Ruffleclaw Page 3

  With his body and soul hurting badly, Ruffleclaw peered out from under the greenery.

  “What a shame!” he growled. “What a sludgy, slimy shame!”

  And, even worse, there was not even the tiniest bit of food to be had for him. The tin with his precious stash of worms was out of reach. Muttering curses, Ruffleclaw scratched his aching tail. What now? The shed and his burrow were endless monster-meters away. How was he supposed to get there in broad daylight without that crazed slug skewering him with that spear? Ruffleclaw knew there was only one thing he could do: he had to dig a tunnel to his burrow. But he really, really didn’t want to.

  Splash! A huge raindrop landed on his nose. And another. And another. Ruffleclaw groaned. Not that as well! He hated rain nearly as much as he hated digging tunnels. Digging was hard work, and he was a lazy monster. But what else could he do?

  Growling, cursing, and spitting, Ruffleclaw went to work. And soon there was only a hole and a small mound of dirt where he’d been sitting.

  Ruffleclaw dug and dug and cursed the humans, those horrible, big humans, who grabbed their monster guests by the tails and ran them out of the house with spears. Those treacherous, little humans, who wouldn’t help their monster friend, just because he’d made a bit of a mess. So sneaky! So cowardly! Dog-fartily, cat-scratchily nasty—that’s what they were.

  At least Ruffleclaw ran into a few worms on his endless dig, and with every one he ate, he felt a tiny bit better.

  But then he had to think of the little human again, who had done absolutely nothing to help him against that nasty slug. And again Ruffleclaw wanted to bite a hole into his own fur.

  When he finally broke through into his burrow, Ruffleclaw’s four arms ached and his empty stomach growled, but he let out a big sigh of relief. He lay down on his bed of soft sweaters.

  Humans are disgusting, he thought. But some of their stuff is still slimaliciously wonderful.

  A spider was slowly descending from the earth ceiling, but Ruffleclaw was too tired to eat it.

  He curled up with a weary grunt and immediately fell asleep.

  “See? I was right,” Wormtooth whispered. “He’s back. And he’s gotten quite fat.”

  Ruffleclaw opened his eyes and saw his two neighbors standing by his bed. “Hey, Ruffleclaw,” said Shaggystink. “Where’ve you been? We thought the dog had gotten you.”

  Ruffleclaw sat up and yawned. “I was in the house of the humans,” he said, scratching his belly.

  “The human house?” Dumbfounded, his earth monster neighbors looked at each other.

  Wormtooth was the first to regain her speech. “Can’t have been too bad,” she said, patting Ruffleclaw’s belly.

  “It was wonderful,” Ruffleclaw bragged. “But then it got a bit boring. And I was running out of worms.”

  Shaggystink sniffed Ruffleclaw’s fur and wrinkled his nose. “Yuck! You smell horribly of soap.”

  “I drank a whole bottle!” Ruffleclaw happily rolled his eyes at the memory. “Ooooh, it was creepy-crawliciously yummy. Bugalociously wonderful!”

  The other two shuddered.

  “Well, you’re obviously just as crazy as before,” said Wormtooth. “Want to come over for some pill bugs? I can’t bear the stink in here anymore.”

  “Yes! You have to tell us what that house is like,” said Shaggystink. “And I’ll bring some worms to nibble on.”

  “If you insist,” Ruffleclaw replied generously. “You go ahead. I’ll be along in a little while.”

  He sat in his burrow, pondering. The dim light soothed his eyes, and he breathed in the delicious smells of pill bugs and centipedes.

  It’s nice to be home, Ruffleclaw thought. But then he sighed. He was going to miss Tommy’s bed. And the cake. And the jingly-music. Oh, that heavenly jingly-music.

  Tommy was sad. Miserable.

  Yes, he had to admit, Ruffleclaw had been quite a pest. Always hungry. Always tired. And he spat absolutely everywhere. And still…Tommy missed him.

  Now he was alone again.

  He’d cleaned Mom’s piano and the carpet. The spear he’d taken to the attic. And then he started planning how he could get Ruffleclaw back.

  Finding him was not the problem. The monster had told him where his burrow was: under the old shed. Getting him to come back should also not be too difficult. A little cake and chocolate would do the trick. But…Mom. Mom was a problem. And Tommy didn’t even want to start thinking about Dad. First things first, he thought.

  First he had to convince Mom that he would get sick if he didn’t get Ruffleclaw back. Very sick. Then he had to make her feel guilty for nearly skewering the monster, although Ruffleclaw had only growled and spat a little. Mom was very easy to guilt-trip.

  He tried the same trick he’d once used to get out of a math exam. With Mom’s face powder, he made himself look as pale as a zombie. Then he tottered down the stairs and collapsed on the couch, near where Mom was dusting Dad’s travel souvenirs.

  “Goodness? Your face!” she cried out. “You’re not getting sick, are you?”

  Tommy made his best near-death face and nodded. “Yes. Unless I get Ruffleclaw back.”

  “Ruffleclaw? Is that what that monster is called?” Mom asked. “Impossible! Just so it can devour us all in the middle of the night? You can’t be serious.”

  “He’s totally harmless,” said Tommy. “Really. He just acts dangerous. Cats also hiss and show their claws.”

  “I can’t stand cats,” his mother replied. She rearranged an ivory Eiffel Tower and two plaster Greek goddesses. “But their claws aren’t that long. And they don’t stink.”

  “You frightened him to death,” said Tommy. “Otherwise he would never have gone after you.”

  “Really? I scared him to death?” his mother shrieked. “And what about me? A four-armed monster chases me onto my own piano, spits at me, scratches my legs, and I am supposed to have scared him to death? Ha!”

  “I’ll get him to stop spitting,” Tommy mumbled. “You have my word. And we could trim his claws a little.”

  “No way!” his mother said. “That’s final. Period. The end. Go watch some TV. That’ll take your mind off this nonsense.”

  “No,” said Tommy. “I want my monster back.”

  “You can have pancakes for dinner.”

  “I’ll only eat when I get my monster back.”

  “That is simply not an option!” his mother hissed angrily.

  Tommy crossed his arms. “I’m officially on hunger strike. And I won’t go to school, either. Final. The end.”

  “But that’s just silly,” his mother whined. She was fiddling with her earlobes, something she only did when she was nervous.

  “The last time you acted up like this was when Dad brought you that horrid sailor costume,” she said angrily. “You remember? He asked you to wear it to school. Back then I could understand your reaction. But now?” She shook her head. “All this drama because of that horrible creature?”

  Tommy stared at the carpet and said nothing.

  “Oh, come on,” his mom said. She got some licorice sticks and put them in front of Tommy. “Maybe you can have a guinea pig or a bird. Dad’s not allergic to those, is he?”

  “But I want my monster!” Tommy insisted. He ignored the licorice, which was terribly hard. Then he sighed a very deep sigh and dragged himself up the stairs to his room.

  A short while later, his mother knocked on his door. “Come on, Tommy!” she said. “A monster as a pet? One morning we’ll wake up to him nibbling on us.”

  “Ruffleclaw doesn’t eat humans. He’s nice!” Tommy replied. “Lazy, yes, and greedy, but nice. And you went after him with a spear. Just because he spilled something on your piano.”

  “He looked dangerous,” Tommy’s mother said angrily. “With all those arms and teeth. Well, never mind. I have to practice.”

  And she was gone.

  Tommy listened intently to the sounds coming from downstairs. His mother missed at
least every third note. There we go! He quickly dashed to the bathroom to put some more powder on his face.

  Ten minutes later, his mother poked her head through the door again. “You heard it—I can’t even practice, just because you’re such a stubborn boy. Please be reasonable now.”

  “I want my monster back,” said Tommy.

  “But that’s completely crazy!” his mother cried. “I know you’ve always wanted a dog, but a monster…”

  “I don’t want a dog, I want a monster!” Tommy said. “And I’ll train him. Promise!”

  Tommy thought, Now is the time to play your trump card. “He loves your piano playing, Mom!” he said. “He goes all gooey listening to it. Really.”

  “What? That thing?” His mother blushed, just like she always did when someone complimented her playing. “Nonsense.”

  “But it’s true!” Tommy added. “That’s why he was all over the piano. He wanted to make beautiful music like you do. Couldn’t you teach him? Just imagine, he could play four-handed all by himself.”

  Mom’s piano-teacher eyes started glowing. But then she shook her head again. “No way, this is ridiculous. That horrible, disgusting creature…”

  “He loves to bathe,” said Tommy. “Oh, please, Mom. Please, please let me have my monster.”

  “Impossible. What’s your dad going to say?”

  Tommy grinned. “Dad loves disgusting things.”

  “Well…maybe…but that creature’s long gone now anyway.”

  And that’s when Tommy knew he’d won.

  Ruffleclaw returned from Wormtooth’s burrow in an excellent mood. How those two had stared at him as he told them of his adventures in the house of the humans. They’d gone green with envy, yes, bright green. Of course he hadn’t told them about the less pleasant incidents. And why should he have?

  Smacking his lips with joy, Ruffleclaw crawled into his pile of sweaters and closed his eyes for some well-earned sleep.

  But he’d barely been snoring for five minutes when he heard strange, scraping sounds right above his head. As if something was crawling across the floor of the shed. What was that now? Hadn’t he had enough excitement in the past days? Worried, he pricked his ears. Maybe a cat? Or a dog?

  “Hey, Ruffleclaw!” a familiar voice suddenly called. “Are you there?”

  It was the human named Tommy! What was he doing? Ruffleclaw’s fur stood on end.

  And now the boy was knocking on the floorboards. Intolerable! Growling with rage, Ruffleclaw crawled up the tunnel and pushed away the floorboards at the top.

  “What do you want?” he hissed. “Go away! I don’t want anything to do with you. Nothing!”

  The little human made a sheepish face. On the floor next to him stood a large basket from which some very tempting smells wafted into Ruffleclaw’s sensitive nose.

  “I’m very sorry!” said Tommy. “Really! Very sorry! But why did you have to make such a huge mess? And right on Mom’s piano?”

  “Puh!” Ruffleclaw’s wide mouth screwed up with disdain. “She nearly skewered me! Yes, skewered! And she almost ripped off my tail. And then I had to dig a tunnel under the entire garden to get home. My arms are still aching. I don’t even want to think how many years of my life all of that has cost me.”

  Tommy reached into his pocket. “Here. I brought you your sunglasses. And look!” He pushed the basket right in front of Ruffleclaw’s big monster nose. “This is for you.”

  “Hmph.” Scowling, Ruffleclaw grabbed the sunglasses. Then he hopped out of his hole and peered into the basket.

  “Sausages,” said Tommy, “and cookies. And eggs. You like eggs, don’t you?”

  “And cake?” Ruffleclaw’s four hands rummaged through the basket. “No cake?”

  “You already ate all the cake!” Tommy called out. “You can be glad I still found this stuff in the fridge.”

  Ruffleclaw just grunted. He snatched the basket and was about to shove it into his tunnel when Tommy grabbed his arm. “Hey, wait a minute,” he said. “I brought this so you’d come back.”

  “What? Back? With you?” the monster shrieked—without letting go of the basket, of course. “Do you think I have a death wish or something?”

  And suddenly the little human looked very sad. “Please?” he said. “Please come back. You won’t have to sit in the closet anymore. And I’ve hidden the spear in the attic. On my honor.”

  “Hmm.” Ruffleclaw reached into the basket and popped an egg into his mouth. Yum! The shell crunched wonderfully between his teeth. “What about that nasty slug?” he mumbled, rubbing his injured tail.

  “My mother wants to teach you to play the piano,” said Tommy.

  Now Ruffleclaw was speechless. “Jingly-music?” he breathed.

  “Yes, exactly. Jingly-music!” Tommy nodded. “I told her that pupils with four hands are quite rare.”

  “Ha!” Ruffleclaw frowned and scratched his ears. Then he scratched his belly, and then his nose. Finally he grinned. He grinned from one pointy ear to the other. “Sold! Yes. You convinced me.”

  He peered down his tunnel. Then he pushed the basket toward Tommy. “You take that,” he whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Why are you whispering?” Tommy asked.

  “Because of the others!” Ruffleclaw pulled the floorboards back into place. Then he waved Tommy to follow him as he tiptoed toward the door. “Can’t you make your fat human feet walk a bit more quietly?” he hissed angrily.

  Tommy tried. “What others?”

  “My neighbors,” Ruffleclaw grunted. “Wormtooth and Shaggystink. Two earth monsters, just like me, only not as nice, and not half as smart.”

  “Ahhh!” Tommy whispered. He looked around, but he couldn’t see any sign of more earth monsters. “And why shouldn’t they hear us? I’d like to meet them.”

  “Puh!” Ruffleclaw pushed the sunglasses onto his nose and pointed at the basket. “So they can eat all this yummy stuff? No way! Anyway, they’re always squabbling and fighting. Disgusting.”

  Ruffleclaw didn’t mention that he also liked to do those things from time to time. Instead, he quickly pattered down the flagstone path toward the house.

  Tommy took the basket and followed the monster—past all the plaster statues, totem poles, and Eiffel Towers his father had planted all over the garden. Ruffleclaw stopped in front of the ugliest of the totem poles.

  “This is what made me move in under your shed,” he said. “Nobody else has such freakalicious stuff in their yards.”

  The pole had always given Tommy the creeps. Only a monster could like a hideous thing like that.

  They both continued toward the house.

  “Oh, and don’t mention earthworms when Mom’s around,” Tommy said as he unlocked the door. “Just tell her how wonderful her piano playing is and stuff like that.”

  “Got it!” said Ruffleclaw. “And I probably shouldn’t call her slug, either, right?”

  “Unless you do want to get skewered after all!”

  “Puh!” Ruffleclaw spat into the grass.

  “And stop doing that, too, okay?” said Tommy. “No more spitting.”

  “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” the monster grunted. “And what about her? I hope she’s not going to behave like such a human all the time or make stupid comments about my fur. I won’t be able to control myself.”

  This is going to be interesting, Tommy thought as he pushed the door open.

  Tommy’s mother was just giving a lesson as they walked into the house.

  “Phwerk!” Ruffleclaw muttered. “What kind of horrible noise is that?”

  “Come on,” said Tommy, pushing him toward the stairs. “First you’re going to take a shower.”

  “No problem!” Ruffleclaw grunted. “But only if I get another bottle of that yummy shampoo.”

  “Fine!” Tommy shoved the monster through the bathroom doorway. “But don’t drink it all, okay? Use some for washing as well. You’re smelling kind of funky.”

&nb
sp; “Moany, moany, moan!” Ruffleclaw answered. “Have I said a word about your horrible human smell? And that soap stuff is way too precious for washing.”

  “Just do what you want with it,” said Tommy. He threw a bottle of shampoo into the shower and went back to his room.

  Tommy lay down on his bed and started plotting how he could get his dad into a monster-agreeable mood. Not even the strongest shampoo would help with Dad’s allergies, even if Ruffleclaw decided to use at least some to wash himself.

  By the time Mom walked her pupil to the door, Tommy still hadn’t come up with a plan. With a sigh he went back to the bathroom—and couldn’t believe his eyes.

  A dripping-wet Ruffleclaw was standing in front of the mirror, using Mom’s lipstick to paint pink spots onto his fur.

  He was singing, “Pling! Plong! Jingly-jingle!” and beginning to paint his nose as well.

  “Oh no!” Tommy groaned. “What are you doing?”

  Ruffleclaw grinned proudly at his reflection in the mirror. “Slimalicious, isn’t it?” His dripping paws reached for Tommy’s mother’s favorite perfume.

  “No!” Tommy shouted. “Don’t touch that!”

  “Why?” Ruffleclaw gave the little bottle a blissful sniff. “Creepy-crawliciously, wormaliciously wonderful! Please? Just one tiny sip?”

  “No!” Tommy quickly took the bottle from Ruffleclaw’s paw. “Don’t touch this, unless you want to have another fight with my mother. It’s not for drinking anyway.”

  “No?”

  “No, it’s for spraying onto your skin.”

  Ruffleclaw scratched his wet belly. “What a waste!” he grunted.

  Tommy also took the lipstick from him, though there wasn’t much left of it. Then he took his mom’s hair dryer from the cabinet.

  “What is that?” Ruffleclaw asked warily. When Tommy switched it on, the monster bared his fangs and retreated into a corner.

  “Stop that!” said Tommy. “This is for drying your fur.”