Once upon a time there were three smelly kittens, who wanted to go to the library to learn about the feline arts of pouncing and disembowelling small animals, and the name of all three was ‘Lungdustkin’. Their parents were devoid of imagination and once they found a great name, by randomly choosing from the phone directory, they stuck to it. But, amongst themselves, the three kittens had named themselves: Barry, Moe and Joe P. To everyone else, they were referred to as “Gerrouttahereyastinkincats”.
I could tell you how the kittens, when freshly born, had gone in search of pinball machines but accidentally fell into Cheetah Bob’s dung mine instead, but that is another story and shall be told another time. I could also tell you about the rumours that their mother was half-skunk on her father’s side, but that too is another story and she is highly litigious. Suffice to say, these kittens stank.
The three kittens wanted to learn all about how to be a good cat, how to be emperors of the night, how to be terror on four legs to all the animals smaller than themselves. They were already experts at hunting birds, foolish rodents and low-flying sheep. In fact, their stench would often incapacitate their prey while the kits were still wriggling their butts in preparation to pounce. The only animals that survived were those that suffered nose-blindness or breathed through their mouths. But as their teacher always said, from behind an odour-proof sheet of glass, “you can never know too much”.
So our three little kittens went on their way to the library. On the way, there was a rickety wooden bridge over a busy road connecting one tedious place to another equally tedious place; and under the bridge lived a great big ugly trolldog who, due to the traffic, lived on his nerves and therefore could be quite narky when people or animals crossed over him. The trolldog largely survived on chicken drumsticks thrown over the side of the bridge but sadly poultry rock bands were going out of fashion with music-buying consumers, so the trolldog was reduced to snaffling victims off the bridge.
So first of all came Barry the least smellsome Smelly Kitten Lungdustkin to cross the bridge. ‘Pitterpatter pitterpatter pitterpatter’ went the bridge. And the trolldog, suffering sinus problems from the exhaust fumes, didn’t smell the kitten and certainly couldn’t hear the kitten walk on paws soft as velvet over the bridge.
A little while later, after he had been delayed by a paper bag being blown across the fields. came Moe the quite stinkesque but tolerable in a high wind Smelly Kitten Lungdustkin to cross the bridge. ‘Pitterpatter pitterpatter pitterpatter’ went the bridge. And the trolldog, suffering sinus problems from an addiction to sticking bread sticks up each nostril, didn’t smell the kitten and certainly couldn’t hear the kitten walk on paws soft as soap bubbles over the bridge.
But just then up came Joe P the smelliest Smelly Kitten Lungdustkin in his steel-toecapped boots. ‘THUD THUD THUD!‘ went the bridge, for the kitten was deliberately jumping about in order to cause the bridge to sway and creak and groan underneath him. And the trolldog, whose nose suddenly melted due to the olfactory horridness of the kitten’s stink, smelt the kitten. He could also most certainly hear the kitten walk in boots as hard as nails over the bridge.
“Who is that nob-mumbler tanking up my sheep-loving bridge?” roared the trolldog from the comfort of his hammock underneath the now shuddery bridge.
Barry and Joe quivered in fright from the other side of the bridge. ‘Tremble tremble tremble’ went the kittens.
Joe P just continued to hop, skip and body-pop along the bridge. ‘THUD THUD THUD!‘ went the bridge.
The trolldog roared and roared. It roared so loud that the stink fled from the kittens in fright and was never to be smelt again.
“Who is that cake-taker stamping all over my mumping bridge?” roared the trolldog climbing out from underneath the bridge, pulling his warty bulk up and over to face the annoying stink-free kitten.
“It is I! Joe P,” said the Smelly Kitten Lungdustkin, who had an attitude problem as big as the moon. “Are you disrespecting me and my brothers?”
The trolldog stood there dumbfounded. Here he was, a mass of muscle and scar-tissue and vestigial tentacles, and this little ball of fluff was challenging him.
“Disrespect? Would it be respectful if I coated you with barbecue sauce and gobbled you up?” roared the troll. “How about if I eat your brothers al dente?”
Joe P flew at the trolldog like a small spinning ball of fur, teeth and hard boots. He poked out the eyes of the trolldog with his teeny tiny teeth, and mangled him into a greasy lump, body and bones, and threw him over the bridge into the oncoming traffic where he soon became a flat greasy puddle of gristle and warts.
“Nobody disrespects me or my brothers’, nodded Joe P.
The three unsmelly Kitten Lungdustkin then went on their way to the library. And they all lived happily ever after (even the trolldog who was reincarnated as a chicken).