For Max, creator of Caboodle!

  -GPJ

  To Ann May, for innumerable good reasons

  -SM

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Copyright

  Biskit was having a bad day. It had started when he was suspended from his job as a Pet Defenders agent for encouraging a race of long-nosed aliens to secretly film the agency’s activities. Biskit had his reasons for doing this but his grumpy rabbit boss, Commander F, hadn’t wanted to hear them.

  Trying to look on the bright side, Biskit thought he could spend some quality time with Philip.

  But when he had returned to the flat, his owner was standing in the hallway with a suitcase.

  “There you are, boy,” said Philip. “Look, Biskit, I’m really sorry. If I could take you to Spain with me, I would. You’ll be much better off in the kennels. It’s only for a week.”

  Biskit’s tail dropped between his legs and he bowed his head. He had forgotten that Philip had booked a holiday and was sending him to spend the whole week in Mrs Stroganov’s Dog Hotel.

  On the drive across town, Philip explained that Mrs Stroganov came highly recommended but all Biskit cared about was whether there was an escape route. Even though Biskit had been suspended, secret agents tasked with protecting Earth from alien invasions were no use to anyone if they were stuck in a back yard.

  Philip parked outside a grey building and led Biskit to the door, where a short stern-faced woman with dark hair met them.

  “Your dog will be well looked after here. We keep all our dogs well fed, well walked and well contained.” Mrs Stroganov looked pointedly at Biskit as she said this.

  “Biskit’s very important to me,” said Philip. “He’s basically family.”

  “You have no need to worry,” said Mrs Stroganov. “We never have complaints. Our kennels have everything a dog needs and the back yard is secure.”

  “Oh, Biskit usually sleeps indoors,” said Philip. “He’s an apartment dog.”

  “Dogs need fresh air,” Mrs Stroganov replied. “Let me show you the yard.”

  There were six kennels out the back. In one a grey-haired dachshund lay, fast asleep. A small yappy terrier ran out of another.

  “Hi, hello, hey,” barked the terrier. “My name’s Jakey. I’m called Jakey. They call me Jakey. What’s your name? What are you called? What do they call you?”

  “Quiet your yapping,” said Mrs Stroganov sternly.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry,” said Jakey, before whispering to Biskit, “she doesn’t like the yapping.”

  “You surprise me,” replied Biskit. Being able to understand what Jakey was saying didn’t make him any less annoying.

  “This is Biskit’s kennel,” said Mrs Stroganov. “As you can see, we only have two other guests at present – Jakey and Old Mo.”

  Philip crouched down to talk to Biskit. “It seems OK, right?” he said, tickling his ears. “You’ll hardly miss me at all.”

  Biskit didn’t want to make Philip feel guilty – he deserved a holiday. Lately all he seemed to do was work, eat and sleep. Biskit licked Philip’s hand and sat down.

  Jakey ran around him in circles, barking excitedly. “How long are you here for? How long will you be here? How many days will you stay?”

  “A week,” replied Biskit.

  “You see, the dogs are already getting on,” said Mrs Stroganov. “It’s almost as though they can understand each other.” She laughed at the idea. “Now, we run a tight ship here. Mealtimes are at ten o’clock, two o’clock and five o’clock, followed by a brisk walk. Leads will be kept on at all times. There will be no funny business.”

  “Oh, Biskit’s a good dog,” said Philip. “You won’t have any trouble.”

  “I hope not. Trouble will not be tolerated,” said Mrs Stroganov.

  “Well then, boy, I guess this is it,” said Philip.

  He ruffled Biskit’s fur, then went back inside with Mrs Stroganov. Biskit watched the door slam shut and let out a groan.

  “New inmate, eh?” said a voice from the other kennel.

  Biskit turned to see the dachshund standing up.

  “Hey, Old Mo,” said Jakey. “Look! We’ve got a new pal. We’re going to have a ball. I love balls. Do you like balls? Or do you prefer sticks?”

  “This one can be a bit annoying,” said Old Mo with a heavy sigh, “but meals and walks are regular. When you get to my age you appreciate the routine.”

  “Don’t I recognize you?” said Biskit. “Wait a minute – you’re Agent Mo. You’re a Pet Defenders agent.”

  Old Mo shook his head. “Used to be. My defending days are behind me.”

  “I remember you giving a talk when I was a new recruit. You taught me my most valuable lesson: a good agent always trusts his nose,” said Biskit.

  Old Mo smiled sadly. “Yeah, well, I lost my sense of smell years ago,” he said. “I remember you, now I think about it. You were an annoying little upstart. Didn’t you partner up with Champ?”

  “Yes,” said Biskit, feeling a tinge of sadness at the mention of his former partner.

  “Now, there was a promising agent,” said Old Mo.

  “He fell into a portal and ended up on the other side of the galaxy,” said Biskit. “He hasn’t been seen since.”

  “Shame. So, you’re on your own now, are you?”

  “No, I have a new partner – Mitzy. She’s a cat.”

  “A cat,” barked Jakey. “Where? Where’s the cat?”

  Old Mo ignored him. “Dogs and cats, working together. Things have changed since my day. I guess it’s for the better. How’s the bunny?”

  “Commander F suspended me this morning,” said Biskit.

  Old Mo smiled. “Oh well, it’s not as though you’re getting out of here any time soon. The walls are two metres high. Sorry, Biskit, you’re here until your owner comes to collect you.”

  “They haven’t built the kennel that can contain me yet,” bragged Biskit.

  “Yes, that’s how I remember you,” said Old Mo. “Overconfident and reckless. Now if you don’t mind, I was in the middle of a rather good dream about rabbits. Wake me up at ten, would you? Jakey, try to keep the noise down.”

  “I won’t make any noise. Oh, look, a pigeon. Up there on the wall, a pigeon,” he yapped. “Let’s bark at the pigeon. I love barking.”

  Biskit flopped his ears over his eyes. It was going to be a long week.

  Mitzy had tried to persuade Commander F to reconsider Biskit’s suspension but the cat’s words had fallen on deaf ears.

  “That dog needs to learn who’s in charge of this operation,” said the large white rabbit, chewing a stick of celery. “He has to follow the rules rather than trusting his instincts.”

  “Biskit’s instincts are what make him such a good agent,” said Mitzy. “We need him.”

  “And I need you to stop arguing with your superior,” snarled Commander F. “We’ve had a report of alien activity at one of the factories on the outskirts of town.”

  “What kind of alien activity?” asked Mitzy.

  “I don’t have any details. Our entire seagull network is down. Example One says it’s some kind of technical glitch.”

  Usually the Pet Defenders kept in contact via a network of trained seagulls. These birds wore cameras, voice communicators, medical kits and packages of Forget-Me-Plop.

  “Every seagull is grounded until the system is up and running again,” said Commander F, “so I won’t be able to keep an eye on you.”

  “I’ll be fine,” said Mitzy.

  “It’s not you I’m worried about.” Commander F waggled the nibbled end of the celery stick at her. “Our ability to wipe witnesses’ memories is the most important tool we have to keep our operation secret.”

  “I won’t let you down, sir.”

  Mitzy wished she felt as confident as she sounded. She left Commander F to finish off his celery and made her way across town.

  When she reached the cluster of factories, she jumped up and over a wall into the car park. She approached cautiously, using the vans and lorries for cover.

  “Psst. Over here. Are you the Pet Defenders agent?”

  Hearing the voice, Mitzy turned to see a grey rat tucked between two wheels of a lorry.

  “Crisp?” She recognized him as the street rat who had recently been abducted by a Snot Snatcher.

  “How do you know my name?” he replied.

  When the seagull had made Crisp forget his alien abduction, it had also removed all memory of meeting Mitzy.

  “It’s my job to know stuff. I’m Agent Mitzy,” she replied. “Did you report some unusual activity?”

  “Yes. I was here scavenging. There’s usually good grub in those bins around the side. That building over there is a fish-finger factory. Sometimes you can pick up these great big bags of breadcrumbs… Delicious! And the one on that side makes frozen pizzas. Really nice toppings—”

  “Crisp,” interrupted Mitzy.

  “Oh, it’s all right for you domestic

animals with your food bowls,” said Crisp bitterly.

  “I’m a street cat,” said Mitzy. “Get to the unusual bit.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry. I saw something walk into that building.” Crisp pointed his nose at the door of a nearby factory. His voice trembled with fear. “I’ve … I’ve never seen anything like it. I don’t think it was from this planet.”

  “Can you describe it?” asked Mitzy.

  “It’s made of bricks and it has huge chimneys sticking out of the top,” said Crisp.

  “I meant the alien, not the building,” said Mitzy with a sigh.

  “Oh, that. Yes, it was big, green and spiky with eyes on stalks.”

  The lorry revved its engine. Mitzy and Crisp moved quickly to another lorry, with an advert for a fizzy drink on its side. Curly straws spelt out the words:

  “Then what happened?” asked Mitzy.

  “A black cat followed it in.”

  “A black cat?” said Mitzy.

  “Yes, but it had space gadgets! It wore a flashing collar and had a pointy gun thing on its tail. It looked pretty cool actually.”

  “OK, I’ll take it from here. You can get back to scavenging.”

  Mitzy snuck out from under the fizzy drinks lorry.

  “Get back to scavenging? After this?” said Crisp, joining her. “It’s the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

  According to Pet Defenders guidelines, Mitzy wasn’t allowed to tell Crisp about his previous alien encounter. The rules also advised against letting witnesses become too involved in cases.

  “Crisp, please go about your business and let me go about mine,” said Mitzy.

  “No way. This is far too much fun,” said Crisp, following her. “I’m sticking with you like chewing gum. Come on, I’ll show you where they went.”

  Crisp scurried towards the factory.

  “Wait,” said Mitzy. “Someone’s coming out.”

  The door slid open. Mitzy darted forwards, snatched Crisp in her mouth and dived for the cover of a nearby car. A young male factory worker with long greasy hair stepped out and limped towards the fizzy drinks lorry.

  “Now’s our chance,” said Crisp. “While the door’s open.” He wriggled free and ran forwards. Mitzy had no choice but to follow him into the reception area. Inside, everything was branded with the same logo as the lorry and the walls were lined with framed adverts with various slogans:

  A receptionist was sitting behind the desk, reading a book. The phone was ringing but she was too engrossed in her book to answer it.

  “Stay close,” urged Mitzy, ducking behind an enormous plastic bottle of pop.

  “Oh look, Sip Pop Cherry,” said Crisp, joining her. “It’s great to drink when you feel merry.”

  “Keep quiet.” Mitzy poked her head around the side of the bottle. The receptionist was still staring at her book. “Come on.”

  Mitzy and Crisp made a dash for the corridor but they stopped as soon as they turned the corner. A female factory worker was standing right in front of them.

  “What do we do?” whispered Crisp.

  “Let’s see what she does,” replied Mitzy.

  But the woman didn’t do anything. She was standing still, staring at nothing. She wasn’t even blinking.

  “What’s wrong with her?” asked Crisp.

  Mitzy turned around to look at the receptionist, who was also perfectly still.

  “It looks like they’ve all got the Stares,” said Mitzy.

  “But this is the ground floor,” said Crisp.

  “Stares not stairs,” said Mitzy. “It stands for a State of Time and Reality Experience Suspension. I’ve seen Barb do it on people.”

  “Who’s Barb?”

  “An alien fish,” said Mitzy, “but she’s on our side – unlike whoever did this.”

  “So it’s like a freeze ray?” said Crisp.

  “Yes.” Mitzy slipped past the woman and peered into one of the rooms off the corridor. There were two more unmoving factory workers. One was holding a heavy-looking cardboard box. The other was bending down to pick up a crate of bottles. Mitzy moved on to the next door, where there were more static humans.

  “Why would anyone want to do this to a fizzy drinks factory?” she mused.

  “Maybe we could ask him,” said Crisp.

  Mitzy turned. At the other end of the corridor, standing on a windowsill, was a cat. He looked at them. Just as Crisp had described, he had jet-black fur and was wearing a collar covered in small flashing lights. He also had a ray gun attached to his tail.

  “Stop right there,” said Crisp. “We’re the Pet Defenders.”

  “Crisp, please leave the talking to me,” said Mitzy.

  “Sorry,” said Crisp.

  She turned to address the cat. “Welcome to Planet Earth. I’m Agent Mitzy of the Pet Defenders and it’s my job to defend this planet. If you come in peace, I ask that you leave in peace.”

  The black cat smiled. “Listen, small worlder, there’s a big universe out there and I’ve got a job to do. Please don’t get in my way.”

  “What did you call me?”

  “A small worlder. Protecting your little planet with no understanding of what’s actually going on in the rest of your galaxy.”

  “What’s all that stuff you’re wearing?” asked Crisp, captivated by the coloured lights that were flashing on the cat’s collar, always in the same order: red, blue, green, yellow then purple.

  The cat gave him a snooty look. “It’s a standard issue SUPA Ray Blaster. The collar operates the tail gun, allowing me to select from one of five settings. Look, I’ll show you the Stare Ray.”

  The black cat swung his tail gun then nudged the blue button with his chin, firing a laser beam directly at Crisp and freezing him to the spot.

  “Crisp,” said Mitzy.

  The rat stared blankly ahead.

  Mitzy turned back to the cat. “You can’t do that! This is my planet.”

  “Spoken like a true small worlder.”

  “Stop calling me that. Who are you?” demanded Mitzy.

  “The name is Zed,” said the black cat. “But I’m rather busy right now so I’m afraid I can’t stop and chat.”

  He swung his tail around, aimed it at the window then pushed the red button. A laser beam shot from the gun and shattered the glass. Zed hopped through the hole and turned back to look at Mitzy. “Stay out of my way, Agent Mitzy.”

  “Sorry, I can’t do that.” Mitzy jumped up on to the windowsill to follow Zed but, as she did, the black cat pressed the green button on his collar. This time the laser beam hit the spot where the window had been. There was a flash of light, then the tiny shards of glass from the broken window leaped into the air and reassembled themselves as if the window had never been broken.

  By the time Mitzy realized what was happening, her nose had already slammed into the glass. She dropped down on to the windowsill in a crumpled heap and watched as the black cat strolled away.

  “What happened?” asked Crisp, waking from his stupor.

  “I don’t know.” Mitzy waggled a paw, checking nothing was broken. “He smashed the window and then he…” She hesitated, unsure how to explain it. “… he unsmashed it.”

  “Unsmashed?” said Crisp. “Why don’t I remember that?”

  “He hit you with a Stare Ray.”

  “How come it wore off so quickly?” said Crisp, looking at the humans who were still frozen.

  “I don’t know, but I know a mouse who will know. We’ll check the area, then go and see Example One.”

  “But what about the other alien I saw enter the factory, the one with the spikes?” asked Crisp.

  “I have a feeling that whatever that thing was, it’s gone,” said Mitzy.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t. It’s more of an instinct,” she replied.

  Biskit was bored. There was nothing to do at Mrs Stroganov’s Dog Hotel except stare at the walls while listening to Old Mo snore and Jakey yap constantly. He occupied his mind by working out possible escape plans. Old Mo had been right when he said that the walls were too high to jump. The only way out would be through the building. Biskit had observed how Mrs Stroganov always pushed open the door with her elbows when she was carrying refills for the food bowls, then left it to swing shut behind her. It took three seconds to close. There was room to get past her but the problem was how to get through the front door in time as well.

 

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