of it, your Blah-blahs build their burrows upside down. Maybe they do everything upside down! But imagine giving to your rivals instead of fighting them—I ask you! How silly can you get?”

  “They are astonishing!” pondered Little Dream, trying out a fine new word. “Like when the Tick-tock cubs made that sand-Blah-blah. That was astonishing too.”

  Uncle was suddenly up and alert, his nose and whiskers twitching with curiosity. “A sand-Blah-blah, did you say, Dreamie?” he exclaimed. “No such thing, surely!”

  “It’s true! It’s true! Come and see for yourself!” said Mimi.

  He didn’t need a second invitation. “I think I will!” he agreed. He waved to Radiant and mouthed to her, so as not to wake the babies, “Just running out to look at something with the kits. Be back in a jiffy.”

  Chapter 4
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br />   Having made his excuses to Radiant and the others, Uncle raced off with the kits to the farm, full of curiosity.

  When the little mob came to the tunnel under the wire, it seemed a lot wider than before. “Be careful!” urged Uncle, taking a deep sniff. “Look around you, kits!” Gratefully, they raced through into the yard and then made a dash into the shadow of the water-trough under the turning tree.

  They gazed across the deserted yard toward the great white-painted burrow. There was no sign of the Tick-tocks, but their birds and woolly animals were in a noisy panic, pressing themselves as close to the farthest fence as possible. Judging by the feathers scattered about, some of the birds had been snatched away. Near the fire pit, there was another sad and messy scene. The once-beautifully-dressed tree had been knocked down and lay filthy and forlorn in the dust. All its sparkling clothing and peculiar fruit were gone. And next to it, where the sand-Blah-blah had stood, there was nothing but a trampled heap of sand, some berries, a red pepper, and a torn and tattered scarf.

  “Oh, NO!” wailed the kits.

  “I don’t like the smell of this. A thieving enemy has been here!” growled Uncle. Just then, a vroom-vroom noise like distant thunder announced that the family mobile escape tunnel was returning, and was not far away.

  “Bolthole! Bolthole!” ordered Uncle. “In line behind me, Really Mads!”

  No sooner had he spoken than exactly the same order in exactly the same voice came from a nearby bush: “In line behind me, Really Mads!”

  “A challenge, by all that’s up and at ’em!” said Uncle, his fur and whiskers standing to attention. He showed his teeth and began to squirt and make spit noises… FFFTT! FFFTT!

  At once a challenge came echoing back… FFFTT! FFFTT!

  The kits started to giggle. “It’s all right, Uncle!” laughed Skeema. “I think we’ve met this warrior before!”

  But Uncle’s dander was up. “Tell him to come out and fight like a meerkat!” he cried. “I’ll take on anyone and give him a good challenge, you see if I don’t!”

  “Quick, Mimi and Dreamie, lend me your paws!” whispered Skeema. “Let’s see if we can tempt you-know-who to come closer!”

  They dug away busily until they turned up a creamy cluster of ants’ eggs. “That’ll do!” said Skeema. “Now hold out a pawful, everyone.”

  “Come out, if you think you’re kat enough!” called Uncle, going through his moves.

  “Here, Fledgie-Fledgie!” called Mimi.

  “Snackie time!” called Little Dream.

  There was a fluttering and flapping, and out from his hiding place sprang—a sleek little bird.

  Uncle froze for a moment and then relaxed and burst out laughing. “A fork-tailed drongo, by all that tricks and teases!” he exclaimed, rolling over and over. “I should have thought of that, what-what!! Oh, I’ve been had, haven’t I? Ha! Ha!”

  “Hello, mateys!” chirped Fledgie, cocking a hungry eye at the ants’ eggs. “Are them there what I thinks they are? My favorites?”

  “You can have them all,” said Skeema craftily. “But only if you tell us what’s been going on here.”

  “Fair enough!” chirped Fledgie. “Yi-Yi! Yip Yap Yip!” The sounds from his beak were so much like a pack of jackals that the Really Mads dived for cover at once. “That ought to give you a clue!” Fledgie added.

  “I say, you’re good!” cried Uncle, dusting himself down. “Jackals, eh? Just as I thought! I caught a whiff of them as we were coming under the wire! How many?”

  “Don’t ask me, matey,” said Fledgie. “Counting’s not my thing. As many as you all, anyway. Crafty bunch, too! They waited until the coast was clear and then widened the tunnel you kits had made already. They chased the sheep and nabbed one of the chickens.”

  “But the jackals weren’t really hungry, I guess,” Fledgie went on. “They were more interested in the sparkly stuff. They’re like crows, jackals are. They love anything bright and shiny.”

  “So they smashed down the tree and the sand-Blah-blah while they were squabbling over the sparkly stuff,” sighed Little Dream. “What a rotten thing to do!”

  A loud barp-barp! announced that the Vroom-vroom was coming through the gates, so Uncle, the kits, and Fledgie scuttled back into their tunnel. It was from there that they heard the horrified cries of the adult Tick-tocks and the sobs of their shocked and disappointed cubs as they saw what the jackals had done. There was something so painful and touching about this scene that the Really Mads found themselves holding back tears.

  “So sad,” murmured Little Dream. “They should never have run off in their escape tunnel. Those jackals were too clever for them.”

  “Sad indeed,” said Uncle, shaking his head as they made their way out the other side of the tunnel. “Come on, Really Mads, it’s time we took ourselves home.”

  But on the other side of the tunnel, Mimi noticed a rather strange sight in the distance.

  “What’s that funny shape over there?” she asked, pointing just ahead of them. “It’s the same color as a dune, but it’s not a dune. Maybe it’s another smashed sand-Blah-blah!”

  Uncle strained his one eye to look as they cautiously approached, but it was only when they were quite close that he could make sense of it. “A female ostrich, by all that’s long-necked and leggy!” he announced. “They throw themselves flat like that when they’re in danger or in distress.”

  And, at that moment, the pile of sand rearranged itself into an enormous bird that staggered for a moment on her scaly, towering legs. She flapped her wings, moaned, and then plumped down on a smooth rock. “Where are you, my chick? Come to me, my chickie! Crrrrroooo. Mommy will keep you warm.”

  “Is she crazy?” Mimi asked Uncle. “She’s sitting on a stone!”

  “Terrified by the jackals, I should say,” said Uncle, as the bird staggered to her feet once more and then threw herself flat again.

  The pad-pad-pad of hurrying footsteps close by sent the Really Mads running for a bolthole and sent Fledgie flip-flapping into the air. But as they soon discovered, they had no need to worry. It was only the young Tick-tocks. They had seen that the female ostrich was in trouble and, forgetting their own misery, had brought a bucket of water to try to revive her.

  “Jackals!” screamed the poor deluded creature, springing up. “Get away from us! Biff! Where are you? We need your help! The jackals are back! They’re trying to steal our chickie, Biff!” She began to leap and kick out. “Get back, you nest-robbers!”

  The little Zulu children, Molly and Ajahn, heard the commotion and though they understood very well that one blow from those terrible claws could kill them, they bravely moved as close to the distressed bird as they could and set down a bucket of water in front of her. Having done that, they turned and calmly walked at a good steady pace toward the safety of the farmyard. They knew better than to run. They knew that even if they ran twice as fast as the best human sprinter in the world, she could still outrun them.

  The water seemed to calm the poor, confused creature. She turned an enormous eye toward the bucket, sniffed its contents, and plunged her head in. Like meerkats, ostriches can go without water for ages, but when they’re exhausted there’s no better pick-me-up. She drank deep, and a few moments later she stepped back, water dripping from her broad, silvery beak and flipping in all directions from her frantic eyelashes. Strangely, the act of drinking seemed to have used up the last of her strength—or her will to live—and she collapsed into a sand heap once more.

  Fledgie fluttered down by her ear and made a low, booming sound, the call of a male ostrich: Wooo-ooo-OOOoooo!

  The fallen ostrich just about found the strength to open her eye halfway. “Is that you, Biff?” she murmured as if she were in a dream. “You’ve found your Sprintina at last! Crrrrooo! I thought the cheetahs might have caught you. I knew you wanted them to chase you so that I and the other wives could get away. But I didn’t run, Biff! I stayed to cover the eggs. I waited on the nest for you, B
iff, waited and waited. I thought you were dead, but here you are! You were too speedy for them, my long-legged love!”

  Her voice was getting softer now, harder to hear. Then suddenly she seemed to jerk herself awake. For the first time she became aware of little furry faces gathered around her. “Who are you? Where’s Biff? Where’s my chickie?” She gave another jerk, as though she was living through her nightmare once more. “The jackals!” she cried. “Ohhh, deep in the night, the jackals came! I kicked! But so many of them! Too many! I chased one, then another. That’s how they tricked me. Stole all our eggs one by one… until only one chickie was left… the one who called out to me through his shell… But the jackals ganged up and chased me away. I ran and ran… lost my way… lost my Biff… lost our last chickie…”

  Her strength had finally drained away and she fell once again into a deep sleep.

  Uncle spoke for all those watching and listening. “So, our old foe the sneaking Black-backs have struck again, by all that yelps and cackles!” he growled bitterly. “Those crafty creatures! To wait until the cheetahs chase away her mate and the rest of his wives and then to sneak back to steal the eggs from under her, what-what!”

  “But she said they stole all the eggs except one,” said Skeema. “You heard her. ‘Until only one chickie was left,’ she said. Maybe it’s still in the nest, trying to hatch.”

  “So unfair!” cried Mimi. “Imagine hearing your baby’s voice, and then losing him in the dark!”

  “We’ve got to do something!” said Little Dream. “We should go and search for the last of her eggs… or maybe look for her mate, Biff.”

  “Now, look here,” said Uncle. “Let’s be sensible. Apart from not knowing where to look, we don’t know whether the chick is still in the egg or whether the jackals have eaten it. And even if Biff was fast enough to run away from the cheetahs and not get eaten, we have no idea what he looks like!”