More Meerkat Madness

Dedication

With thanks to Professor Tim Clutton-Brock who is responsible for much of the madness about meerkats and who has taught me – in fact, he has taught the nation as a whole – more about meerkats than Uncle Fearless has had barking geckos for breakfast.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Coming Soon!

Also available by Ian Whybrow

Copyright

About the Publisher

Foreword

The behaviour and adventures of the characters in this book are modelled on those of certain actual meerkats still living in the Kalahari. These creatures wish to remain anonymous to protect their privacy. For this reason, their names and their language have been changed. Any similarity between these characters and any meerkat-stars of stage or screen is purely coincidental.

Furthermore, any resemblance between Oolooks or Whevubins on safari, actual Click-clicks or Sir David Attenborough is purely in the eye of the beholder.

Ian Whybrow

under the cold and shivery midnight sands of the Kalahari desert…

Not that deep. Up a bit

Ah. This is it.

Here, in the warmest snuggest of all warm, snug sleeping chambers of Far Burrow,

four meerkats belonging to The Really Mad Mob were rolled up in a ball.

This is the Meerkat Way to enjoy a safe and restful sleep.

Chapter 1

Skeema, Mimi and Little Dream were thrilled with their new home. Far Burrow was dark and safe and wonderfully smelly. It was roomy, with comfortable chambers and plenty of secret entrances and exits. Above all, it was theirs – a home of their own that they shared with their dear old, mad old, lovely old, one-eyed… Uncle Fearless.

At the first coming of suntime, they made their way along the dark tunnels to the Upworld and stood together at the main entrance for Warm-up. Meerkats can’t really get going until they have warmed up their minds and muscles properly. To do this, they have to point the little pads on their tummies towards the rising sun for a while. So there they were, tummy-pads in the air, feeling a bit shivery, a bit tired… but happy.

Uncle stood beside the kits, mumbling to himself. He had been doing this a lot just lately. In fact, lately he had become even more eccentric than usual. For example, he had taken to dashing off by himself for quite long periods. And he was always popping down into the burrow, even in the suntime, declaring that he was “just checking that all the escape tunnels were in good order, don’t ya know?” If he had checked them once, he had checked them more times than he had teeth and claws.

And now here he was, mumbling to himself: “Hmmm… get a grip, Fearless. Whup-whup, now! Not so much shilly-shallying, you fool! Get in there before it’s too late. Just pop the question before she dashes off again, what-what…!”

“What is he muttering about?” whispered Mimi to Little Dream. “...before she dashes off again...?” Mimi usually thought of herself first and imagined that others did the same. “She? But I haven’t dashed off anywhere lately, not me, not Mimi!”

Little Dream said nothing. He still hadn’t woken up properly.

Uncle began to lick his paw and slick back his whiskers, mmyim-mmyam. “Quite honestly, Fearless, old boy, you’re not looking too bad for an old battler,” he said aloud. “You may be a bit bent and bashed-up in places, but you’ve got your health and strength. So get on with it, laddy! Pounce before the beetle buries itself, as they say!”

Mimi’s big brother, Skeema, pricked up his ears and looked sideways at Uncle. Being rather keen on plans and schemes himself, he too was curious to know what Fearless was up to. “Pounce, eh?” thought Skeema. “Old battler…? Hmmm. I wonder if he’s planning to have a fight with another meerkat mob. Prrrrr! Perhaps he’s found out that the Ruddertails are planning another attack on Far Burrow!”

For several suntimes now, Uncle had been exercising furiously. He had taken to doing press-ups, and making energetic sprints to and from a nearby shepherd tree. He would come back all breathless and fluttery, running his paws over his face and arms to smooth them and looking down to see if his fat tummy had got any smaller. Now and then he would throw himself on his back and kick all his legs in the air, making strange yip-yip-wheeee! noises and shouting, “I’m all yours! Come and get me!” He did a lot of waggling his eyebrows and clacking his teeth. Skeema felt pretty sure that he was getting himself fit for a scrap!

On this particular early-suntime, Uncle was taking unusual care with his grooming. He suddenly seemed to notice a wayward tuft in his fur and nibbled at it furiously. “Lie down tidy, now!” he growled. “Disgrace! This’ll never do! Hmmm, nip nip! Must keep meself neat and handsome, what-what!”

“Aha! I get it!” said Skeema. He had suddenly thought of another possibility. “Are you making yourself look nice for the Chief of the Click-clicks, Uncle?” he asked.

The Click-clicks were a small tribe of Blah-blahs who lived fairly close to Far Burrow. They were strange, giant creatures who had accepted Uncle as their king. They were not unlike monkeys, but smoother and they usually stayed out of trees and walked on the ground. They often came up quietly and left gifts of food for the Really Mad Mob. They bowed down to the meerkats and let them climb up on to their heads. Being as tall as young thorn trees, they made excellent look-out posts.