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Driving Lessons Chapter 27 - Everybody wants to be a cat…
England woke to a horrid sound. A wailing.
"Artie dude tell him! I don't want to be Princess Peach!"
England slowly opened his eyes. And regretted it instantly. Stars burst in his head. It felt as if some madman had shone a laser into his eyes.
It was the sun.
America stood over his bed and had opened the curtains. "Artie!"
"What?" England asked. God his head hurt so much, what in the name of Wimbledon had he been drinking?
"Super Mario Kart!" America told him by way of 'explanation'.
"What?"
"Never mind," America slouched back out, leaving the curtains wide open. "By the way…" America called back over his shoulder as an aside, "By the way, you need to get some pants on."
England sat up quickly at that and looked down.
The scream reverberated around the house.
Downstairs America slouched in and prepared to continue his argument with Prussia as to who was 'Princess Peach'. The two Nations looked up at the ceiling as England screamed and then shrugged at one another.
In the kitchen, Scotland and France were arguing over a toaster. They stopped briefly as they heard England scream. France giggled to himself, Scotland shook his head.
"Yer an awful awful man, Francy," he said wisely.
France smiled creepily.
England staggered off the bed and closed the curtains and then swooshed them open again.
In the driveway his beloved Bentley was being washed by a tall blond idiot wearing a Viking helmet, wellington boots and not much else.
"Stop touching my car!" England yelled and then realised Denmark couldn't hear him so he opened a window and yelled the refrain again.
Denmark looked around dumbly and then carried on.
England's next door neighbour peered over the fence, saw the naked Dane, did a double take and hurried inside.
England pulled on the nearest pair of trousers he could find. Unfortunately, they were France's.
"Damn him and his too tight denim," England muttered.
A further awful surprise greeted him in the bathroom.
England had thought about having a bath but there was an impediment to this plan. A large impediment.
England carefully closed the bathroom door and headed downstairs.
"Why is there a big Russian asleep in my bath?" he asked France and Scotland.
"Is this a joke?" Scotland asked.
"Wait! I know the punchline to this one!" America yelled from the living room. "Is it something like 'because he has no nose'?'"
"No! That's my dog has no nose…" England began to say.
"No! Really? That is terrible!" France declared.
"No! You imbeciles!" England yelled.
"It's a joke! I know this! He doesn't have a nose so he smells terrible!" America said, pleased with himself.
Prussia stared at him. "Are you going to play this game or what?" he asked.
"You mean Russia is in the bath because he smells?" France asked.
"Shush, are you trying to get us killed?" Scotland asked. He was still wearing a skirt and appeared to be baking shortbread.
"No! You utter gumboids! I'm not trying to tell a bloody joke! Wait… how did you know Russia was in the bath?"
"He slept in there last night. L'Amerique slept in his own room which is really mon room…" France sighed, "…Prusse slept on ze sofa. Danemark slept in ze car and I was going to…"
"Wait? Denmark slept in my car?" England looked appalled. "My… car?" he staggered backwards, clutching his heart.
"He loves zat car like a lover," France explained. "I was going to snuggle avec tu in your bed, mon cher," France continued when he realised England was distracted. "But you still had ze tattoos from Miss Biélorussie so I ran away."
England wasn't listening. Instead he slammed outside, went past the horse in the garden. Stopped, looked at it and then went on. "You! You slept in my car?" he shouted at Denmark.
Denmark spun round and sprayed England with the hosepipe he was carrying. "Duh?" he said dumbly. He was also wearing America's ipod thing.
England jumped back, wet through, "Take those bloody things out of your ears!" he yelled.
"What?"
"Take that ipod out of your ears!" England yelled.
"I can't hear you cos I'm listening to this!" Denmark yelled, swinging around again so England was drenched again.
England fought his way through the stream of water, snatched the hosepipe from Denmark and pulled the earphones out of the Dane's ears.
"Ow!"
"Did you sleep in my car?"
"Sure did!" Denmark nodded like a large nodding dog.
In fact he had all the appearances of a large stray dog. A large stray dog with a Viking helmet and wellington boots.
"Can you at least put some bloody clothes on? I hope you wore something in my car?" England said.
"Vikings don't wear pyjamas, dude."
England tried to shake this image away. He eventually realised he was still holding the hosepipe - which had now just reduced to a pathetic trickle. It summed up his whole life. He looked at it.
"I turned off ze tap, mon cher," France called from the kitchen.
England ignored him. He gingerly peered into the Bentley and then stepped back. "Why? Why? Why?" he began. He stopped and tried to pull himself together. He took a deep breath and began again. "Why is there a cat in my car?"
"Oh yeah! He slept there last night!" Denmark said and continued sponging down the car.
England erupted then. "What? Why is there a sodding cat in my car? Why did he sleep in there? Why are you bloody well cleaning my car? Stop touching it!" he snatched the sponge off Denmark.
"Dude! Not cool! He's a stray! He followed dude Russia in last night and slept with me. I'm cleaning your car cos it was dirty. Calm down."
"My car… was dirty…?"
"Yeah…"
"Cake?"
"No thanks."
"No, I mean was it cake?" England tried to ignore the giggling coming from the kitchen window as France and Scotland watched. He was tempted to turn the hosepipe on them but remembered that the tap was inside. "I'm sure I washed all the cake from it."
"No. It was ketchup."
"Ketchup?"
"Honestly, you need to calm down."
"Why was there ketchup on my car?"
"Honestly, England, it's gone now."
"And why was there a cat in my car? And why are you not wearing any pants? What is wrong with you lot? Why can you not wear normal bloody clothes when I'm talking to you? Why do you all have problems wearing pants for longer than a few hours?" England ranted. He opened the Bentley door.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" Denmark warned.
Denmark shook his head as England was attacked by a ball of angry fur.
"Aaargh!" England stepped back as a cat wrapped itself around his head.
"I think he likes you," Denmark said dozily and continued to sponge car shampoo onto England's car.
"Aaargh!" England danced around trying to extricate a large stray cat from his face. It was like the scene from Alien. The cat clung to his head and seemed to be eating his hair.
"Mmmphmmm!" England yelled.
"I was going to call it Sven" Denmark said and then yelled ear-splittingly, "Francy! Turn the tap back on!"
And so England got drenched for a second time as Denmark waved the hosepipe at him.
Russia emerged and the cat leapt into his arms. "Ah there you are!" Russia beamed. "Where have you been?"
"On my bloody face!" England gasped. There were bits of hair missing and his shirt collar was torn. He staggered back against the Bentley and got soaked again.
"Oh da!" Russia said beaming. "He must like you. You have a way with animals."
England wasn't sure about that.
"Well I have to go now. I have business with my boss," Russia said, swinging an axe merrily.
"No!" England yelled. "You can't just leave without your cat."
"He's not my cat."
"He's called Sven," Denmark told them.
"He's not staying here," England said, looking at the large tabby that was sat on the doorstep, licking some part of itself that England didn't want to think about.
"You would throw out a poor defenceless creature?" Russia looked appalled.
"It's hardly defenceless!" England protested.
Russia waved an axe in front of the dripping Englishman, "You will look after this cat, da?"
England nodded desperately.
Russia smiled and tootled off down the path whistling a tune.
England shivered and then sagged against the kitchen door.
The door opened, he fell in, the cat 'Sven' ran in and was immediately picked up by France and cooed over (the cat was, not England).
"Ah poor petit chat… He is half starved!" France purred at the cat and the cat purred back.
"No he's not!" England said. He stomped off upstairs to get dried. "We're going to take it to the Battersea Dogs Home and that's that!"
"You are so heartless!" France shouted.
"And will you two stop arguing about who's some princess or something?" England added to America and Prussia as he went past.
"Hey that's a point, dude. We do have to stop arguing. Me and Dude Den have to borrow some clothes man, so we can go get our medals," Prussia announced and yelled outside, "Dude Den! We have to get some pants on!"
"Why?" Den yelled back.
England stopped at the top of the stairs when he heard this, still sopping wet. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"We're going to Buckingham Palace, man!" Prussia yelled.
"Castle," America corrected him.
"Buckingham Castle!" Prussia corrected.
"Why?"
"To get those medals off…" here Prussia consulted America.
England was aghast when Prussia yelled, "…Queen Elizabeth the First."
"Second!" England shouted.
"Second." Prussia yelled.
"Why is she second?" Denmark yelled back.
"Dunno. Maybe she missed the bus."
England slammed back downstairs, "She's the second because she's the second Queen of that name, you imbeciles."
"I knew that," America said.
Prussia looked him up and down. "You need to calm down. Don't you have any Kings or Queens that are 'the Great' or anything?"
"Or 'the Good'?" Denmark yelled from outside.
"Or 'the Sexy'?" France interrupted, cuddling the cat.
"Or 'the Bruce'!" Scotland yelled.
"Like Springsteen!" America said.
England shook his head. They were all mad. All of them. The world had gone mad. Only he was sane. But he had to stop Prussia and Denmark from doing something stupid at the Palace and possibly ridiculing Her Majesty.
But first he had to change his clothes.
Later…
"If any of you gets anything so much as a hair or a crumb on this car's upholstery I will kill you!" England said through gritted teeth.
He was driving the Bentley.
France was sat in the passenger seat, holding his foot - the one with the cast on it - out of the window. England had no idea why. But he didn't question it. The less there was of France inside his beloved car the better.
America sat in the back with a large cardboard box. Occasionally the cardboard box moved. It contained a cat.
"Don't worry Franklin. You'll be looked after…" America whispered.
"Don't give it a name!" England hissed.
"You are very cruel," France said.
England wasn't interested in what France thought. He was wearing a flowery pantsuit belonging to France. So again he was feeling very uncomfortable wearing France's pants.
He said as much.
"Ah mon pantalons! Zay look so much better on me, mon cher!" France declared, waving at some poor lorry driver.
"Dude Artie, what did you say we can't get on the upholstery?" America asked.
England looked in the rear view mirror. "I said nothing."
"Oh that's okay then."
"I said you aren't to get anything on the upholstery!"
"Oh right."
"Have you?"
"Well not me exactly."
"Who then? There's only you and the CIA in the bloody back!"
"It was Franklin."
"For God's sake! I told you not to give it a name."
"Okay then… Jefferson. I could call him Jeff for short."
"No!"
"It should be Louis…ah oui…" France purred.
"Are you bloody kidding me?" England shouted. "And if you or that cat have done something in the back…" England threatened.
Immediately, a hand, a large hand in fact, rested on his shoulder. "I wouldn't threaten the Lieutenant-Colonel, Mr Kirkland. Or his cat."
"Ah Gaston! You are so cute when you are angry!" France said.
England seethed. "Well anyway, here's Battersea Dogs and Cats Home. We are going to take this cat into the Home and let someone else adopt him. Besides he belongs elsewhere with his proper owners, it's probably some poor little girl looking for him…" (Or some Mafia boss, England thought as he heard yowling from the back and the cardboard box shook) "…And besides, we can't possibly have any pets…"
Thirty minutes later…
"I don't bloody believe this!" England said as he carried a large box of felines to the car.
America was smiling. "We can call them Frank for Franklin, Jefferson or Jeff, George - as in Washington, Hammy for Hamilton…"
"I want to call one of zem 'Lafayette'," France declared.
"Oh God…" England said. "I bloody give up…" He banged his head repeatedly on the steering wheel…
They now had a total of six cats. England really had no idea how his life had turned out like this. No, actually in this case he did.
They had turned up to take one cat into the Rescue Centre, Alfred had been told exactly what the place was. He saw a box of five kittens who had all lost their mother and the Superpower had promptly burst into tears.
England had been horrified and the only way to mollify him was to adopt all of them. So they now had one cat - the one they had arrived with, along with a box of five kittens.
"At least call one of them Winston," England said with a sigh.
"What kind of a dumbass name is that?" America declared.
"Winston Churchill you utter idiot!" England yelled.
"Shut up, you'll make the kittens cry!" America said, hugging the cardboard box to his chest.
England started the engine. "For goodness' sake… It's because you started bloody crying that we're in this mess. And you, France. Throwing yourself on the ground wailing. Now we have 6 cats to look after."
"Five kittens and one cat who I shall call Clark Kent," America said. "We have to hand-rear them as well because they lost their mum," he added and his voice wavered. "We should call in at a grocery store and get some milk."
"No! We're going to be late. We need to get to the Palace and make sure Prussia and Denmark don't destroy the place…"
A large hand clamped on his shoulder. It hurt.
"I think we should get the milk, Kirkland," 'Gaston' rumbled.
"Damn and bloody blast…" England muttered but pulled into the car park of a grocery store anyway.
Shopping with France and America was a revelation. And not in a good way at all.
"Will you get a move on?" he shouted at them.
America pushed the trolley and piled it high with milk, baby milk ("Cos they're babies right?"), wine for France, DVDs, several Parenting magazines, pizzas and he was now hovering near the frozen food section. "Hey! Shall I get some icecream?"
"No! Now move!" England told him, trying but not succeeding in shifting the young American.
"I need some zings from ze pharmacy…" France said and hopped off.
England pulled him back, "Oh no you don't. I'm not buying a ton of flavoured condoms and lube."
Several customers stepped away from them and then around them.
"Ah you do not know how to have fun, mon ami," France said. "Not like us, eh Gaston?" he tried to put his arm through Gaston's. Gaston stepped away quickly. "He is my boyfriend!" France told a random woman shopper who quickly hurried down the next aisle.
America was loading the trolley with icecream, whilst England unloaded the frozen stuff back into the freezer. "No! It will defrost!"
"Why?" America looked aghast.
"We're going to the Palace to stop Prussia and Denmark from destroying a Grade I listed building and National treasure."
"Jeez. You need to calm down."
England shoved the trolley to the checkout.
"Aw man! Marmite! That's not even a food!" America yelled, holding up the offending jar.
"Eeet eez toxic!" France wailed.
"Shut up and get on with it!" England hissed at them.
They both cleared off. Leaving England to pay. America hurried back to the car. England hoped that the kittens and the cat (now with the names of Jeff, Frank, Hammy, George, Lafayette (that last one England particularly shuddered at) and Nelson (for the cat) had not crapped in his beloved Bentley. Someone would pay. Evidently though at the moment it was himself.
"187 pounds and 56 pence," the woman behind the counter said.
England stared at her. "We bought milk," he said disbelievingly.
"And 12 DVDs, four bottles of wine and an assortment of chocolate bars," the woman said.
England held up the marmite jar, "This was my only purchase. This is the only thing I came in for!"
The woman just raised an eyebrow, "Are you going to pay up or shall I call store security?"
England looked around. The CIA men had also scarpered he noted. "I'll pay," he sighed. He wondered as he pulled out his wallet if they would be in time to stop the utter carnage at the Palace…
To be continued...