The Hairball of Horror! (7 page)

The Spacemutts quickly gathered at the back of the ship with the boom-bone and the dogged-digger, and then set out across the surface of the object. They had invited Montague to join them,
hoping he might discover the joys of digging, but the poodle took one look at the dirty brown landscape and volunteered to stay behind and look after the ship.

Montague gave a little whine as the Spacemutts left without him. He wished he could have joined them on the expedition, but his fear of filth kept him aboard the
Dogstar
.

‘This is one small step for dog,’ said Poppy, the first to place a paw on the strange, lumpy surface. ‘And one giant leap towards saving the whole of mankind from being blasted
out of the sky.’

‘It’s very sticky,’ said Butch, prodding the ground with the digger.

‘Hairballs!’ said Rocket, sniffing out a scent as the wild wind battered his nostrils.

‘Huh?’ Poppy and Butch said together.

‘Can’t you smell it?’ said the captain, scooping up a handful of matted hair with his paw. ‘It has the scent of a million different cat hairs all stuck together with
fish-flavoured dribble.’

‘Now that you mention it . . .’ said Butch, snuffling along the ground.

‘We’re hurtling through space on a gigantic, apocalyptic hairball!’ said Rocket.

‘So Lady Fluffkins has given up trying to conquer planet Earth and wants to destroy it instead?’ said Poppy, shaking her head. ‘Well, at least we won’t have to fight the
feline forces or do battle with a kitty-cat army!’

‘Let’s just get this thing buried and get out of here,’ said Rocket, glancing around the dark terrain of rounded hills and sharp mountains as the cold wind shrieked and
whistled. ‘This place gives me the creeps.’

The Spacemutts moved through the peculiar lumpy landscape and behind the nearest hairball hill, where Rocket set the boom-bone down and Butch went to work with the dogged-digger. The noisy
shovel device made short work of the hole while filling the air with a fountain of hairballs and Poppy was soon lowering the armed boom-bone on an extendable dog lead before the hole was filled
again.

‘Not bad for ten minutes’ work,’ said Rocket, patting the mound down with his paws when Butch had finished filling the hole. ‘Now let’s get back to the ship.
We’ve got twenty minutes to leave this smelly hairball and get out of its path before—’

‘This is WOOF calling Rocket,’ interrupted his collar, lights flashing around the captain’s neck. ‘I’m picking up a strange movement from your location. The blue
rivers on the surface seem to be changing course and are heading straight for you.’

‘That’s impossible!’ said Rocket.

‘My scanners have been monitoring the surface ever since we landed,’ said WOOF. ‘I’ve double-checked all the data and there is a definite shift taking place . .
.’

‘No. I mean that hairballs don’t have rivers!’ said Rocket, looking around for signs of movement through the dusty astral winds. ‘Which means it must be something else.
It obviously felt the vibrations of the digger and is snaking its way here to investigate.’

‘Over there!’ said Poppy, squinting at the hazy, smoky movement growing thicker in the distance. ‘It’s like a thick blue mist that is slowly closing in on us.’

‘That’s not mist,’ said Butch, hearing a sound above the roaring wind.

‘How do you know?’ asked Poppy.

‘Because mist doesn’t hiss,’ growled the bulldog.

It was then that the Spacemutts saw glaring yellow eyes glowing all around them, as many feline shapes marched on their hind paws in close formation towards them. As they moved forward the
captain saw that the cats were wearing flappy furry hats and trench coats with shiny buttons. He also noticed they were armed with curved sabre swords!

‘Regiments of Russian Blues!’ said Rocket.

‘The most merciless of all military moggies!’ said Butch.

‘And they have us trapped on this hairball,’ said Poppy, as the feline forces penned them in, paws on swords.

‘Right on top of a ticking time-bomb!’