

## Harry Says

### By

### Baz "Mitch" Mitchell
Chapter 1: Go For It

Santa Maria del Rosell hospital, Cartagena, Spain. 4.00pm, 24 July 2045. The hospital is a red brick and featureless modern building. It is quiet outside. The only sound is the rasping of cicadas. It is siesta time and it is very hot. In a room on the second floor air con helps to make it bearable. There is one patient in the room. He lies quietly on the bed. Beside the bed a couple of machines monitor his vital signs. There are two nurses in the room, the nuns Sister Dolores and Sister Francesca. They are watching the patient with concern.

"I don't think he can last much longer."

"Yes, the end may come soon I think."

"What this patient needs is a priest, not a doctor."

"A priest...under the circumstances would that be appropriate?"

"I don't know what the teaching is on these things."

They stop talking and look at the patient. On the bed a hamster lies dying. Even though he knows that in days, maybe even hours, it will all be over he is facing death with courage and dignity. The white bed sheets are tightly drawn across the top of the bed. His forelegs lie on top of the sheets, leaving only his head and chest visible. His signature Rayblokkers rest on the top of his pink little nose. Only death will part him from those Rayblokkers. His breathing is slow and quiet. He is flickering in and out of consciousness.

Sister Dolores decides to act. "I'm worried. I'm going to page Dr Delgado."

She makes the call. In a few minutes Dr Delgado is at the patient's bedside.

"What's the problem?"

"The vital signs; I think he's going."

Dr Delgado leans over the patient to make an assessment.

"There's only one thing that can save this patient: a full brain to body transplant. It is lucky for him that we have a suitable donor. An English tourist drowned in a swimming pool late last night. A tragic accident."

"Harry, Mr Harry, can you hear me? This is Dr Delgado. I've been looking after you during your stay here at Santa Maria del Rosell. Please say if you can hear me, or nod your head."

The hamster gives a little nod.

"This is very important. You urgently need a brain to body transplant and we have a suitable donor. We can operate now but we need your consent. You must let me know if you understand what is happening."

Slowly the hamster raises a foreleg and pushes the Rayblokkers onto his forehead.

"I must warn you there are certain risks associated with this operation," says Dr Delgado. The two Sisters murmur agreement in a concerned tone. The hamster raises his head a little from the pillow. His voice is quiet and weak.

"Harry says ....go for it."
Chapter 2: So Harry is a Goner

So Harry is a goner. How many times have I heard that? Harry's all washed up, finished. It was mousecrap then and it's mousecrap now. I've heard it all before. Wrong every time. Harry always bounces back. How many times have I said that, Harry always bounces back and I'm always right.

If I had croaked, which I didn't do and was never going to do, I can just see the headlines. Pendrivel at Britain Today would have a field day.

### GOODBYE TO A MONSTER

with a story to match. Really sticking the boot in. The guys at GUYnacology magazine would be gutted.

### HARRY WE LOVED YOU GOODBYE MATE

Maybe The Times would go for something like -

### THE WORLD'S MOST FAMOUS HAMSTER DIES

and what about the BBC? I'd be up there with all the biggies.

"Harry the Hamster died tonight in a hospital in Cartagena in Spain. He had been living at the nearby resort of La Manga for several years. A report from Santa Maria del Rosell hospital said that he died peacefully at 4.30 this afternoon. He had been ill for some time. Harry first came to the attention of the public five years ago when a news item in The East London Mercury reported the fact that he had fathered a world record hamster litter. Later Harry was the best known of the so-called X-Pets, illegally genetically modified animals that found their way into the pet shop market and some farms. The origin of the X-Pets still remains a mystery."

At least you could use Pendrivel to get a laugh. That whining nasal voice at my first press conference. "So Harry, are you an animal who is half human or a human who is half animal?"

A titter of laughter. Then my reply.

"I could ask you the same question."

Uproar. That one hit the screens within ten minutes and went around the world in an hour. If there was anyone on the planet who hadn't heard of Harry the Hamster they had now. My face was everywhere. But Pendrivel had had it in for me ever since. I made him look stupid. But as that clever cat Big Cheese said, annoy the media at your peril.
Chapter 3: Mr W

Mr G Poznansky

The Psychiatric Dept.,

Glasgow Hospital

25 Sauchiehall St

Glasgow

GL2 1BY

Dr William Evans

The Psychiatric Dept.,

St Mary's Hospital

4 Willow Gardens

Edinburgh

EZ6 5HT

Ref GWP/MC/290543

29-05-2043

Dear Bill

Re: The patient known as "Mr W."

I have enclosed some case notes and tapes regarding a patient I have been treating for six months now. I would welcome your opinion on this patient and hope that you will look over the material. I think that this case will benefit from a fresh perspective, for reasons that I'm sure will become apparent when you read the notes. The notes are fairly comprehensive, but I'll briefly outline the state of play to date.

Six months ago the Glasgow police brought Mr W to the outpatients department of this hospital. He had been sleeping rough on the streets (in very inclement weather) and was unwashed and generally unkempt. Passers-by had complained that he had been standing in the middle of a city centre street and shouting. The police brought him straight here, where he was admitted.

There was no evidence of alcohol or drug abuse, but the patient was obviously disturbed. He talked constantly of his fear of someone, or something. But his behaviour was odd and frightening rather than violent or aggressive. He seemed more of a danger to himself than anyone else. The outpatient staff - as ever - coped very well and Mr W was soon admitted by the SHO on duty, Dr Watts. I have been looking after his case ever since.

One of the most frustrating aspects of the case is that the patient's real name and identity remain unknown. He is known as Mr W because, when first asked for his name he replied,

"My name is Woe." Though when talking to the patient we call him Dan, and he responds to this name.

Mr W presents several psychological problems. He has a horror of sleep and goes to some lengths to stop himself from going to sleep. But lack of sleep only exacerbates his other problems. See the notes for my prescriptions. Mr W suffers from various delusions of a paranoid nature, chief among which is an obsessive fear of cats. There is also a strong need for self-punishment. There is a degree of self-hatred and a kind of religious mania. Much of Mr W's thoughts are focused on a figure who he refers to as The Master.

Mr W comes across as well-educated and I have no doubt that before his breakdown he was a professional person. His accent indicates that he is from the south of England.

I suspect that the key to Mr W's case lies in finding a link or links between seemingly unrelated elements in his psychosis. Perhaps you will be able to see something that I have missed.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Best wishes

Yours sincerely

Geoff

Mr G Poznansky

Consultant Psychiatrist
Chapter 4: Casino Byzantium

When the crowds were gone Porky sometimes liked to survey his domain, Casino Byzantium. Others might call it Porky's Palace and Porky didn't mind that, but in his own mind it was always Casino Byzantium. Casino Byzantium was situated in a large converted warehouse in London's docklands. The original building had some of the grandeur and confidence that marked nineteenth-century industrial architecture. There was a touch of the Renaissance palazzo despite the mundane purpose for which the building was built. Porky had not changed the exterior much (the building was listed anyway) but had transformed the inside. The first two floors were devoted to the casino and the upper floors housed offices and Porky's apartment. Porky's apartment was remarkable in its own right as adapting living accommodation to the needs of a large member of the peccary family had not been easy. It had been expensive, but worth it.

The first thing the visitor to Casino Byzantium noticed was the entrance doors. They were still the original doors and were huge and gold. Not solid gold of course, but covered with gold. Not only that, but they had carved panels. Each door had four panels on the theme of Lady Luck. Porky had commissioned them personally from a local artist. Once the punter made it through the doors, and you can bet they were already impressed, they moved into the lobby. The lobby was a spacious area carpeted in luxurious red. A marble staircase - Italian marble - led to the first floor. In a classy touch, the carpet did not go up to the sides of the stairs but was held on about a foot from the edge with brass clips. The stairs led to the main area of the casino. To both the right and the left of the stairs on the ground floor were areas devoted to slot machines. Slot machines were a good earner but they weren't very classy, so Porky had gone for a compromise. Have the slots but have them downstairs. Apart from anything else, people would try their luck again on the way out. Many people had lost nearly everything in the casino proper and then lost the rest on the slots. Give it one last go. It was, however, virtually impossible to win a serious amount on slots.

Porky liked to stand inside the doors and look around, then make his way up the stairs into the casino. Of course making sure that he had no mud on his hooves. The carpet cost fifty newros per square metre and had been commissioned from Wilton, England's finest bespoke commercial carpet manufacturers. The initial view of the main casino floor was designed to impress. The casino floor was a large area with two rows of ten columns creating an aisle in the centre. The celling was very high. The columns were Corinthian and the capitals were covered with gold leaf. The bodies of the columns were clad with alternatively green and blue marble from Italy. The whole place had the same plush red carpet throughout. The attention to detail was incredible. The roulette table was carved from a single piece of an exotic hardwood from northern Thailand. The chairs were all Italian designer. Even the backgammon board was made of rare and precious hardwoods.

The staff was handpicked to ooze class. The croupiers, mostly female, were the best in the world. All the girls working there were stunners, but there were no bimbos. Most of them were graduates and they all spoke at least three languages. One third of the staff spoke fluent Arabic and four spoke Mandarin. They were all top croupiers too. The top guys and girls were queuing up to work at Casino Byzantium. Porky paid the right people very well and his people stayed. Where could they go that was better? Plus, Porky liked to reward loyalty. He liked to treat people well. He had a big heart. A human heart. He was a friend to his friends and as for his enemies - well he didn't have any. Why make enemies when you don't have to? Life is too short.

There were no special rooms for high rollers. At Casino Byzantium high rollers were a normal part of the scene. The world's top gamblers had Casino Byzantium on their A list. Achieving that had not been easy. It was about a lot of things: location, ambience, staff, image, reputation, networking, financial backing. Porky had started out as a small-time bookmaker and it had been a long journey to Casino Byzantium. Now that he was here he liked to occasionally sit back and enjoy a moment of silent satisfaction.

Porky's wealth was only partly created by what happened on the floor of Casino Byzantium. The real Jewel in the Crown, from the financial point of view, was his online gaming setup. Porky had built up his business on the back of online gaming, starting with www.piggypoker.com. The online part of the business was administered from offices right here in Casino Byzantium. Piggypoker might be moving towards being a thing of the past but www.betbyzantium.com was a major player in online gambling. Sure, millions could be won and lost on the floor. But tens of millions were won and lost online. The casual punter thought that it was all online poker and stuff like that. But the real money was in sports betting. The Far East was awash with hundreds of millions bet on sports, and Porky had a nice slice of the action. It was a big enough slice too. But Porky wasn't greedy. He was no greedy pig, though he might be a very wealthy one.

Porky liked to stand in the empty casino and take in the ambience. He liked the silence. If there were cleaners around he would tell them to go and take a break. Casinos were usually quite noisy places, full of the sound of people having a good time. Even people who lost usually had the good grace to wait until they were outside before they cracked up, if that's what they were going to do. And quite right because everything that happened was their own choice. Porky didn't drag people in off the streets. If anything he had a hard job keeping people out. He didn't force people to make ludicrously bad bets or adopt flawed gambling strategies. He didn't force people to get greedy when they were winning or desperate when they were losing.

Online gaming was good for bringing in money but there was more to life than money. It was having a place of your own that really mattered, a place that people talked about and respected. Somewhere where people could meet, somewhere where people could build a personal reputation. And for that Casino Byzantium was the place to be.
Chapter 5: Harry Meets Big Cheese

A year after I started living with the Williamses they moved from their council house to a tower block on a council estate in east London. Their new flat was on the twentieth floor. It was a two-bedroomed flat. My cage was in the living room. One good thing was that there was a great view out of the big windows over London. These windows led out to a balcony. We were on a corner so our balcony only had one neighbour. I used to go out on the balcony and run around it or maybe just sit there. I didn't get out much in those days, in fact not at all given that we were twenty floors up. No one takes a hamster for a walk.

I was happy enough with my cage, the living room, the balcony, and occasional visits to other rooms in the flat. To a hamster it looked like a big place. I spent a lot of my time keeping fit, building on the work I had done at the house. I couldn't do stair work anymore so I did some extra wheel work and ran around the living room whenever I got the chance. I was getting into great shape. A lot of the work in the living room was speed work. The wheel work was mainly for strength and stamina. Chelsea looked after me really well. I was pampered and had everything laid on.

"Is you my little baby, is you, is you my little baby Harry?" she would say as she stroked the top of my head.

"Who's a pretty little hamster, who's the most beautiful hamster in the whole big wide world?" Stuff like that. I could have gone soft with all this pampering but I didn't. Chelsea was the only member of the family who bothered with me. That was ok.

One day Chelsea brought in a new cage. Bigger, better, a real deluxe model, though it was second hand. I could smell the other hamster. No amount of scrubbing could get rid of that. There was a better water delivery system, more space and a better food tray. And best of all, there was a mirror. Now I could really keep track of just what a magnificent specimen I was turning into. There are very few hamsters who can look in the mirror and say "perfect." I guess I was lucky to be one of those hamsters.

At first I thought there weren't any other animals around. I'd see the odd mouse but that was about it. Tower blocks didn't seem to be a great place for animals. I don't think the council allowed them. Later I found out that there were in fact loads of other pets around. A few hamsters. Cats were popular too. There were some pit bulls. There was a python on floor 18 and a tarantula on floor 15. And of course there were actually loads of mice around. I hated mice. Who didn't? It was the way they got everywhere, wheedling their way in. And nothing you can do to stop them.

It was a summer evening. I'd had a session on the wheel and then done some sprints around the living room. I'd gone back to my cage to pose in front of the mirror for a while. Then I'd gone out onto the balcony for a bit of R and R. Chelsea had made me a little sitting area on the balcony. It was nice and comfy. You could see through the balcony into next door's balcony. I was having a nosey in that direction when I saw some brown fur. A cat was lying on the balcony. It was licking its right front paw. Then it stopped and just sat and looked out at the view over London. I'd thought next door was empty. Someone must have moved in. I don't know nothin' about cat breeds so all I can say is that it was a brown cat. Medium size and medium hair length with quite a bushy tail. I felt a bit curious. But cats and hamsters can get on ok. We both sat there for a while.

Then the cat spoke. "Great view." And that's how I came to meet Cheese, or as I came to call him later on, Big Cheese.
Chapter 6: Mr W's Testament

It is imperative that I leave a Testament. I must set down my thoughts during those times when my mind is clear. The things I will write about will be a warning. Putting my ideas down on paper might finally set my mind at rest.

The later and brilliantly successful career of The Master is well known, almost the stuff of legend. People speak of it with awe, and so they should. But few know the details of his early life. I can tell you that, somewhat implausibly, The Master began life as a trapeze artist in a travelling Spanish circus. Both his parents were trapeze artists and he followed in their footsteps. It was a profession that he was well-suited to in his youth. He was supple and athletic, quick to learn and, when necessary, courageous. Note that from an early age he was habituated to performing in front of crowds. The skills that would take him to the top of the political tree were developed early and quickly became instinctive. Performance became second nature. He began to develop the key skill sets associated with emotional intelligence and prophylaxis.

There was of course not even the slightest inkling, not even in his own mind, of the brilliant course of his future career. That would develop gradually, even organically, over many years. But we should look with interest at every stage of The Master's career.

The next stage of his career is better known. As his physique developed he became unsuitable for the trapeze. He became taller and more muscular, heavier. At the age of seventeen he was already six feet four inches tall and was to grow another two inches. A weedy and gangling teenager, he soon developed an impressive physique through a disciplined workout routine. He began a new career as a circus strongman, a role that gave him ample opportunity to develop his talents. By the age of twenty his appearance was much as it is today. He was six feet six inches tall and gave the impression of great power and athleticism. Even when young he was very good looking.

The Master first came to the attention of the general public through the reality TV programme Strongmen in the Jungle. This programme followed the usual tried and tested but ever-popular format. Five strongmen from different walks of life were decamped to a jungle in South East Asia. Or, at least what appeared to be the jungle. It was really a patch of land less than a quarter of a mile away from a luxury beach hotel. The other competitors included a weightlifter, an Olympic bronze medal shot-putter, a wrestler and a boxer nearing the end of his career. Every week one competitor was voted out by the public, who registered their votes via premium rate phone lines. Though crucially for The Master's success, the small print stipulated that the phone poll of the public was only something the producers were to take into account. Their decisions about who stayed and who left were usually influenced by the need to maintain ratings and a healthy income stream from the phone calls.

The competitors had three main ways of ingratiating themselves with the public. First, their behaviour in the camp was monitored twenty four hours a day. This footage was then edited for a daily highlights show as well as being broadcast live in two-hour-long sub-prime time slots. Second, the competitors made a daily address to the public in a "confession booth", where they talked straight to the camera. Third, the competitors were issued with challenges - feats of strength - and were filmed carrying them out.

The Master emerged as the surprise winner of this competition. He used and further honed the skills that would stand him in good stead in his future political career. He was able to subtly undermine his opponents while maintaining an appearance of jovial disinterest. The Master was the very soul of bonhomie. He presented himself to the public as open and honest. In the confessional he bared his soul, or enough of it as he thought necessary, to an increasingly adoring public. With his physique, good looks and high emotional intelligence, he particularly appealed to women.

While The Master was forging ahead his competitors floundered. Bill Swift, the Olympic Games bronze medal hammer thrower, and it was said a potential gold medalist, had been the pre-show favourite. A Community Policeman from Glasgow, he was a well-known and popular figure, especially because of his work for charities that helped kids in inner city areas. But prolonged exposure to the cameras revealed hitherto unsuspected flaws in his character. Exposure to the hardships of the camp emphasised a stoical element in his personality that had gone undetected in previous sound-bite-sized media appearances. His sessions in the confessional booth were likewise on the dull side. He went about his tasks of strength in a way that was focused but undemonstrative. As the show developed he failed to grip the attention of the nation.

On the other hand, when The Master entered the confessional booth the nation reached for a cuppa. The Master possessed that rare ability, the ability to create an intimate relationship with the viewer through a mechanical and distant medium. And he did not seem anxious to bare his soul. He was not slick. Far from it, his confessions contained many pauses and reflective silences. During these he seemed to be searching the depths of his soul, perhaps reflecting on the wisdom of being so unguarded. He would start on some revealing comment and pause mid-sentence or even mid-word, as if unsure how to continue, unsure of the consequences of such artless sincerity.

One possible difficulty was posed by the tasks of strength. In spite of his muscular appearance, The Master was not that strong physically. He looked the part, but he was no stronger than an average manual labourer. His strongman act had been based as much on the skills of the illusionist as on exceptional physical ability. It was easy to create feats of strength that were in reality not as difficult as they looked. An audience could easily be convinced that a burden was much heavier than it actually was. Call out a member of the audience: get them to test a weight. It's really heavy, isn't it? Test it for yourself. But in the jungle there was no escape from the difficulty of the tasks posed to the competitors.

The Master's first task was to chop down a tree (the presenters emphasised that it was not a protected species), saw off a specified length and drag it back to camp using only ropes. It was a formidable task. Swift had tackled it with great determination and succeeded but with only a monosyllabic self-commentary. Swift managed to get his section of tree back to the camp and then sat down on a log.

"That was tough - bloody tough," was all he said as he sat getting his breath back. The Master failed at the same task, but through a skilful self-commentary drew the viewer into the unfolding drama. He was not theatrical. But he made the task into an empathetic drama, where he was the central character. Audiences loved it. And competitors were not being crudely scored on their degree of success at their tasks. It was essentially a popularity contest and one that the other contestants began to realise they were going to lose to The Master: but without knowing why.

That evening in the confessional The Master was the soul of modesty, of sportsmanship. He exuded admiration for his fellow competitors. He congratulated them on their achievements, while very subtly insinuating that success at this task was not of any particular value. He suggested that his failure was at least as admirable as the others' successes. And so it continued. He remained on the show until he was the only survivor and the winner. His career as a celebrity was launched.

For several years The Master continued with his career as a minor celebrity. He kept himself in the public eye and made several well-judged moves that helped him climb some rungs of the ladder. He had a few cameo roles in popular soap operas but had the good sense not to linger too long in those credibility-reducing shallows. He was a popular guest on TV chat shows. A major move forward was made when he divorced his Spanish wife of ten years and married the socialite Cassandra Selby Welby, a member of the prominent banking family and a well-known figure in the media. From then on The Master began to build a network of solid alliances within the media aristocracy and beyond.

Gradually it dawned on The Master that with his skills there was virtually no limit to how far he could go. There is no need to give the details of the remainder of his rise to the top. This is all in the public domain and has received extensive coverage elsewhere. A year after his second marriage he was adopted by the party as a parliamentary candidate in an unwinnable seat. He did not win that election but impressed with his campaigning skills. Two years later he entered parliament through a by-election victory. Five years later he was made party leader. After leading the party to victory at the next General Election he became Prime Minister.

It had been a long way from Strongmen in The Jungle to 10 Downing St, never mind from a travelling circus. I had greatly admired The Master during the early phase of my own career. I too hoped for a meteoric rise and had directed all my energies towards that end.
Chapter 7: The Hamster of Luuuurve

The fun started when the Williamses went away on holiday. Two weeks in Benidorm. Chelsea was gutted about not seeing me for two weeks as you would expect. "You be a good boy when I'm away Harry. I'll be missing you. Love and kisses until I come back." This is what she said as she stroked me under the chin. For two weeks I was going to stay with the Smiths on the floor below. They knew how to look after hamsters as they had one of their own, Henrietta.

On the morning she left Chelsea took me and my cage down to the Smiths. First she took the cage down then she took me down in my little sitting-in thing from the balcony. Henrietta's cage, not a very plush number, was in a corner of the room near the French windows. My cage was opposite. Both cages were on the floor.

"You won't cause Mr and Mrs Smith any trouble now will you Harry?" was the last thing Chelsea said before she waved goodbye and left. Two weeks without Chelsea was going to be a long time. I didn't think the Smiths would pamper me as much. But it would be good to have new surroundings. And then there was the hunnie bunnie Henrietta six feet away. With only two cage doors in between.

Two days in and I have seriously taken the hump. As soon as Chelsea had gone what do the Smiths do? Go and swap our cages, that's what. They think it will be nice for Henrietta to have a deluxe cage for a couple of weeks. And great for me to have a mousecrap cage. The water delivery system is rubbish and the straw is old. Chelsea always changes my straw every other day. The wheel is a wreck so it is impossible to do any serious wheel work. There is no mirror. Meantime Henrietta is preening herself in my mirror. But there are pluses. Chelsea had asked the Smiths to let me out of my cage once a day and they are very good about that. So at least I am able to do some speed work. And no doubt Henrietta is very impressed as I power around the living room. A fine figure of a hamster. What hunnie bunnie wouldn't be impressed?

The Smiths spend most of their time either out working or drinking beer and watching TV. Mr Smith is a bus driver. Mrs Smith works at the checkout at NewroLand. They have a giant TV with a full sports package, which is great. As an added bonus they are Hammers fans so they watch all the matches. They have a photo of Bobby Moore on the living room wall. But I get the impression that they aren't huge hamster fans. Henrietta belongs to their daughter Trish who is training to join the navy. She has recently moved to Portsmouth. When Trish gets a permanent place Henrietta is going to live with Trish.

Life at the Smiths is pretty boring really. The boredom varies a bit when sometimes Cheese comes in. I don't know how he gets in, but Cheese was clever like that. Cheese likes a bit of a roam and likes to keep his eye on what is happening. One day I am sitting in my cage. When I look up Cheese is there.

"Hi Harry, how's it going?"

"OK Cheese."

"Love the new place. Nice cage. Classy."

"Very funny."

"And what about......" he nodded towards Henrietta. "Got it together yet?"

"No, getting there though."

I'm not lying. Sometimes when I am doing my speed work I go up to Henrietta's cage (my cage really) to see how she is doin'. Henrietta doesn't speak but that is ok with me. We are talking the language of lurve and as far as Harry is concerned yakkin' and luvvin' don't mix. I've got to listen to enough yakkin' from Chelsea.

"Looking forward to Chelsea getting back?"

"Yeah."

Cheese wanders over to Henrietta's cage. He looks into the cage for a bit and then pads back to my cage.

"Tonight could be the night Harry. The night when it all begins." Then he leaves, walks through the French windows and jumps onto the ledge of the balcony.

It is eleven o'clock at night. The Smiths are in bed. The living room is dark. It is quiet apart from the sound of a reggae bass line coming from a flat several floors below. The Smiths do not take cage security seriously and my cage door is open. And why not? You never see a sign that says Beware of the Hamster. Never been needed. Until now. I push the cage door open and jump onto the carpet, making a silent landing. I check for mice and don't see any. Is her cage door open? The Smiths had been very careless. Watch out hunnie bunnie. The Hamster of Luuuurve is coming through.
Chapter 8: Porky Reflects

Porky lay on a large sofa in his office in Casino Byzantium. He was studying a bank of eight CCTV screens on the opposite wall. He was in a thoughtful mood.

Some X-Pets had it easy. Humans were pre-disposed to think well of them. The owl: a symbol of wisdom and of Europe's greatest civilisation. The dog: man's best friend. Brave as a lion. Cunning as a fox. But the pig was thought of in almost exclusively negative terms. Dirty pig. Filthy pig. Eating like a pig. Often not even worth killing and eating. This was all a testimony to man's irrational attitude to the animal kingdom. As brave as a lion? Let a human come across a tusker in his prime and we'd soon see who was as brave as a lion.

Given the levels of peccarism in society it had been hard for Porky to rise to the top. There had been few, if any, good role models. Even pigs in fiction were never depicted in a good light. The greedy and cunning pigs in Orwell's Animal Farm. Capitalist pigs. Yet when humans wanted an animal donor for their most revered organ, the heart, who did they turn to? The pig. The heart: ancient seat of the thoughts and emotions. Porky liked to say that he had a big heart. A human heart. And it was that big heart that had helped to get him to where he was today.

Porky had, he believed, achieved a hard won position of respect. He owned one of London's largest casinos and some smaller ones up north, bringing a touch of sophistication to the provinces. If not himself a celebrity he was the personal friend of celebrities, even some A list ones.

Porky took respect seriously. He usually gave it and received it back. He had no reason to think that that position would ever radically change. Then one night about two months ago the X-Pet cat Cheese, the irritating "celebrity" hamster Harry and several of their cronies popped in to say hello on their way to Club Magik. And that night was one Porky would never forget.

Porky was now watching the CCTV tapes of that evening for the umpteenth time.
Chapter 9: Who's the Daddy?

I'm back at home after staying with the Smiths. I've finished doing some speed work around the living room and am relaxing on the sofa. It is great to be back. Chelsea comes in. She makes a cup of coffee and sits on the sofa beside me.

"Who's been a naughty little boy then? Who's been a naughty little hamster?"

She tickles me under the chin.

"Who's going to be a daddy then? Who's a clever little hamster?"

Stuff like that. I get the message. Who's the daddy? Harry is the daddy, or soon going to be the daddy. Chelsea finds it very funny. I go back to my cage and kind of forget about it. If a hunnie bunnie can't keep her cage door closed what do you expect?

A while later I am out on the balcony with Big Cheese. We sit together and look out over London.

"Great sunset," says Cheese. The sky is all red and orange.

"Yeah, looks great."

"So the big day is getting closer."

"What big day?"

"Harry becomes a daddy day." I'm not that interested.

"Whatever, if you leave the cage door open things will happen."

Cheese says nothing and just sits there quietly for a while.

"This is going to be the beginning, Harry."

"The beginning of what?"

"The beginning of everything." Cheese walks back into his flat.

I'm sitting on the sofa watching TV. What had happened over the past few days had been unbelievable. Now we are waiting for The News. I'm really excited and so is Chelsea. It has only been a few hours since they've been here. TV people, cameras, lights, action. So how do you feel about this Chelsea? Are you ever going to let him out of his cage again?

A great day. I posed for my first pro shots. Just as well as I was in peak condition. I hadn't slackened off my wheel work and I was glad of that now. I was getting in plenty of other speed and stamina work as well. If there was a Crufts for hamsters I would have been in there competing with the best. Chelsea tidied up my coat before the shoot but I didn't need a lot of work. Harry comes camera ready. There are very few hamsters who can look in the mirror and say "perfect" and I guess I'm lucky to be one of those.

I can't wait to see how the shoot turns out. I thought the TV guys had done a great job. Of course they didn't know then that they were working with a real pro, a natural. It is getting towards the end of The News. Stacey James is reading it.

"In London today there were major disturbances for the third day running. Protestors against the Genetically Modified Food Act, which is due to be voted on next week in the House of Commons, clashed with police for the third time in the so-called Food Riots. Police sources say that about a hundred arrests were made."

Shots of the riots. Guys throwing stuff at the cops. The cops charging the throwers. The usual kind of thing. Stacey goes on about it for a while. I'm bored now. Get to the good bit. By the time I'm on everybody is going to be in a bad mood. What kind of audience warm-up is this? The story goes on forever.

"Shoot the bloody buggers," says Mr Smith.

"Prison's too good for them," said Mrs Smith. "It's like a holiday camp. Telly, snooker, everything. And much does that cost the taxpayer?"

Eventually the boring stuff finishes and Stacey relaxes and gives a big smile. Great work Stace. That big smile says everything is going to be ok in spite of the riots and all the other bad stuff earlier in the programme. No matter how bad things seem you can still have a laugh. It is having a laugh that gets you through.

It is me on. At last.

"And now, a story of a record breaking hamster. A hamster from east London has fathered a record litter of little hamsters.

"What do you call little hamsters?" Stace says to Bob the other presenter.

Shot of the baby hamsters that had just been born. All of them together. Lovely kids. Shot of the hunnie bunnie mama Henrietta. She looks knackered. Then the first shot of me. I am posing in my cage. I do a little wheelwork like I am finishing a session. Then I walk over to the open cage door and pose some more. We got some great shots at the cage door.

"That's great Harry," the director said, "hold the pose right there: don't be afraid of the camera." Me, afraid of the camera? As I've said, no hamster in the history of the world has ever come so camera ready as Harry. I've always loved the camera and the camera has always loved me. Now it is like I am getting my just reward for all the hard work I've put in, all the training.

Everyone goes wild when the shots of me come on. The place goes literally crazy. Everybody cheers. There is even a shot of me as the big music ends The News. I got to love that big music. In the end it got to be like Harry's Theme. There wasn't a story every day or even every week. But when I was most famous I was on most weeks.

After The News the phones start to ring. And they never stop. Harry has arrived, big time. And when Harry says big time, Harry means big time.
Chapter 10: A Case of Felinophobia?

Dr William Evans

The Psychiatric Dept.

St Mary's Hospital & School

4 Willow Gardens

Edinburgh

EZ6 5HT

Mr G Poznansky

The Psychiatric Dept.,

Glasgow Hospital

25 Sauchiehall St

Glasgow

GL2 1BY

Ref WJE/JB/150643

15-06-2043

Dear Geoff

Re: Your patient known as Mr W

Thank you for your letter of 29/5/43 referring to the above patient. I have now had a quick look at the notes you sent over. At the moment I haven't any original insights to offer, though I agree it is an interesting case. There is just one small thought which may be significant. You have noted the patient's fear of cats. Unless I am mistaken this is not exactly accurate. Mr W's fears are, I believe on the evidence of your notes, focused on one cat in particular. Mr W fears not cats, but a specific animal. I will be in touch if I have any more thoughts.

Best wishes

Yours sincerely

Bill

Dr William Evans

Senior Lecturer in Psychiatry
Chapter 11: All This Can Belong To You

I often chat to Big Cheese on the balcony. He likes to go out there and look at the sunset. I have my little box out there that I like to sit in. It is very comfy and Chelsea is always trying to make it even more comfy. Chelsea says I need to get out of the flat and get some sun. The flat is big with loads of space but it is nice to get outside. I think Cheese likes that too. A cat isn't really an indoor animal.

One day I am sitting in my box when Cheese comes out of the flat next door.

"Hi Harry."

"Hi Cheese."

"Beautiful evening," says Cheese and then stretches out and yawns. Cheese looks very long when he stretches out, but there isn't much bulk to his body under the fur. When Cheese yawns you can see his teeth and they look sharp. Makes me glad I'm not a mouse, as if I'm not glad I'm not a mouse already. We look out over the city. It is so big it seems as if it has no end. There is the constant noise of traffic but this is distant because we are so high up. It is hot too. So hot that I finished my workout early. Sometimes being furry can be a disadvantage. All I feel like doing now is just chillin'. I think Cheese feels the same way. Cheese lies quite still. Sometimes he gives his tail a flick against the ground. Like he is thinking about something.

"It's amazing, isn't it Harry."

"What?"

"The city. London. Looks like it goes on for ever."

"Yeah it does. Funny, I was just thinking that."

"You know what would be really great Harry?"

"What?"

"If we were kings of all this, masters of all we survey."

This is the way Cheese goes on. Big plans. Masters of all we survey? A cat and a hamster from a council estate? How likely is that. That cat was always a dreamer.

"But Harry, study history. The days when a cat can be a god are over, but a hamster?"

Cheese pads over to the separating wall and puts his face close to the gap between the balconies. His face seems very close to mine and I can't stop looking at his eyes.

"Harry - all this can belong to you," he says. Then he wanders slowly back into his flat. I watch the sun go down and then go inside. I never really thought much about this chat. Not until much later.
Chapter 12: The Big Night Begins

Soon after that night, which Porky now thought of as The Night, Porky had started to get a vague feeling that something was wrong. On The Night there had been so much happening that he had had no time for suspicions. Nor had he had any reason for them. There had been so much excitement that he hadn't been thinking straight. But who had? Porky had thought "no one", but now he wasn't so sure. Now he was pretty sure that at least one person on The Night had been thinking straight. Porky had been driven back to look at the CCTV tapes. And the more he watched the bigger the nagging feeling that something was wrong became. A lot of things didn't add up.

The bare bones of The Night were this. At about 8.00pm Porky had been in his office in Casino Byzantium. A group of X-Pets had arrived for a brief stopover before going on to Club Magik. They were the cat Cheese, Will the Pit the terrier, the three Corgi brothers, "Bloodbath" Henry the cat and the Hamster of the Moment, Harry. They had played for about an hour and won. Nothing big. Porky had made his usual move, trying to get the guys to stay on and play more. That was usually easy, at least with humans. Feed in a couple of girls, a bottle of champagne for the winner, that kind of thing. Porky had asked the X-Pets up to his office for a chat before they left for Club Magik. He had a hard time persuading them to stay, but they had stayed. They never did go to Club Magik. They stayed at Casino Byzantium until 5.00am and played. Played and won very big.

Now Porky was watching Cheese early in his Texas Hold 'Em session on The Night. When Cheese had got to the table he had found the usual bunch of night-outers and half decent players. But there was one fly in the ointment and a big huge one. Zak Zargosa had also been at the table. Zargosa was the best Hold 'Em player in the world. It had got to the stage where very few people in Britain would play him in a serious game. The expected outcome was that Zargosa would clean up and maybe not take too long about it. What had happened was that Zargosa, and everyone else, had been cleaned out by Cheese the cat. And the pot had been huge.
Chapter 13: A Meeting With The Master

In this Testament I must write of my one and only meeting with The Master. I had been given an appointment on a Wednesday morning at 11.30am and I was punctual. I was recognised by security and admitted without any particular precautions. Everything was friendly and informal. I introduced myself to The Master's PA, a woman in her thirties who was the model of modern professionalism. She asked me if I wanted a cup of coffee as I waited in her office. The PA's office was connected to The Master's office as well as having its own entrance. The Master's office also had another door which led into the interior of the house. I accepted the offer of a cup of coffee (it was of surprisingly low quality) and made small talk as I waited nervously for the meeting. The Master was in a meeting with the Health Minister. Occasionally I heard loud and jovial voices from The Master's office. The Master usually exuded bonhomie so this was not surprising. I was nervously watching the clock. We were running ten minutes late. I could feel my stomach starting to churn a bit. I started to sweat. But I maintained a relaxed appearance. This meeting could be of crucial importance to my career. All that striving might be undone, or at least, I could be put back a couple of years.

The PA's phone rang and she answered.

"You can go in now," she said pleasantly. "Take your coffee with you."

I declined this offer, leaving the cup on her desk. I didn't want the problem of dealing with such a complex prop during the meeting. I tried to get control of my nerves and headed towards the door. I knocked and received the reply.

"Peter - come on in."

I entered The Master's office. The Master was at his desk. Indicating the chair on the other side of the desk he said grab a seat. He gestured towards the chair as if anxious that I would not experience any inconvenience for a moment longer than necessary.

I sat down. On being admitted to the presence of The Master I immediately began to feel more at ease. There was an element of nerves disappearing once the game has started, but it was more than that. The presence of The Master was itself massively reassuring. It was as if I was in the place where nothing bad could really happen. This was the magical quality that The Master could communicate through the media. It was an innate quality, but also one he had worked hard to develop. The Master asked me how things were going. He seemed genuinely interested. I immediately gave in to the temptation to say that things were going better than they actually were. As I did so I was annoyed with myself but I was compelled to feel that I should be positive. The Master himself exuded positivity. We moved, seemingly effortlessly, to a discussion of the real subject of the meeting. No official agenda had been set. But we both knew what the meeting would be about. My enthusiasm for the proposed war with Turkestan was now becoming an embarrassment to the party. The diplomatic situation had recently changed dramatically.

The Master thanked me for my support in recent months. He and the party were grateful for the courageous way I had spoken out in favour of military intervention in Turkestan. My concern for freedom and democracy was admirable. The Master did not make any direct criticism of my stance. If anything he was full of praise for it. But he tactfully raised the issue of how we needed to rethink our policy in the light of new developments. He used the word "we" a lot. And why not? We were all members of the same party after all. We all had the same essential aims. We relaxed into a discussion of the present political situation in Eurasia. And it was a genuine discussion. Several times The Master paused to listen attentively to what I had to say. He even cut himself short a couple of times in order to listen carefully. Nevertheless, I was aware that The Master was subtly manipulating the situation to his own advantage, though it was difficult to say exactly how. It was like playing poker against a master: you knew you were losing and that you were going to continue to lose, but you couldn't put your finger on exactly why.

We discussed, in rather elliptical fashion, the geopolitical ambitions of our major allies. In general our policy, though it was never openly stated in these crude terms, was to support the long term subjugation of the area to western interests. The subjugation was to be a three stage one. The first stage was diplomatic and military, the second stage was economic, and the final and conclusive stage was cultural and ideological. The overall policy was clear, but there were issues over timing and the detail of tactics.

At the end of the meeting everything was made clear to me. Party policy was no longer to support military intervention in Turkestan. I was to tone down my pro-interventionist statements, though of course the party was a democracy and I was free to say whatever I liked. At no point did I feel that I was being muzzled. The Master walked to the door with me and we exchanged pleasantries on the way out. The meeting had lasted no more than twenty minutes. I was relieved that it was over. The PA smiled at me on the way out. It hadn't been too bad, though what hadn't been said was in many ways more significant that what had.
Chapter 14: Harry Goes Hunting

I'm sliding down a grassy hill. I'm trying to grab hold of grass, twigs, anything. This is crazy. Why did I let big cheese talk me into this? It sounded like a good idea at the time. Foxhunting. I'd had a call from Big Cheese. I was at Club Magik watching the Hammers play Man City.

"Harry, something great's going to happen."

"What's that?" I said.

"We're going foxhunting, Harry. Or rather, you are. It'll be fantastic, what do you think?"

Foxhunting? I'd seen it on telly. Years ago it had been banned. Then it came back in and it was all the rage now. It was even on TV. Regular shows and stuff, with star fox hunters. Some reality stuff too, like a week with the village-in-the-back-of-beyond hunt. That kind of thing. The punters loved it. Except I didn't see many hamsters in the little red outfit. But then you didn't see many hamsters doing much of anything. Except for me. Harry was special. I could see a snag though.

"But I can't ride a horse. Who do you think I am, John Wayne?"

"No problem," said Cheese, "it's all been set up. You're going to be strapped into a little harness on some guy's head. All you've gotta do is hold on tight and enjoy the ride. It's all perfectly safe - puuuuuurrfectly safe - would I let you do anything where you might get hurt? No way Harry. Next time you come over I'll explain the whole thing. Have I ever let you down?"

I wasn't completely convinced at first but Cheese persuaded me. Just wait till I get hold of him. I'm getting a mud bath and who knows where I'm gonna end up? Maybe in a couple of days they'll find the bruised and broken body of a young hamster in his prime at the bottom of a valley. Death Valley, deep in the heart of this county, whatever-it-is-shire in the middle of nowhere. I can see the headline.

TRAGIC DEATH OF YOUNG HAMSTER IN HUNTING ACCIDENT

who died in somewhere in the back of beyond where you can't even get a junglefrenzy. Junglefrenzy please? We ain't got none of that here. Have a pint of Mucker's Knuckle, best cask beer for miles.

That's because it's the only beer for miles and the pub is the only anything for miles. And now my gear is getting ruined. I spent ages working on this outfit. It was all authentic stuff. Big Cheese had had it all tailor-made by Pertwee's of London, the top guys for fox hunting gear. It was all class stuff. The little black hat - not just a fashion statement but a real working hard hat - I'm glad of that now as my head crashes against a big tree root. That hurt. Ouch. The little cream trousers and the boots. The boots were great, softest boots I ever had. When all the gear was ready Big Cheese and me went around to Pertwee's to try it all on. It was only a case of nipping over to Bond St. The guy in the shop was fussing around. Real Are You Being Served stuff. But everything fitted great first time. I had a look in the mirror. I looked fantastic. The hunnie bunnies were going to go wild. I was really getting into it now. Hang on - just pop the Rayblokkers back on. Perfect.

I started looking forward to the big day. We were joining the Greater Chernut Hunt in deepest Wiltshire. Wiltshire was a place in the country and Big Cheese said there was nothing there except for trees and grass and the occasional small town. We were going to get to a place called Westbury, stay there the night and then join the Greater Chernut Hunt the next day. Big Cheese was pulling the strings and I expected everything to go real smooth as it usually does when Big Cheese organises stuff. Big Cheese was usually on top of things.

Cheese had set up a couple of interviews. Just local stuff, The White Horse, a local paper and local telly. Strictly for Mucker's Knuckle drinkers.

"Harry, you are a well-known celebrity in London, but how do you feel about going on a fox hunt?"

"How did I feel about it? I feel great about it. If there is a fox somewhere out there in the grass I'm saying watch out your furry little ass is history. I can't wait. Just let the dogs out and point 'em in the right direction."

And I didn't like foxes anyway. What's to like? Vicious little creatures. Horrible. City people don't like them because they do things like.... well loads of things. Mucker's Knuckle drinkers don't like them because they steal their chickens. Face it, foxes, nobody likes you. Let's go get 'em.

It tastes like mousecrap. I've got a faceful of it and I hope it's mud. I'm holding on to the tiny end of a bit of root that I've managed to grab. Just as well my forelegs are so powerful. All that wheel work has paid off. I'm never going to get the stains off the Pertwee gear. Don't tell me that root is starting to break. It's puuuuurfectly safe Cheese said. There's the little harness attached to some guy's head, tested to BSI standards. Thanks. I'm falling. Fall. Bump. Fall. Bump. Bump. Fall. More fall. Then smack I hit my head and stop. I lie dead still. I check that I'm still alive. Go through the legs and forelegs one by one. I'm hurting all over but can still move so everything must be all right. I look up and can see trees and the blue sky. At least I think it's blue sky. Just take the Rayblokkers off and check. Now it's just a case of finding my way back. Just sit and chill for a minute first. No need to panic. The worst is over.

Then I smell something funny. Something like an animal. Not a cat or a dog. Very different, maybe a badger. That would be just great, a badger. It's something kind of like a musty sweet smell. Out of the corner of my left eye I see something move in the bushes. It's red and furry and then a head pops out of the bushes. A fox and it's looking right at me. Now it's walking towards me, like a cat about to pounce.

"Hello, Harry."

That's just what I need, an X-Pet fox, a smart Alec. Must have escaped from a lab. One of those army places where they do weird experiments like make mouse assassins. Or pigeons that are really spies. A freak fox, but maybe I can sweet talk it out of doing something nasty. If only Big Cheese was here, he would know what to say.

"Just out for a ride, fell off my horse," I said. It didn't sound very convincing so I decided to lay it on thick.

"I think I'm injured," I groaned. Foxy was creeping closer, moving real slow. Her teeth were showing in a snarl like a horrible space alien monster.

"That's a pity, looks like your fox hunt is over. My furry little ass isn't going to be history after all. "

That's all I need a fox that reads the paper and watches the telly. I wonder what her favourite channel is. Fox News?

"Hold on," I said, "I never said that. That was all taken out of context. You know what the press are like. What I really said was...."

I could see that I was digging myself into a hole. Foxy was right up close now, maybe only three or four feet away. I could smell the horrible foxy kind of smell. What was it I had really said? It looked like it wasn't going to matter. Any moment now I was going to be a goner. What a way to go. Alone in the woods. I thought about Big Cheese and my sitting on the balcony of our flat looking out over London. I thought about the sunset. The red spikey face was getting closer. Close enough to pounce.

Then something happened. It was like the sky got darker, like in the films when the alien spacecraft arrives and you can't see the sky anymore. I looked up and saw something big and brown where the sky used to be. Then the earth shook like a two ton truck was going past. I looked to my left and it was like a huge tree had just sprouted out of the earth. I looked to the right and there was another one just the same. Foxy was looking up at something. She looked scared. I heard a voice, a big deep voice, like the guy on telly adverts who says things like, "Blogg's aftershave, the best a man can buy." The voice spoke.

"Is everything ok here?"

Sure is. Here's me, Harry the Hamster, is about to be torn to shreds by a crazed fox from a weird army experiment lab. My Pertwee gear is ruined. I'm sore all over. I could have been killed.

Foxy snarled and hissed and slowly started to back off. She was hunkered down and moving back very slowly. Her tail was whacking the ground and looked very bushy. Suddenly she squealed, a blood curdling squeal right out of a horror movie, and darted forward as if to attack. The big brown tree thing didn't move. Foxy did an emergency stop, turned around and sprinted towards the bushes. But before she got there she stopped, turned around and said,

"I'll be seeing you again Harry." I don't think so. Goodbye Foxy. Then she disappeared into the bushes.

I sat up and looked up. What was this thing? I eased my bruised and broken body forward. Gradually I started to see the sky again. I pushed my Rayblokkers down my nose to get a better look and saw something big, leathery and wrinkly. It took a minute for it to dawn on me what it was. I was looking at a dog. A very big dog. The big brown sky covering thing was its belly. The big trees were its legs. The big leathery thing was its head. I backed away to get a better look, like a tourist looking at the Gherkin from close-up. I started to get a crick in my neck. No worries now about foxy coming back. The head lowered and I looked into two big brown eyes.

"Hello Harry," the big dog said, "I'm Westie. Let's head back to town." That was the best idea I'd heard all day.

"Hop aboard and grab and ear."

Westie lowered himself to the ground very slowly. Westie did everything very slowly. I clambered up the side of his head and settled down for the ride. I got hold of one of his ears. Westie asked me if I was ready and I said yeah let's get out of here now. I felt Westie slowly rise like he was being helped up by a crane. Then he began to move, like one of those huge loads you see inching down the motorway. With each step the woods shook. The King of the Jungle is coming through. We soon got out of the undergrowth and on to a path. From then on it was plain sailing, though the going was slow. We came to where the crowd was. The hunt guys had all gathered near a pub and there were loads of other people there too. People having a pint, the local press. There must have been hundreds of Mucker's Knuckle guys. When they saw big Westie trudging forward they went crazy. Everyone was cheering. The press went wild and suddenly there were a million cameras on me. And they must have got fantastic shots. There was me in my Pertwee's covered in mud, that was a great shot by itself. Then there was Westie, you don't see a dog that big every day. And Westie had that something special, a bit of star quality. And the guy was a red hot tottie magnet. Girls just rushed up to him, just couldn't wait to give the big dog some luurve. Put these things together and you have one of the greatest shots of all time. One of the greatest stories of all time.

The best shot was when I got down from Westie's back. We were in front of the pub and everyone was cheering. Westie lowered himself to the ground and I slid down his side and onto the ground. Loud cheers. Then everyone could see for the first time just what a state I was in. I think that was the best shot of all. Me standing beside Westie in my muddy Pertwee's. The Rayblokkers made the whole scenario look even cooler. But all I could see was a sea of faces, with press guys going crazy because this could be a career defining shot. And at the back of the crowd I saw Big Cheese. He wasn't excited, just sitting still and watching. He was sitting on a stone wall with his front paws curled up underneath his chest. He looked very calm.

It was after this that I went global. The shots went around the world: London, Paris, Rome, New York, LA, you name it everyone knew about Harry the Hamster. Big Cheese took over handling a lot of my PR and had a full time job keeping up. It wasn't just local news, local papers, Mucker's Knuckle or even London stuff. It was big time all the way. I was a star.

Big Westie usually hung out at The Garden Hotel in Westbury. The Garden Hotel was a small hotel near the market square. Big Westie liked to sit behind the bar. There was a garden out the back and we were sitting there having a drink. I'd cleaned up and changed. Cheese had booked us into the hotel for the night. We were going to go back to London the next day. Big Cheese was meeting some guys in the hotel bar.

Westie mostly sat in silence and looked at his drink, a large bucket of Mucker's Knuckle. Westie wasn't a big talker. It didn't take too long to work that one out. Someone had actually managed to take the straw out of their mouths long enough to get me a junglefrenzy. I think that was the best junglefrenzy I ever had. Westie took a slurp from his bucket.

"A very exciting day."

"Yeah, it was," I said.

"Looks like you are going to be a very famous hamster."

"Harry says yep - great."

"You didn't catch a fox though."

No we didn't, but who cared? I didn't. I'd decided I wasn't really a fox hunting kind of guy.

"No fox," I said, "but I coulda been a goner back there. Thanks for helping me out. If we X-Pets can't stick together what's the world coming to."

We sat there for a while drinking our drinks. It was late evening and there weren't many people around. Earlier a few people had come up asking for autographs, but they were gone now. I said Westie should come up to London sometime. We could hang out together, get some great shots in the celeb mags. Harry and Westie in a nightclub. Little and Large, that kind of thing. The celeb mags would love it. But Westie said the big city wasn't for him. He wasn't a big city kind of dog. He liked a quiet life, a quiet bucket of Mucker's Knuckle. When it started to get too dark we went inside. Just to the right of the bar as you went in there was a room with big comfy sofas. Big Cheese was there talking to a few guys. He was stretched out on one of the sofas with a bowl of cat treats in front of him. The guys were drinking pints of Mucker's Knuckle, except for one guy in a natty jacket who was drinking an Aztec Warrior from the bottle.

"Harry, come in, there are some guys I want you to meet," said Cheese. Big Cheese introduced me to the guys. The guy drinking the Aztec Warrior was Chris Selby Welby, the son of Sir George Selby Welby, one of the country's richest merchant bankers. He was in this neck of the woods using his dad's country place for a photo shoot. He was the editor of Britain's top men's mag, GUYnacology. He also owned the Magik Club in Soho. So everyone knew him as Chris Magik. No one could pronounce Selby Welby after a few pints. Big Westie plodded off to bed, which was a blanket under the stairs in the hallway outside the bar. I stayed to talk to Chris and the guys. We talked long into the night.
Chapter 15: Project Wind in the City

Charlie Spitzenburger CEO was in his office on the twenty-fifth floor of the Neazo Tower in Miami, Florida, USA, headquarters of Neazo Inc. Neazo Tower was fifty stories tall but Spitzenburger, in an egalitarian gesture, had his office exactly half way up. He was standing at the window looking down at the car park at the front of the building. In a couple of minutes he expected to see a man come out of the front entrance carrying a large black hold-all. The little black dot duly emerged and made its way to a car in the car park. This was Ivan Smart, product development coordinator at Neazo Inc. Spitzenburger watched Smart load the hold-all into the boot of his car and drive away. He was going to drive home, just like any other employee leaving work on a Friday afternoon.

When Smart got home he was going to unload the hold-all and take it into his garage. He was going to remove a computer hard drive case. Then he was going to remove the hard drive. His great great great grandfather had been a blacksmith and Smart still had an anvil belonging to him. He was going to heat up the hard drive in a brazier and then beat it on the anvil with a very large hammer. Later, when it had cooled down he was going to lower it into a vat of hydrochloric acid. Then, in maybe a couple of days, he was going to take his boat out, attach the hard drive to a large stone and drop it into the sea.

Very soon the name, the memory, the remnant, of Project Wind in the City would be obliterated forever. There was only the organic evidence to deal with, and that should be easy.
Chapter 16: The Fifty Yard Walk

Elvis had a thing called the fifty yard walk. Say he was getting ready for a show. No matter what frame of mind he was in he had a technique for switching into the right frame of mind for a performance. He would use this technique in the walk from his dressing room to the stage. First he would clear his mind of all the annoying stuff from the day. All the mousecrap. Then he would focus on his mantra. He would start his walk towards the stage.

I am the greatest.

Focus.

I am the King.

I am the greatest.

He would become aware of the crowd. They would be going crazy but he wouldn't stop the mantra.

I am the greatest.

I am the King

He'd start to think of the first number, how great he would be doing it. Gotta keep the mantra going.

I am the greatest.

Think about being the greatest.

I am the King

Focus.

Then when he got on stage he was ready. Ready to be Elvis, ready to be the greatest, ready to be The King. Ready to be anything he wanted.

If it's good enough for Elvis, the greatest performer who ever lived, it's good enough for Harry, that's what I say. I was at Club Magik and was going to do my single, the huge hit Move Your Body. It was the dance sensation of the year from Honolulu to Timbuktu. I was in the dressing room. Feeling a bit nervous. Just a little junglefrenzy to help out, just a small one. I started to do the Elvis walk thing. Get my mind right. Mind over matter. It's about who wants it most. As I moved into the club I could feel the excitement of the crowd, the noise, the anticipation. I smelled excitement, adrenalin. Then all I could see were blurry lights with darkness behind. The moment was here. Harry Says Go For It. The speakers started to boom out. I exploded into action, a little bundle of furry dynamism hitting the dance floor.

move your baddy, baddy baddy baddy

move your baddy, baddy baddy baddy

move it to the left ugh

move it to the right ugh

move your baddy move it all night

move your baddy, baddy baddy baddy

move your baddy, baddy baddy baddy

baddy baddy baddy baddy

baddy baddy baddy baddy

ugh ugh ugh ugh

baddy baddy baddy baddy

baddy baddy baddy baddy

ugh ugh ugh ugh

move it move it move it move it

ugh ugh ugh ugh

The crowd went wild. I was really throwing myself around the dance floor. I could never sing except with a little squeaky hamster voice so I was miming and dancing. Fantastic stuff. Really difficult to do. Tiring though. I was only half way through the song and I was getting knackered. I maybe wasn't in as good shape as I should be. At least I had thrown in my famous full body flip. The crowd would have gone crazy if I hadn't done it. I started in a standing position and then jumped in the air, did a complete 360 degree flip over and landed on my feet. People thought it was great but it wasn't really that difficult for a hamster with a finely-toned body.

I finished and got ready to stagger over to the bar. The chant went up:

Harry Harry Harry Harry

There were shouts-

Come on Harry, move that body

Shake it Harry

I was rescued from the hordes of adoring fans. The guys from GUYnacology were here and a mate Robsie had set me up a drink. Robsie lifted me up by the collar of my Armani top and put me down on the bar. My seat was an upturned shot glass. I downed the junglefrenzy and waved to the crowd. I knocked back another and boy did I need it. Club Magik was the place to be all right. It was heaving. The tottie was incredible. There was grade A tottie from wall to ceiling and for the guys from GUYnacology it must have been like shooting fish in a barrel. Good luck to them that's what I say. Give me another junglefrenzy.

I was sitting on the bar drinking my third or fourth - who cares - junglelfrenzy when Chris Magik came in. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned to look at him with envy. He was with Tina Wilkins and she was maybe England's top tottie of the moment. Magik's pulling abilities were legend but he really had got the biscuit this time. Tina was a model with the Magik Agency, signed up by Chris personally, and a cover girl for GUYnacology. And rumour had it that Chris had written it into her agency contract that she wasn't to do topless work. Personally I believed it - you can't blame a guy for wanting to keep the goodies to himself. They came over to the bar. Tina was a real stunner no doubt about that.

"Two margaritas and whatever these guys are having Phil," said Chris. Chris was one of those guys who always knew the barman's name even when he didn't own the place. Cool.

"Hey Chris," said Robsie, "what do you call a Turkestani who's caught short?"

"Dunno," said Chris "what do you call a Turkestani who's caught short?"

Robsie took a swig of Aztec Warrior. "Mustafa Waz."

Everyone cracked up. Mustafa Waz. Nice one. The evening was really getting underway.
Chapter 17: Information Made Him Fat

My interventionist stance on the Turkestan issue was unquestionably having a bad effect on my career. The meeting with The Master had gone reasonably well though I was dissatisfied with some aspects of my performance. There were of course no explicit sanctions taken against me: ostensibly everything carried on exactly as before. But greetings were a shade less enthusiastic than usual. The tone on the other end of the phone was more reserved than normal. PAs and assistants treated me with greater politeness. There was a certain reluctance to include me in important discussions. There were things that only the most finely tuned antenna would discern, but then I did have a very finely tuned antenna. I began to look around for another important issue which I could use to set myself once more on a course to prominence and success. This desire led to a meeting with the journalist Pendrivel.

I was vaguely aware of the name Pendrivel before our meeting and knew that he was a populist journalist writing for _Britain Today_. That a meeting with him might be mutually advantageous was first suggested to me in an informal discussion with Sir Philip Coleman. Phil suggested that Pendrivel and I might profitably work together. So I arranged to meet Pendrivel in The George pub opposite the Royal Courts of Justice on Fleet St. I arrived one warm June evening, ordered a pint of an excellent guest beer, Mucker's Knuckle, and sat down to wait for Pendrivel. When he turned up I found him a rather unprepossessing individual but I suppose typical of his kind. The substance of our discussion concerned the recent emergence into public consciousness of the genetically modified animals known as the X-Pets. I can't say that this was something that had previously given me cause for concern given what else was going on at the moment in this field, but Pendrivel had a bit of a bee in his bonnet about the whole issue. He argued that a campaign to clarify the legal status of the X-Pets was necessary and that the British public were demanding such a campaign. Pendrivel received many letters about this topic every day from outraged readers. Apart from the redoubtable Pendrivel himself the cause was as yet leaderless and therefore lacking real clout. Pendrivel suggested a private members bill, put forward by myself, and dealing with this issue, would be of great service to the nation. I must admit I had some reservations but I said I would go away and think about it. I did think about it and made the decision to promote the bill which eventually became the GMA Act. This was a mistake that was to make my stance on Turkestan look like the product of, to quote the words of the immortal Homer, "a master strategist with a mind like Zeus."

Looking back now I suspect that at a subconscious level I felt uneasy with my sponsorship of the GMA Act. There was of course no rational justification for the Act. The X-pets were so small in number that their activities, like those of the aristocracy, were statistically insignificant. The GMA Act was based completely on the universal fear of The Other. Of course the X-Pet phenomenon was a remarkable one, unimaginable forty or fifty years ago. The explosion in GM technology in the previous half century had been unexpected but exponential: notable as the X-Pet phenomenon was, in the context of what else was happening in the field it was strictly small potatoes. Thus I never really seemed to be able to deal with the matter with conviction and this contributed to the disaster that was my first major television discussion. I was due to appear on _Politics at_ _Eight_ as part of a guest panel. The panel included an X-Pet representative who I saw with amusement was called Cheese. Cheese was a cat. I now began to have negative feelings not just about the whole project, but about myself. Was this what I was now reduced to, bandying words on a TV show with a cat called Cheese? Was this perhaps the summit of all my striving, the expensive education at Marlborough, the years at Magdalene, the years of assiduous networking, the long hours spent dealing with the trivial problems of my mostly appalling constituents? Even if I gave an excellent performance what worth would a victory over a cat have? Even victorious I might become an object of ridicule. Peter Harrison MP, so you remember him? - the catman.

I arrived at the studio ill-prepared. As we went through the usual preparations for the show I could not help but stare at my feline adversary. A brown-haired cat, he sat quietly behind the desk things that are always used for props on these shows. Cheese seemed to be a very satisfied cat. A cool cat. He indulged in light banter with the members of the show who had already taken their places. I could hear the occasional laugh. Everyone seemed to be getting on well with Cheese. Cheese was a personable cat. I was able to catch a little of what he was saying as I received the last careful applications of the makeup brush.

"Of course Sir Michaels.....I agree completely that there is a need for clarification........I very much look forward to contributing to the work of the consultative committee......for some time I have myself been pressing for exactly measures such as this...."

My makeup complete, I took my place on the panel.

The memory of the humiliation that followed is something that it is painful for me to write about. But if this memoir is to be of any use I must face this memory. Mr Poznansky would no doubt say that facing the memory and writing about it will be therapeutic. At every stage I was outwitted by the cat. The cat was more amusing than me. The cat was better informed than me. Information must have made him fat. The cat was better than me at getting everyone on his side and this is the key skill of the politician. The cat was better at everything. I completely lost the plot and the most painful memory of all is the close-up of me staring at the cat with a befuddled look on my face, my jaw hanging open, a glazed look in my eyes. At that stage my only thought was please let the programme end and let me get out of the studio. My performance had fallen apart. The cat was droning on "......an idea that is philosophically untenable.......this would be a clear violation of European law......the British people have taken some X-Pets to their hearts, look at Harry the Hamster." A good laugh from the audience and a few cheers. After what seemed like an eternity the programme ended. I made my excuses and left as quickly as possible. Perhaps the worst thing of all was that I had chosen a course of action that would now bring me into frequent contact with the cat.

My dismal performance against the cat had not gone unnoticed by my colleagues. My antenna picked up the vibrations of discrete sniggers behind my back, of attempts to repress a little smirk in my presence, of jokes made at my expense when I had just left the room. Then one day in The House I was speaking on the subject of the White Paper on the Prisons Act when, in response to some phrase I used, I can't remember what, someone from across the floor said, "The honourable member for Hull HAS LET THE CAT OUT OF THE BAG." Then it started. Haw haw haw haw haw. A sea of grinning faces. Haw haw haw haw haw haw. Rows of stupid, grinning, gloating faces. Haw haw haw haw haw haw haw haw. So you think you are going to be somebody? Haw haw haw haw haw. You think you can imitate The Master? A nobody like yourself? Haw haw haw haw haw haw haw haw. Now they were all braying like demented donkeys: HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW.

It was that night that the dream started. There is a giant white TV studio, a studio the size of a large gym. In the middle of the studio is a desk surrounded by cameras giving multi-angled shots. Behind the desk sits the cat Cheese. Cheese is purring gently. His eyes are half closed. The purring gradually starts to get louder and louder. It becomes deafening until each purr is like a sledgehammer. The studio gradually goes dark and I can see nothing. Then I see two cat's eyes piercing through the gloom. The cat stops purring and starts to speak. I hear the cat's voice in my ear saying,

"Peter, look at me. Behold The Work of the Immortal Eye!"

I woke up covered in sweat. The dream became a recurring one to the extent that I began to fear going to sleep.
Chapter 18: A Man with a Plan

Porky could see that Cheese had started the session like a man with a plan. This was no night-outer. This fact gave Porky at least part of his bad feeling. Cheese was more than a recreational player. This was strategy. Cheese had opened up with some ultra-cautiously played hands. Porky didn't think Cheese had expected Zargosa to be there and was showing him huge respect. In this situation most guys would have chucked their money straight into the Zargosa vacuum cleaner. Ten hands in and Cheese was still being very conservative. On the eleventh hand he made a little move and made a loss on the river. Zargosa won but you could see he was regarding his opponent with increasing respect. Give Cheese some credit, he didn't flap. The cat was cool.

But this was just the start of an epic session, with the pot swollen with donations by wealthy amateurs way out of their depth. It was fascinating to watch and Porky had got absorbed in it. It was like watching a great sporting contest. Then a call came in. Had he seen what was happening at the roulette table? No he hadn't. Better take a look. When Porky did take a look he saw that the little hamster was up a startlingly large sum. A problem? Maybe, but not a big one. The main thing was to keep the guy playing. The golden rule was keep them playing. Porky had seen people start off good but then lose the money for their kid's education, their employee payroll, their homes, their businesses. It happened all the time.

Porky was hoofing it down to the Casino floor in the direction of Harry the Hamster, the big winner of the moment. He was preparing in his mind what he was going to say.

Hey, Harry! Great to see you in Casino Byzantium. And so on.

He was just about to go into the room where the roulette table was when he got a message. Foxy had just come into the casino. Porky stopped thinking about Harry the Hamster. Foxy was going to visit Casino Byzantium.
Chapter 19: Pendrivel Attacks

Big Cheese stretched his brown furry body full length on the black leather sofa in his flat. He had phoned and asked me to come over. Cheese's flat was at the top of a luxury apartment building in docklands. It would have been fun dodging the paparazzi outside the building if I'd been in the mood. Sometimes it helps to be small but it never helps to have a hangover. I hoped Cheese didn't want one of his big talks. I just wanted to crash. Too many junglefrenzies the night before. What a party. Everybody had been there. Anybody who is anybody. I'd left at about 4.00am with two hunnie bunnies. Feeling pretty knackered this morning.

Cheese was in a quiet mood. Great. Just let me chill. I settled into a cushion on the chair opposite Cheese. Cheese had only said hi when I came in. He was watching TV. A huge plasma screen took up much of the wall in front of him. Seven thousand newros worth of screen there. Behind him were two computers, both switched on. On one of them Cheese seemed to be getting about one email per minute. On the other was an open game of online poker on piggypoker.com.

CNN was on telly and Cheese was watching it really carefully. I knew from experience that Cheese had about 500 stations. Some of the mousecrap he watched was unbelievable. Like now. He changed to channel 376 or something and started watching a foreign guy reading the news. Crazy. This went on for about 5 minutes and then Cheese switched off the TV. He padded over to the piggypoker game. He watched the screen for a couple of minutes and then came back to the sofa.

Just sitting this hand out he said.

"Feeling a bit rough Harry?"

"Yeah - big night. Fantastic party though. Everybody was there."

"Get through the paparazzi ok"

"No probs. Harry is a top pap dodger."

"Looks like you're a popular guy."

"Yeah, you could say."

"Looks like everyone loves you."

"Yeah, looks like they do." I started on a list of celebs - A list celebs - who had been at the party. Cheese didn't look that impressed, though he should have been.

"One slight fly in the ointment though, Harry."

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"Pendrivel."

"Pendrivel?"

"Yes. You know him. Alex Pendrivel. Britain Today."

I started to laugh. Pendrivel was a clown.

"You keep making him look stupid," said Cheese.

Sure – no- he made himself look stupid. I could hardly remember the guy, though I remember the laughs I got at his expense.

Cheese grabbed a newspaper in his mouth and brought it over to me. He shoved it in front of me.

"Have a look. This might cause us problems."

You must be joking I thought. I had a look at the paper.

The X-Pet Phenomenon: Time for a Rational Debate

writes

Alex Pendrivel

"Few people can be unaware of the remarkable press conference that took place last year at the Hilton Hotel in London. We are intrigued, enthralled, we are amused. Can we really believe it when we see a small hamster talking like a human being? Of course we had heard the rumours of pets who were half-human, half-animal. But all reasonable people dismissed the rumours as nonsense. Now the nation appears to have taken to its heart the hamster (if I may still call him that) known as Harry. If cuteness and cuddliness are the criteria for national popularity then this "animal" deserves to be the popular figure that he seems to be turning into. Just look at his cheeky grin, or at least expression, if hamsters have expressions, and his perky "personality". Harry is always ready with a witty comment and this has endeared him to the public. And surely there can be no harm in admiring this remarkable and engaging little creature.

Far be it from me to be a spoilsport, but surely it is time for a rational debate on the implications of this strange and new phenomenon. I make no apology for raising the issue of the dangers of this "X-Pet" phenomenon. It would not be the first time that Britain Today has taken an unpopular line in the national interest. There are serious questions that the British people deserve answers to.

What are the exact origins of the X-Pets? It is obvious that someone's genetic experiment has gone badly wrong. The public needs to know who is responsible for the creation of these freaks. And the movements of these creatures obviously need to be restricted. If they are X-Pets shouldn't they have owners? What guarantee do we have that these mutants aren't carriers of some new mutant virus, like bird flu or some other virus that can wipe out millions. Who knows what other dangers in addition these little creatures pose?

I suggest we put emotion to one side and begin a rational debate about the implications of what we saw last night. Britain Today will always put the interests of the British people first. We are not afraid to be unpopular. Britain Today demands answers to the questions the people need to ask."

That last line was like a Pendrivel catchphrase. Sounds like Pendrivel was miffed about something. I wasn't bothered.

"So what, the guy's a clown. I said," shoving the paper away. It was giving me a headache.

"Nothing we can't cope with, I hope," said Cheese.

That was good enough for me. I now knew that Cheese could sort out most things. Cheese was smart. I had better things to think about. If Cheese said he could get rid of this clown that was good enough for me. I still had the two hunnie bunnies waiting for me at home and a party tomorrow night at Club Magik. GUYnacology was going to do an article on me for the May edition. I'd be on every news stand in the country, as if I wasn't already.
Chapter 20: The Problem with Turkestan

In this Testament I will speak only the truth. Do not dismiss this memoir as merely febrile and deluded. It must serve as a warning.

The situation with Turkestan was this. The ruling families of the West, with their power base largely in oil interests and strategic minerals, wished to control the area of the world known as Eurasia. It has always been one of the centres of world power. One reason this area was so vital was that it was now necessary to build an oil pipeline from Russia to Western Europe. And it was this project that had brought Turkestan to the attention of the international community. Turkestan, a small state bordering on Ukraine, had been created when the old Soviet Union had disintegrated. The population was an ethnic mix and largely Muslim. The country was ruled by the New Democracy party (which wasn't either particularly new or democratic) and a mish mash of elite interests. The country was not particularly wealthy or well-governed but muddled along. The ruling party, which had nationalist leanings, was opposed to the proposed pipeline, with the result that Turkestan now came under scrutiny. And it emerged that Turkestan, far from being a harmless country on the fringe of Eurasia was in fact a serious menace to the freedoms and economy of the West. Turkestan's human rights record was deeply flawed and the lack of western democratic institutions was also a cause for concern. Turkestan was also a source for some of the heroin that found its way into Europe.

However, the West was prepared to work with Turkestan to resolve these issues, and in this The Master took, if not exactly the lead, then one of the leading roles. From the outset The Master was the soul of reasonableness and conciliation. Military intervention was initially a remote possibility, but it was emphasised that no possibility could be ruled out. The Turkestan leadership in response to western pressure became more hard line. At this point I sensed that military intervention would be inevitable. Then finally, I heard the Foreign Secretary pronounce at a press conference the words that were an infallible indicator that an attack was imminent: "We have no quarrel with the Turkestan people."

I now saw my opportunity and decided to take the lead, and to argue for a vigorous interventionist policy. Military intervention in Turkestan became my cause. It featured in my every speech and my every media interview. I thus became identified with the interventionist cause even while the official party line was conciliatory. I hoped to be ahead of the game.

Then something awful happened. The President died suddenly and his son took over leadership of the party. The son had been educated at The Sorbonne and took a more sophisticated view of things than his father. And the son was a founder of the Turkestan Pipeline Company. As a gesture of goodwill towards the West he launched a vigorous War on Drugs, buying the necessary munitions and helicopters from western companies and taking out huge loans from Eurobank to do so. The War on Drugs consisted of operations against the hill tribes who profited from poppy production. It was obvious that things were heading towards a diplomatic rapprochement, which was bad for some people and good for others. I wasn't in the latter category.
Chapter 21: The Great Gathering

Porky liked his office in Casino Byzantium. It was certainly a big advance on his first office, a cramped little room that had nevertheless been the launchpad for piggypoker.com. Happy days. But still, being in your office was still to be on public view, so Porky had built on a more peccary-friendly retirement suite adjacent to the office. This was a room with straw on the floor and no mod cons except for a few CCTV screens attached to the wall. Porky liked to go in there to get away from it all, to relax, to think. And now Porky was lying on some nice straw, away from prying eyes, and was thinking about the events of last night.

Early in the day Porky had got a phone call from Cheese the cat. They had discussed some matters of mutual concern, chiefly the upcoming GMA Act, which would have very serious implications for the X-Pets. X-Pets would be more or less stripped of their rights by the GMA Act. For example, they would not be able to own property or be company directors. This was not of concern to many, perhaps most, X-Pets but it had very serious implications for Porky. Porky had built up his business over several years, and in the process created a complex structure of holding companies, debentures, international bank accounts, tax evasion schemes, etc. The GMA Act was going to be a legal nightmare. But Porky had seen the storm coming and had some of the finest accounting and legal minds in the country working on solutions. Porky was on top of things. But not all of the X-Pets understood the implications of the GMA Act, but the cat Cheese was one who did. Porky and Cheese had had a frank discussion of the issues and a robust exchange of views. Cheese had ended the conversation by inviting Porky to a general meeting of X-Pets at Club Magik, something that Porky had, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to attend. Club Magik wasn't really Porky's kind of place, a bit down market he thought, and Porky was sceptical if a general meeting of X-Pets would do any good.

The meeting had been even worse than Porky expected. On arriving at Club Magik Porky had been shown into a conference room. Big Cheese had already arrived accompanied by his clique: the corgi brothers, Will the Pit, "Bloodbath" Henry and that perennial irritant, Harry the "celebrity" hamster. Other X-Pets were arriving. Porky had noticed Freddy the Frog puffing away on a Gauloise outside the front door. Not something that Porky would allow outside Casino Byzantium. The whole thing was like something out of _Animal Farm_. In Porky's opinion the disparate elements on display at Club Magik could never be formed into a coherent action group. Cheese seemed to think differently. The meeting began. Who was the first to speak? Mouse Martin took the floor, backed up by a large cohort of his fellow mice.

"It is great to see so many X-pets gathered here today. We are here because we have a crisis to deal with. Soon, very soon, the GMA Act will be law. When that happens it will be a very bad day for all X-Pets. All the gains we have made over the last few years will be swept away. X-Pets will no longer be regarded as citizens. A bleak future may well await us, but there is one positive to come from all this. The crisis has brought X-pets together as never before. Look around and you see cats and mice together in the same room. A few years ago who would have thought this possible? Never before have we attempted to act together. Let us deal with this crisis in a way that is unified and strong. Let us act for the good of all X-pet species!"

Mouse Martin sat down and all the X-Pets applauded, or most of them did. Porky glanced over at Harry, who was looking at his mobile phone. Bloodbath Henry looked like he was struggling to hold it together. His eyes were slowly opening and closing and little drops of saliva were oozing from the sides of his mouth. His paws were slowly clenching and unclenching. Big Cheese got up to speak.

"Mouse Martin has spoken very well. The recent rapprochement between cats and mice is an example of just what can be achieved given good will on all sides. I commend Mouse Martin for the courageous way in which he has put aside past differences. If cats and mice can work together we can all work together."

And there was more in the same vein. Porky had the opportunity to speak but he didn't. He had seen enough of this beggar's army and at the first opportunity made his excuses and left. Porky wasn't opposed to being associated with other X-Pets and to the idea of unified action. It's just that Porky was a pragmatist and he didn't think it would work. When the crisis came, as it surely would, Porky would be going it alone.

Chapter 22: Mouse Force Alpha

The leader of Mouse Force Alpha switched on his torch and scanned the office that was the scene of the current operation. It was a fairly small set up and MF1 didn't foresee any major problems. And this was what is known as a soft operation. The objective of the mission would be achieved using computer software alone. MF1 signalled to the others to join him. They slipped into the room through a small hole in the skirting board. They moved silently and efficiently. MF1 identified the computer that was the object of the operation.

"Go ahead Mouse Force 2."

In the field the members of Mouse Force Alpha referred to each other by their numbers only. They did not know each other's real names. Security was everything in a cutting-edge covert operations unit like Mouse Force Alpha.

Mouse Force 2 moved silently towards a computer identified by Mouse Force 1. Mouse Force 3 guarded their rear with a Schmouser XV12. The Schmouser XV12 was a small rifle developed for use in the field exclusively by Mouse Force Alpha. It was years ahead of anything else of its kind and had been developed in great secrecy by a team of top weapons designers. The one piece barrel and shoulder rest were made of an ultra-light alloy that had been developed originally for use in space flight. The telescopic sight used digitally enhanced night vision and enhanced laser red light spotting accurate to a tenth of a millimetre at two hundred and fifty yards. A small sensor linked to a computer chip would detect movements of a type specified by the user within a hundred yards and report them using automated speech technology. The user had a headphone which connected to the butt. The Schmouser XV12 could literally talk to its user.

Mouse Force 2 was confident that the Schmouser XV12 was the best weapon ever invented. He knew that with a Schmouser XV12 in his hands the group was secure. He usually set the movement detection software to "cat" but on this mission it was set to "human". This reflected not only the needs of the mission but also the new political climate which had recently transformed relations between cats and mice.

As Mouse Force 3 kept guard Mouse Force 2 worked quickly at the computer. Mouse Force Alpha kept mission silence throughout. Like most soft missions this one was completed without any problems. Mouse Force Alpha left the scene as quietly and efficiently as it had entered. It had successfully completed another cutting edge covert operation.
Chapter 23: Vegas

The Big One. Vegas. I'm in a plane coming in to land at McCarran airport. I've had to spend the whole trip in a cage, the only way Air America would let me fly. Health and safety gone mad. They couldn't have a hamster running around the plane. And what if there was a crash or the plane had to go down in the desert. But none of that happened. But it's a deluxe cage strapped into a seat. A couple of hours ago a flight attendant brought me a little aeroplane meal in tinfoil and popped it through the cage door. For most of the trip I watched films on the screen on the back of the seat in front. The last one I watched was _Down in the Duckhouse_ starring Mallard Duck (aka Duckie). The hit song from the film was playing. Once that catchy number got into your head you couldn't get rid of it.

(Duckie solo)

I'm living in a duck house

I call it mansion view

Sir Henry has the old place

And I live in the new

Sir Henry calls it Mallard House

To the Portofino set

He says it's not the best one

But it's all that he could get

There's still no jacuzzi

No gas-fired bar-be-que

It was almost nearly there

But we still had work to do

(posh butler voice)

There are some new arrangements

Sir Henry has to make

There are some tough decisions

He has been forced to take

Sir Henry has the Morgan

And will be out of town

But he's left a memo

Henry won't let you down

(Duckie solo)

Oh no not the PlayStation

I'm on Star Trip level nine

Please not the plasma screen TV

I use it all the time

Come on guys leave the hard drive

That's how Sir Henry keeps in touch

At least leave me something

You can see I don't have much

Who's that Canadian goose

In suspenders and a bra

I only use that webcam

To send emails to me Ma

Don't take my little motorboat

I've forgotten how to swim

I do all my fitness work

In the duckhouse gym

(posh butler voice)

Sir Henry has a colleague

His name is Jing Jang Ju

He is a very nice man

And he'd like to meet with you

You know The Golden Dragon

On the Portobello Road

That's where you'll be living

When this old place is sold

He's sold the Tracey Emin

He's sold the Banksy too

Poor man is down to his last yacht

There's nothing he can do

On the way to the Golden Dragon

Call in at Mr San's

Pick up some Hoi Sin sauce

Spring onions and a nan

(Duckie solo)

I'm living in a duckhouse

I'm playing ducks and drakes...

Duckie was cut off in full flight by the announcement that we would be landing soon in McCarran. Watch out the U S of AAAAA – Harry the Hamster is comin' on in. Now I can see McCarran International Airport and the Sphinx outside the Luxor. Just a month ago I'd been sitting having a drink with the guys at Club Magik. Mark had just got back from Ibiza.

"What was Ibiza like?" asked Chris.

"I'll tell you what Ibiza was like. It was like this - pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy."

"That's an awful lot of pussy," said Tod, taking a swig of his Aztec Warrior.

"It is a lot of pussy. Pussy everywhere. You go into a bar - pussy. You sit down for a cup of coffee - pussy. You go for breakfast - pussy. You go for a waz - pussy."

"You go for a waz and there's pussy?"

"Yep," said Mark, "it happened. I'm talking about wall to wall pussy. I'm knackered me. I need a holiday. Not to mention the third degree burns on me todger. I should be in hospital."

"You need to get yourself genetically modified like the new astronauts." said Chris.

"How's that then?"

"I've just been reading about it on the NASA website. You know what the problem is with space travel?"

"Dunno - there's no pussy on board?"

"Many a true word spoken in jest. Something like that. But that's not completely accurate from the scientific point of view. The problem isn't so much a lack of pussy but you are getting close."

"You can never get enough pussy, not even in Ibiza."

"Even on long voyages in outer space there is enough pussy for everyone to be able to get their leg over but that's not the problem," explained Chris.

"The problem is when you get to the planet you're going to. You arrive on your planet, say the planet Zorg, and you've got to populate it. Because you can't send thousands of people into outer space on a spaceship, even one of the new megaships."

"Why's that?"

"Because according to NASA boffins it's not logistically feasible."

"So how do we populate the planet Zorg then?" asked Mike.

"Now that's a difficult question," said Chris, "that NASA has been working on for years."

"Yeah, coz if only a few people land on Zorg it won't be long before people are shagging their sisters coz that would be the only way to do it."

"I once knew a guy who shagged his sister."

"Who was that - your brother?"

"Yep, it was in a threesome with your mum."

"This is how you do it. You go to a planet where there are loads of chicks already. Then no worries, our guys just get to work and populate the planet."

"Whooooa, I can see a flaw in your plan. If there are loads of chicks on say the planet Zorg then there are going to be loads of Zorgian guys as well. They're not gonna like a load of astronaut guys from earth shagging their girls. Just imagine Saturday night there would be so many fights going on you wouldn't be able to get to the bar for a beer."

"But the chicks are going to go for the astronauts. It's the uniform. Chicks love uniforms."

"Agreed. But have you ever seen an astronaut's uniform? You're not going to be shagging nuffin wearing that."

"I'm not talking about that kind of uniform. That's a space suit. Astronauts have really natty uniforms when they're not in outer space. Like Navy Seals. The chicks go wild for it."

"Hold on, nobody's gonna be shagging their sister - unless they want to of course - but what I'm saying is they're not going to have to populate the planet Zorg. NASA has come up with a solution after decades of research."

"So what's the solution then?"

"The solution is genetic modification. The new astronauts are all going to have three peckers. NASA is working on it at the moment. In fact, the first astronaut is ready for launch. Big Baz the three-peckered astronaut."

"That's amazing."

"But that doesn't solve the problem of who the astronauts are going to shag. Even if you have three peckers, which I must admit is possible, that doesn't change the basic problem."

Chris answered "but on the new planet the chicks are going to go for the guys with three peckers over the ordinary guys who have just one pecker. It's science, like in Darwin."

"You mean Darwin had three peckers?" said Ben.

"Don't be daft. Darwin couldn't have had three peckers because he was a scientist living in the nineteenth century. They didn't have genetic modification like we do now."

Everyone reached for a new Aztec Warrior and I reached for a junglefrenzy.

"So this is what is going to happen," said Chris "the next NASA mission is to the planet Crudnik, a small planet in the constellation KY69, five light years away. Big Baz and the other genetically modified and enhanced astronauts are going to be heading that way in a couple of months and here's the thing - Crudnik chicks have three pussies. That's really why our guys had to be modified. So when you get back from Crudnik it's not going to be just pussy pussy pussy pussy like Ibiza it's gonna be pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy. And that's what scientists call an exponential increase in pussy."

We were all having a laugh when my mobile went off. It was Big Cheese.

"Harry, have I got news for you. It's the big one - Vegas. I think you're ready for it."

Vegas, fantastic, I'd always known it would happen. Big Cheese had done it again.

"That's great, how did you set it up?"

"Do you know Porky?"

"Sure, the piggy poker guy."

"Porky has loads of contacts in Vegas and helped set it up. We'll have to meet Porky to discuss a few things. Are you OK for tomorrow?"

"For Vegas? You bet."

Now at the mention of Porky I couldn't stop the piggy poker song popping into my head-

piggy poker-na na na na naaaaa

piggy piggy piggy poker

don't be a joker

play piggy poooooooker

"I'm looking forward to meeting the big pink guy in person," I said.

"Harry, get a grip, pigs aren't pink, show some sensitivity."

"Of course they are, everyone knows that. I've seen them on telly and what about Pinky and Perky?"

"Pinky and Perky aren't real, Harry, they are cartoon characters. And when you meet Porky don't call him a pig."

"But he is a pig. I'm a hamster, you're a cat, Freddy the Frog is a frog, Duckie is a duck and so on."

"It's just something he's a bit touchy about, you know, the long history of peccarism, and he likes people to know that he is a Gloucester Old Spot. That's a rare breed. So come on Harry, humour the guy, let's keep him on our side."

"Gloucester old spot, Gloucester new spot, Gloucester pink spot, it's all the same to me."

"Great Harry, I'm glad you're on board with that. See you tomorrow night around eight at my place. Be there or be square. This is it Harry."

The aeroplane is about to land at McCarran. _Down in the Duckhouse_ finished a few minutes ago. Duckie gave one of his best performances. I wasn't the only X-Pet celebrity heading for Vegas. Freddy the Frog was at this moment on an Air France jet on the way to Vegas after a four week set at the Moulin Rouge. But it was going to be difficult for him to break into the States. The Americans didn't love frogs the way they did Brits. And then Duckie was doing a night club on Sunset Strip, riding high after the success of _Down in the Duckhouse_ and the follow-up hit single.

Big Cheese had set us up at the Luxor. Where else? Got to be the best place in town. I was booked to do a one-hamster slot in a cabaret joint on Sunset Strip. My show was part of a revue. Big Cheese was going to do all the PR work and set up meets with agents, TV, radio, the works. Cheese said this was going to be my stepping stone to the States. There had only been a couple of photographers at the airport but that would all change when everyone knew that Harry the Hamster was in town.

I was sharing a room in the Luxor with Big Cheese. Not exactly the penthouse suite but it was OK. The Luxor was fantastic. It was like being in ancient Egypt except back then they didn't have casinos and nightclubs. Everywhere you looked there was somebody dressed up like an ancient Egyptian. It was cool. We had our own personal hostess, Lorna Rodriquez. Lorna was there to make sure everything was right. She was used to dealing with the big stars, so she wasn't fazed by the most famous hamster in the world. Lorna was a smart girl as well as being a looker. Every morning she gave poker lessons to people at the hotel. That's how Big Cheese started playing poker. He started with three card poker, which he soon got really good at. When he played he would sit and stare hard at the cards. He could also flip the cards over using his claws. Lorna laughed when she first saw it.

Lorna took a big shine to Cheese. He'd sit on her lap and purr away like a machine gun while she tickled under his chin. She started giving Cheese extra poker lessons in our room at night. They would spend a couple of nights going over stuff. They became real buddies. That cat's got natural talent, a real sixth sense, she would say. Lorna had been at the Luxor for years and knew all the moves. She would take Cheese on a tour of the casino floor, holding him in her arms like a baby. Cheese would be purring away. Of course everyone knew Lorna so everyone got to know Cheese as well. The casino floor was huge, 120,000 square feet according to Cheese. There was everything you could ever want, everything you have ever dreamt about and more. More slot machines than you could count, rows and rows of them. Roulette, ordinary and rapid, black jack, six and eight deck shoe, double deck and single deck. Lorna said there were 87 games in total. And then there was sports betting. You could bet on every sport under the sun, all the biggies and sports you'd never heard of like women's basketball. I'd always thought that women's basketball was netball but there you go what do I know. And if you didn't want to bet, and who could resist, there was loads of other stuff to do. You could hang out in the atrium. Lorna said it was the biggest in the world. There were restaurants, bars and a night club with two giant statues of an ancient Egyptian god. And it was always bright. I never had to take my Rayblokkers off.

Lorna took me on a tour. I perched on her shoulder as we walked through the casino. Lorna told everyone I was a celeb hamster from England, a big star and one day I would be a big star in Vegas too. Sometimes I'd see Porky around. He was staying at the Excalibur nearby. He would meet up with Cheese in the atrium then they'd go off somewhere together, maybe to the high limit area or to meet the high rollers. Talking about high rollers, Big Vince's brother Dave was staying at the Luxor. Dave was a diamond merchant from Hatton Garden in London and Cheese spent quite a lot of time hanging out with him. Big Dave is a diamond geezer Cheese used to say. Cheese said you know something Harry diamonds beat money any day put your money into diamonds. But I didn't have much money. At the start of the trip I was nearly broke. The hotel gave me some chips to play with but I quickly lost them on the slots. I wasn't bothered about gambling though, I was focused on my act, like a pro should be.

The Orange Cactus was a cabaret place just off the strip near Tropicana Avenue. I was to do half an hour a night five days a week. I was on in the first half, about halfway through. The show started with the MC then there was a comedian, some up and coming local guy, then a magician, then a singer, then me and after me another comedian. The second half of the show had one act, the all nude revue _Girls of Mexico_. The manager said don't worry if the audience is thin in the first half, most people come for the revue. In his office were photos of all the stars who had played at the Orange Cactus, guys like Liberace.

I'm in the Green Room before the first night. The room is a pokey little place by human standards but big enough for a hamster. There is a kind of sour sweaty smell. There is a tatty old chair in front of a mirror. The mirror is dirty and has a crack in it in the right hand corner. I get a piece of tissue paper and wipe a spot clean big enough to see myself. Looking good. I do a couple of poses and a bit of shadow boxing, moving my powerful forelegs fast. Still in great shape. The manager comes in and says,

"Five minutes Harry."

Time to get focused, to do the Elvis fifty yard walk thing. And now I'm side stage. I'm the greatest, I'm the King. The MC is warming up the crowd.

"And now all the way from London England, the X-Pet sensation, the one and only Harry the Hamster!"

The speakers boom out _Move your Body_ as I leap onto the stage. I head for a little raised platform area mid-stage. This was built specially for me. There is a large screen behind me so that everyone can see the act close up. I do my trademark back flips on the way to the platform and wait for the crowd to go crazy. There is what sounds like two or three people clapping. They even sounded half hearted. What is wrong with these people? I peer into the auditorium. I don't see anyone in the front two rows. At the back I can see three or four people. Most of the people must be right at the back where it is really dark. No problem. Harry is a pro. This wouldn't be the first hit show that was slow to warm up. And it is early in the week. I go on to the next bit of my act, which is a few jokes based on local stuff. I'd run the material by Lorna and she'd said she thought it was quite funny. So I decided to run with it. But it doesn't get huge laughs. Maybe I'd have to tweak it a bit, look on the show as a work in progress.

Like the pro I am I continued with the act. It could be going better. I get the occasional laugh from someone at the back. A couple of times someone applauds but kind of slowly. I think just finish the act and get off, live to fight another day. Then I notice something move at the back. It looks like people are coming in. At last. Phew. Panic over. But it is only three guys. Three big guys. They walk down the aisle and sit in the front row. One is a huge guy who looks like a Mexican or a Columbian. He is wearing an old leather jacket and jeans. He looks like a bouncer. Another guy is wearing really old worn jeans and an old t-shirt that says _Los Hombres Nevada Chapter_. The third guy is wearing a Hawaiian shirt, big baggy shorts and sandals. I expected the place to fill up for the _Girls of Mexico_ revue and it is good to have a few people sitting at the front. Makes me feel like there is an audience. I only have about five minutes of my act left so I just get on with it.

But the big guys decide they will amuse themselves by having a little heckle. Hawaiian shirt says,

"Hey, Tony, I can smell a rat, can anyone else smell a rat?" And he sniffs really loud and then waves his hand in front of his nose like a fan. There are a few sniggers from the audience. I ignore this like a pro. The Los Hombres t-shirt guy says,

"What the hell is this - a guinea pig that's a comedian?" A guinea pig? ok - funny. The other guy says,

"Last guinea pig I saw was on a stick. Ever had that, guinea pig on a stick? Tasty."

The three amigos laugh and so does the audience. Biggest laugh of the night so far, and that's what hurts. I have to have a comeback shot.

"Hey guys, nice to have you here but the _Gay Guys of Columbia_ revue is next door at the Pink Cactus." There's a nervous little laugh from someone in the audience. Then complete silence. The three amigos have all been smiling and laughing. Now their expressions change. They don't say anything. The Hawaiian shirt slowly stands up then moves forward towards the stage. He looks dangerous and the other guys are right behind him. Just as well you've got backup mate you're gonna need it. Hawaiian shirt lurches onto the stage and makes a grab for me. But he hasn't realised just how fast a hamster in peak condition can move. I just jump off my little platform and land at his feet. I jump on his right foot and sink my teeth into his big toe. That would hurt. Horrible taste though.

The amigo screams and kicks out. I sail through the air but no problem, I sail through the air just like one of the Wang Doo guys in the films. I land back on the platform and take up the Crouching Tiger position as soon as my hind legs hit the ground. I adjust my Rayblokkers in a micro second, then left back leg planted firmly, right back leg relaxed and slightly pushed forward, right foreleg raised, left foreleg held back in a reserve of power and strength. Leather jacket dives at me with his arms outstretched. I easily get out of the way using the Leaping Antelope manoeuvre. Leather jacket is left clutching air. I sail off the platform and land in the Winter Swan position. Now the crowd are going wild. The place has suddenly filled up with the _Girls of Mexico_ audience. The Los Hombres t-shirt guy makes his move. I focus my mind on my Shaolin mantra: attack with speed, strength, power, precision and flexibility. But Los Hombres is too fast. He grabs me with his left hand and for a moment it looks like I might be a goner. I bite his hand and he screams and loosens his grip. I jump onto his face and grab his hair with my left foreleg. Then comes the Fishing Crane move. I stick my right foreleg in his eye, and don't forget that all this happens almost faster than the eye can see. The three amigos have bitten off more than they can chew. I'm using moves I'd learned in _Modern_ _Shaolin Mastery, A Guide for the Small Mammal_ , by Ken DoNa Gasakaki, martial arts coach to A-list celebs. Anyone who is anyone has trained with Ken. I'd even had a few sessions myself with the great man. It's all paying off now as Los Hombres screams and brings his hand up to his eye. I pivot and swing powerfully, digging my right back leg into the guy's other eye. I let go of his hair and sail through the air Wang Doo style, landing with perfect balance. Time to make an exit. In a dark place like this my strategy is to stick to the edges of the room and move like greased lightning.

"Where is he," screams Los Hombres.

"Get him!" screams Hawaiian shirt.

Too late, amigos. Sticking to the walls like glue I run for the exit. The place is going bonkers, crazy. For a moment I think I'm running blind, it is hot, dark, noisy, people screaming, shouting, laughing.

"There he goes!"

"Get him!"

"Save him!"

"Don't let him escape!"

"I'm gonna kill him!"

"Bring on the girls!"

Then I see a door. Quickly through it. I'm in a kitchen. Down to the back then left, moving fast. Still not huffing and puffing. It pays to keep in shape. Through the kitchen I look up and the place is full of the girls from the Girls of Mexico revue. One of them spots me and they all start screaming. At least that clears a path for the door. I sprint towards the door and escape into an alley. Right or left? On a hunch I go right. Wrong decision. Dead end. A brick wall, too high to climb. I turn around to see the three amigos comin' towards me. On the way through the kitchen Hawaiian shirt had picked up a meat cleaver, one of those things you see Chinese guys with and he was waving it around like he meant business. A brick wall behind, the three psycho amigos comin' at me, Hawaiian shirt with a meat cleaver. What's Harry goin' to do? Right Harry, time to think like a Ninja. Counter attack with speed and confusion. I stick to the left hand wall and sprint as fast as I can. The amigos are big and heavy and they try to grab me but I squeeze past. The meat cleaver misses my head by an inch. Without pausing for so much as a milli second I adjust my Rayblokkers and head for the main road I can see ahead.

I can hear the amigos behind me, shouting, panting – those guys are in terrible condition, then suddenly I burst onto the main road and I'm hit by the noise of cars, the smell of fumes. I turn a sharp left and head for the Luxor. Hawaiian shirt reaches the main road but trips and crashes to the ground. Los Hombres trips over Hawaiian shirt and next thing all three amigos are in a heap on the pavement, shouting and swearing. One of them tries to get up but accidentally gets a meat cleaver in the foot. He holds his foot and starts hopping around screaming with pain. I jog back to the hotel, puffing a bit but not too much. I go straight up to my room to crash out. Big Cheese is in the room watching TV.

"What's up Harry," Cheese says, hardly taking his eyes off the telly.

"What's up? I'll tell you what's up. I've nearly been killed by three psychos. One of them had a meat cleaver. I'm lucky to be alive. They ended up in a pile on the road."

"Where was this? " said Cheese.

"Just out there, on the road, down near the club."

"Well Harry, you survived and that's the main thing."

I went for a lie down. What a thing to happen on your first night. But the show must go on. Harry will be back tomorrow night. Harry always bounces back.

A couple of days later the three amigos pileup was a viral video hit. The whole thing had been captured by CCTV cameras and the shots had found their way onto FunVid and then even onto local telly. I became a bit of a local celeb. I ditched my original act and instead based my act completely on the three amigos incident. I acted out the scenario myself, playing all the roles and throwing in a few jokes. The place was always packed. And that's how I got to be a star in Vegas.

Chapter 24: Zak

Porky was making a phone call to Zak Zargosa from his office in Casino Byzantium. Zargosa picked up. He was in Las Vegas. Porky always used speakerphone. It was a cloven-hooved thing.

"Hi Zak. Porky here."

"Hi Porky. How's it going?"

"Going good. And you?"

"Going good. I love Vegas. I'm staying at The Luxor. What's on your mind Porky?"

"Do you remember the cat?"

"The cat? Yeah I remember the cat."

"What do you think?"

"About what exactly?"

"Is he good?"

"Yeah, he's good."

There was a pause.

"Everything seemed legit if that's what you're worried about," said Zargosa. "It was a helluva thing."

"Yeah, it was."

"But these things happen Porky. We've all lost them."

"Yeah, you're right, we have. See you soon Zak."

"See you Porky."

Zargosa seemed OK with it. That helped to put Porky's mind to rest on at least one score. Perhaps.
Chapter 25: Cheese Makes Big Plans

I got a call from Big Cheese. Go to his place for a meeting tonight. The others would be there: Will the Pit, Bloodbath Henry, the three Corgi brothers. Cheese sounded serious. I got there in time but was the last to arrive. Bloodbath was lying on the sofa. He looked really chilled like he was about to nod off. But then he always looked like that. People thought the nickname Bloodbath was a joke. I'm a coiled spring Harry he used to say and I don't have this nickname for nuthin'. Will the Pit was lying on a fancy-looking rug and was looking admiringly at Big Cheese. In his little dog-like mind Cheese was like the leader of the pack. Cheese always said that dogs were ok but they needed to be guided by a higher intelligence. I hopped on to a cushion and said, "What's up, Cheese?" Cheese didn't waste time with small talk.

"Thanks for coming guys. This isn't a good time for X-Pets. Things are moving against us and it will only get worse. I won't bore you with the details. You've all seen the headlines. Soon the GMA Act will start to make its way through parliament and when that happens public opinion will turn against us. We have a choice. We can either act now or sit and wait for the worst to happen. We can take our own destiny in our hands or we can be victims."

The corgi brothers looked at Cheese with their mouths hanging open. Bloodbath still looked like he was about to doze off. His paws slowly squeezed and unsqueezed. His eyes shut and slowly opened again. His eyes focused on something in the distance. Will the Pit lay silent, his beady eyes glued on Cheese. I piped up.

"Come on Cheese. The public love me. I'm an A-list celeb. Everybody loves Harry. Have you seen _Animals in Bel Air_? People are going crazy about it."

"The public does love you Harry. But the public is fickle. In a few years others will take your place and you will be forgotten. That's how the industry works. What you do is great and there has never been and never will be another hamster like you. You are a role model for all X-Pets that yes we can be a success. But there is a bigger picture. I can't speak for all X-Pets or save them all from their destiny. But maybe we can save ourselves, this small band. A band bound together by shared experiences, comradeship and loyalty. Together we stand, united we fall. The strength of the wolf is the pack and the strength of the pack is the wolf."

"So whaddja gonna do boss?" said Will the Pit.

"Yeah, whaddja gonna do?" said the Corgi brothers.

I thought maybe Big Cheese is talking mousecrap but then again maybe not. Cheese was an ideas cat and his ideas were usually right. Big Cheese replied, "Here's what I propose. It will need planning, courage, teamwork and Lady Luck will need to smile on us. What do we need in this situation? We need to get a stash together to be able to leave the country and never come back."

Bloodbath opened his eyes.

"I haven't got a pet passport."

"You won't need a pet passport if you follow my plan."

Cheese padded into the middle of the room.

"The plan is, we go into Porky's Palace one night and we come out with a million newros. A million newros at least. Maybe more."

Big Cheese must have lost it completely. This was just crazy.

"One million four hundred thousand would be the optimum figure because that would give us two hundred grand each. Not a fortune these days but enough. Enough for all of us to get out and make a fresh start. A new start away from prejudice and persecution, away to a place where we can build new lives based on dignity and freedom. What do you say guys, who's in?"

Will said ok boss. The corgis were in too. Bloodbath Henry said why not. And Harry, Harry said go for it.

Cheese said, "That's great, now we can start to plan the details."

In other words, Cheese would plan the details. I was off to Club Magik. If the Porky's thing came off it would make me even bigger. I could maybe break into Hollywood, proper Hollywood not just reality TV stuff.

Cheese said we should meet here again tomorrow at 8 o'clock. Then he jumped onto his computer chair. So tomorrow night it was. That's how the gang started to meet regularly. We met up the next evening and Cheese went through the plan. I always said Cheese had a good head on him. It was crazy stuff but if it worked.....
Chapter 26: The Performer

It is important right from the start to clear away some misconceptions. It should not be thought that The Master was merely a cynic exploiting the values of a corrupt world. If this was the case he would be a very unremarkable person. The problems went deeper than that. The problems were structural, even metaphysical. There was no decline in morality and to use this kind of language would be to apply an outmoded way of thinking. There was something more profound happening: there was a crisis of coherence. The old structure of cause and effect no longer existed. Action - in the old sense - was no longer possible. It was no longer possible to create a causal link to an event in the future. Because action was impossible morality too was impossible.

It should not be thought that The Master realised any of this and consciously exploited it. For one thing, a lack of the higher mental faculties was one of his weaknesses (though also a practical strength). The Master was just the man who naturally and intuitively captured the zeitgeist. Like nearly everyone, The Master believed he was still living in the old world of cause and effect. He merely adapted better than anyone else to the new situation, and this was a large part of his magic.

Most men continued in the old ways. As if to compensate for the loss of coherence there was a sudden upsurge in activities based on the old assumptions. Planning was the new religion, or the new witchcraft. Plans became more ambitious, more grandiose and long-reaching. Yet in their heart of hearts, or with some vague perception, people began reluctantly to realise the futility of action. For example, and it would be a mistake to give this specific point undue importance, the political demonstration was a thing of the past. If one did take place it was more of a media and social event than anything else. Men had started to accept that they could no longer act on the substance of existence. And as they could not act at all, they could no longer do good or evil.

If action was no longer possible, what had taken its place? Action had been replaced by performance. People now gave performances. Each performance was a discrete event. Performances could not be joined together to have a cumulative effect. They could only be judged as good or bad. The key skills of the age were those of the performer: the strongman, the comedian, the tragic actor, the comic actor, the illusionist. Even those in supposed positions of power began slowly to realise that they were only moving from performance to performance. And you were only as good as your last performance.
Chapter 27: Harry Plays Roulette

Porky asked himself the question for the thousandth time. How had they done it? Maybe Cheese's win was easy enough to explain. The cat had simply outplayed Zargosa. If so well done to him. Porky could even admire how he had managed the whole thing. However, Cheese's win was only a small part of what had happened that night. It was not the most significant part. It was the hamster Harry who had delved deepest of all into Porky's pocket.

Computer analysis had revealed that Harry had won most of his money, i.e. Porky's money, playing medium sized bets on 1-17. There is only a one chance in three of winning with this bet (in reality less given that the house takes everything on a zero) so Harry could consider himself to be a very lucky hamster. Or very clever. Porky watched the hamster place a medium-sized bet on 1-17 and win. Nothing unusual about that of course. What was unusual was what Harry did next. Most guys would think something along these lines. 1-17 won't come up again next roll but might come up in a couple of rolls. 18-32 or 33-47 has a better chance of coming up next, so I'll place a bet on one of those with some back-up bets on other bands.

This line of thought only appeared rational. It was in reality an amateurish way of thinking with no basis in probability theory. The probability of 1-17 coming up was exactly the same with every play. But Harry didn't do what 99% of all guys, except the pros (and pros didn't play roulette much given the lack of a skill factor and a flagrant weighting in favour of the house) would have done. Harry avoided both 18-32 and 33-47 and placed a few small bets on bands and individual numbers. Then, after a few similar bets he again moved into 1-17 with a medium-sized bet. He won again. And so it went on. Nothing spectacular, nothing flamboyant. It was a definite strategy and one that was working. What was more surprising was that the hamster was putting it into action in a disciplined manner. Harry wasn't exactly known for his self-discipline. Porky suspected the guiding hand of a higher intelligence. And he had suspicions about whose intelligence that might be.

There was no doubting the huge spike in the 1-17 band during the time that Harry played. Impossible according to the known laws of probability. And surely impossible to fix, even if the dealer was in on it. But somehow, somebody had fixed it, Porky was sure. The laws of probability were part of the fabric of the universe, like the laws of cause and effect. They could not be overturned by a hamster.
Chapter 28: Harry Meets an Old Friend

I was in Vince Spangle's office. Big Vince was my international agent at the time. It was a small office in a small street in Soho. The office was on the first floor above the Kitty Kat Club, a top pole-dancing venue. Vince had called me in to talk about some work. He had said something on the phone about a trip abroad, raising my international profile. And yeah, the whole world deserved to know about Harry. Harry should be big in Abu Dhabi, Japan, all over. Timbuktu, Baghdad, Peking all countries everywhere should know about Harry. Vince started talking about the work.

"There are big investors involved Harry, really big investors. I'm talking huge. Oilbillies or something. You know what these guys are like - too many newros not enough pussy. There's a top director on board: remember _Last of the Doggiestyle Men_?"

Sure I remembered. Great work from Costas Diamantopoulos.

Vince continued, "We haven't even got a working title yet but we're talking about something that's maybe just a little bit more kinky than work you've done so far. But here's the good bit, this kinky stuff is strictly for the Northern Federation market. They love this kind of kinky stuff up there. It's the long winter nights that do it. It'll never see the light of day in this country. It's not that kind of distribution deal. That's cast iron Harry, I give you my word. And it will be written into your contract. My lawyer is at this very moment drafting the contract and I have his assurance that everything will be watertight. In fact we have two lawyers on the job. So if you are up for it it will be a quick in and out, get the job done and back to blighty in no time. By the way it's a cash deal, no royalties, complicated legal stuff to do with the way the NorFeds do business. No need for you to worry about it Harry in fact the cash deal is good for you in case the whole thing flops. Good insurance, you never know what'll go and what won't. Plus you know what the oilbillies are like - real tightwads when it comes to doling out the old newros. Your fee is five grand plus expenses. Just think Harry, 100 crisp shiny new Lady Thatchers in your paw, sounds good eh? Ready to roll?"

Sounded good to me and I needed the money. Harry says Go For It.

"That's great Harry. You're a real pro."

And I was a real pro. Harry was the best. Harry always got the job done.

I was making good use of the oilbillie expense account by staying at the Oriental. The penthouse suite with a great view of the Chao Phraya river when someone lifted me up so I could see it. The film was going to start shooting next day. Not one to waste time, always on the job, I wanted to schmooze with some celebs if poss. But there wasn't much going on and media interest was thin on the ground too. I had a measly one interview, with _Bizarre Asia_. The guy came into the room and I thought what's that you've got on your head mate, a cockatoo? Never seen a hairstyle like it. The interview was short. I filled in the cockatoo guy on my career so far and my plans and on how I was huge in the UK. I posed for a couple of photos and then the guy left. I ended up having a few junglefrenzies and an early night. I had an early start tomorrow.

Next morning over to the studio to start shooting. I was early. Like I said Harry is a real pro. There were a few fans around, a few autograph hunters, a few paparazzi. I signed a few autographs, posed for a few photos, then headed for the Green Room. The script? I usually didn't bother with one. Harry was a hamster of action and everyone knew what action to expect. Hard, hot and non-stop. No part-time kind of lovin' when Harry hits the set. Anyway, everyone knew the quality of Costas Diamantopoulos' work. His _Doggiestyle Men_ had been one the big hits of the last two years. We were all top pros here. Nothing could go wrong. Nice deal for Vince to set up.

Just a quick junglefrenzy and then to work. Costas was all action on the set, a real perfectionist. He said hi Harry are you up for it I hope you liked the script. I said yeah loved the script and a gopher did the clapperboard take 1 thing. We were ready to roll. I got ready to jump on the bed and get going. First shock. There was no bed. Instead there was a pen. Not a pen you write with but a pen like you keep proper animals in. Animals. And there was straw. Vince said a bit more kinky than you are used to but this wasn't just a kinky set up - this was sick. Whatever happened I just hoped the NorFed market only thing was cast iron. There was something like a dog kennel in the corner of the pen. That was it. I turned around to give Costas a piece of my mind. We were about to have one of those artistic differences you are always reading about. I was Harry the Hamster, who did these guys think I was?

Costas gave me a whole spiel about art and suffering for one's art. How this was a ground breaking art-scenario, real cutting edge stuff. My face would be on the cover of _Bizarre Asia_ and more maybe even _Time_ magazine. I was kind of convinced. I also needed the money. Let's just do it. Whatever comes out of that kennel Harry can face it. Then I heard a voice from behind.

"Hi Harry. Long time no see."

I turned around. It was Foxy. She was lounging on the straw looking all, well - foxy.

_Bangkok Vixens_ Scene 1 Take 1.

The clapperboard went down.

Back at the Oriental I was on the blower to Vince. "Harry what can I say? You've been a hero. I swear on my mother's grave Harry I knew nothing about this. The oilbillies have pulled a fast one on us. I swear I'll never work with oilbillies again never mind how many newros. Some things are more important than money. Sure Harry, the Northern Fed only thing is still set in stone, don't worry about that. Harry, look, I've spoken to the investors and they appreciate your feelings. Take another week at the Oriental on expenses and then fly back. Have a few junglefrenzies and check out the local hunnie bunnies. I've got some great work lined up for you when you get back. Maybe _X-Pets do Beverley Hills_ , a new show where X-Pets - I'm talking about guys nowhere near as famous as yourself - go and live in Beverley Hills mansions while the owners live on farms like animals. Eat pig-food and stuff like that. I know, unbelievable but the ratings are going through the roof. I've been in this business a long time and nothing surprises me. See you soon Harry. Have a nice one."

So that was that. _Bangkok Vixens_ was released a month later on a worldwide basis in a bundle with _Chicks with Dicks do Miami_ and _Ginger Rogers III_. The Northern Fed only deal applied only to Blu Ray. So that was how Foxy got to be a star. Not as big a star as Harry but still a star. She even made it onto _X-Pets do Beverley Hills_.

One good thing to come out of it was that Pendrivel blew a gasket.

### END THIS X-PET FILTH NOW

was his first headline. And then he started writing stuff like that all the time. Real hostile, like he had it in for all X-Pets everywhere.
Chapter 29: His Name is Fluffy

The Mannings lived in a typical 1930s suburban house on the edge of Shooters Hill in east London. Brian Manning was a HR Director for Euro Bank and Joan was a legal secretary. They had one daughter, Helen aged seven. Their house had a large garden, great for kids, that backed onto Shooters Hill, separated from the park by only a wooden fence. Helen liked to play in the garden. One Sunday while Joan was sitting in the conservatory reading The Sunday Times Helen came running in.

"Mummy!"

"Yes sweetie."

"Mummy there's a sick cat in the garden."

Joan put down her Sunday Times.

"Let's go and have a look."

Joan took Helen's hand and they walked down to the bottom of the garden. It was a sunny day and there were dark shadows under the rose bushes at the bottom of the garden. Helen led her mother towards them.

"Look mummy, there!"

Helen pointed to a deep shadow. Joan leaned over and looked carefully into the bushes. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust.

Oh dear.

She saw a brown tabby cat lying in the bushes. The fur on its chest was matted with blood and mud. It was filthy and it wasn't moving.

"Is it dead?" said Joan.

"It's just sick mummy."

"I think it might be dead sweetie. Brian! Come here quick!"

"If we take it to the vets we can make it better," said Helen. Helen and Joan were joined by Brian. He peered at the cat. It seemed to him that the cat had crawled into this dark place to die in peace.

"Is it alive?" Brian asked. His tone suggested he hoped the answer would be no.

"The vet can make it better, daddy." Helen looked at her dad and said in a tone both appealing and assertive: "His name is Fluffy."
Chapter 30: Bloodbath Henry Takes a Walk

Henry slid through the cat flap and onto the garden path. It was night, but there was a clear sky and a bright moon. Purrfect. His night vision kicked in and he was hit by the familiar smells of the garden. Henry had had enough of Big Cheese. A new world, a new ra-thingy between cats and mice. Cats and mice working together to build a new and better world. Mousecrap. There was only one relationship between cats and mice. Cats killed mice and ate them. That was the way it had always been and that was the way it was always going to be. That's how it was back in cavecat days and that's how it was going to be now. Henry was pleased with himself that he had held it together for so long. He had been there at the Great Meeting, where Mouse Martin had spoken. Spoken so well according to Big Cheese. Henry had held it together but it had been hard. As far as Henry was concerned a mouse that made a great speech was still a mouse.

Tonight there would be no mousecrap. Henry had one thing on this mind. Mouse. Nice juicy mouse. Big fat mouse. Mmmmmm...................ouse. Henry was going to get a nice piece of mouse. Mouse mouse mouse mouse mouse mouse mouse. Pounce! Kill! Eat!

Henry had left the garden and was now in the wood. Little creatures scurried away as The King of the Jungle patrolled his domain. Henry found a familiar path which would take him deep into the wood. Deep into juicy mouse territory. On either side the trees leaned over giving only an occasional glimpse of the bright moon. Henry padded forward quickly. Soon he saw the first mouse. This brought a slight feeling of disappointment. Sometimes things can be too easy. This is Bloodbath Henry: make me work for it, don't just sit in the middle of the path. Still, a good warm up, not bad for the first of the night. The mouse was still sitting in the middle of the path as Henry padded closer - in a very menacing manner he thought - the mouse didn't move. Probably petrified with terror. Henry waited for the mouse to run and felt his excitement growing. In his mind he played out the lightning speed of the pounce, then the kill. Still the mouse didn't move. Henry slowed down a bit. Something didn't feel right. Henry was now only five feet away from the mouse and could see that it was sitting up on its hind legs. It did not look afraid. Henry came to a stop three feet away from the prey. The mouse spoke.

"Good evening, Henry." It was Mouse Martin.

Mouse Martin calmly continued: "Out for a stroll? Lovely night for it."

"Eh...yeah, lovely night, beautiful."

"There's something beautiful about the woods at night, don't you think Henry - or should I call you Bloodbath?"

"Bloodbath? No, no need for that, just Henry is fine. Bloodbath is just the guys jokin' around, you know what they're like."

"An anachronism you could say."

"An an...yeah sure, one of those all right."

"So, Henry, tell me, how do you feel about the new rapprochement between cats and mice? How do you really feel? Come on Henry, you can speak honestly." Mouse Martin made a little gesture that could be taken to say that anything said in the woods stays in the woods.

"I feel great about it. It's really great. Cats and mice all together, a new world, building it together. It's fantastic."

Mouse Martin had a little smile on his little face. A smug smile. How Henry would have loved to have pounced now. He would wipe that smirk right off the mouse's face. But something held him back. He kept thinking about Big Cheese. Henry was afraid of what Big Cheese might do if he found out that Mouse Martin had died at Henry's paws.

Mouse Martin spoke with a quiet, reasonable, friendly voice.

"Henry, that's not quite the truth now, is it?"

"Dunno what you mean."

"What are you really doing in the woods tonight, Henry?"

The hair was starting to stand up all over Henry's body. Henry could sense something stirring in the darkness on either side of the path. Something bigger than a mouse, nastier than a mouse, stronger than a mouse. Something bigger than a cat. He was catching the scent of ....no, surely not....

Mouse Martin continued talking. "Academic now anyway Henry I'm afraid. Things have moved on. A new day brings new alliances, new friendships. And there is now a new rapprochement: between mice - and badgers."

On both sides of the path the darkness sprang into life. And the last thing on this earth that Bloodbath Henry saw was the grinning face of Mouse Martin.
Chapter 31: The Arrest

The usual thing. I was over at Big Cheese's. We were catching up on a few things but mostly just chillin'. Big Cheese had the big plasma screen on. A classy bit of kit that. Cheese liked his computers too and a couple of those were on as well. Big Cheese was lying on the sofa watching the telly. A bowl of prawn cat treats was at paw. Cheese was watching some weird station that nobody ever watched. Highlights of an old TV show, _Strongmen in the Jungle_. A programme from ages ago. Talk about repeats, this was going back to the Stone Age. This mousecrap on telly was bunging up the airwaves, making it hard for class guys like myself to get air time. _Strongmen in the Jungle_ was really dated reality stuff. Get a bunch of big knuckleheads and stick them in the jungle. Get them to drag trees around and stuff like that. Boring, but Cheese seemed to like it. He was sitting watching it like he was really interested. Some big guy - those guys were enormous - was in a booth talking to the camera.

"I feel sympathy for my fellow competitors in the circumstances. I only want to stay in because I want to get the job done." And so on, a really good jaw workout. Suddenly Cheese jumped up. He pounded on the remote like it was an escaping mouse and changed channels. The News with Stace and Bob was on. Cheese's mood had changed. He was staring at the TV screen as if he was about to pounce on his prey. His tail banged against the sofa. The hair stood up on his body. Chill out, cat, I thought, it's only The News. The big music came first then the stories started. I knew there wasn't going to be a story about me tonight as I hadn't done anything special this week. I'd spent most of the week hanging out at Club Magik with Chris and the guys from GUYnacology. I'd had a few too many junglefrenzies and introduced a few hunnie bunnies to the true meaning of the word lurve. And Harry is the Hamster of Luuuurve. I'd got into a few celeb mags so it had still been an ok week. Stace was going through some boring story.

"The GMF Act passed its second reading in the House of Lords today and the Act will become law by the end of the year. Outside Westminster protestors vowed to continue their fight against laws allowing farmers to grow certain genetically modified crops."

Shot of some hippy guy with a banner. End of the story. Stace started another story.

"Police today arrested the MP Peter Harrison at his home in Hull. Mr Harrison, MP for the Hull constituency for the past five years was arrested at 2.00pm. In the statement the Chief Constable of Humberside, Michael Baines, said that Mr Harrison would be held in custody and then charged in the next couple of days with offences under the Bestiality Act. Police removed two computers and several boxes of paperwork from Mr Harrison's home."

Shot of the cops taking away stuff from Harrison's home. Then on to the next story.

"The Lord Mayor of London, Jasmine Uhuru, today declared open one of London's most innovative buildings of recent years. The new London offices of Neazo Incorporated, the American food technology corporation, were designed by Sir Philip Peters."

Shot of Sir Peters shaking hands with the mayor and Charlie Spitzenburger, CEO of Neazo. Everyone was smiling and they looked like really happy people.

Cheese jumped from the sofa onto the carpet. I had just twigged onto something.

"Hey Cheese, isn't that guy Harrison the same guy who is a mate of Pendrivel?"

"Yes," said Cheese, "that's very observant of you Harry. Harrison is the X-Pet law guy."

"A good break for us X-Pets then," I said.

"Yes," said Cheese, "I'd like to chat but I have to go and prepare a statement."

Big Cheese was like an unofficial spokesperson for the X-Pets. He'd even been on telly talking to this Peterson guy. The press would be after him for a statement. Cheese got one ready.

"It is with deep regret that I heard of the arrest of Peter Harrison. Over the past few months I have been working closely with Mr Harrison on the GMA Act, which as I'm sure you all know, was put forward as a private members bill. I only hope that Mr Harrison's arrest will not mean that all his good work in this sensitive area will go to waste. Of course over the course of the recent consultation process we have had our differences. But I would like to say that I have enormous respect for Mr Harrison's indefatigable devotion to his constituents and to the interests of the nation. I also offer my sympathy to Mr Harrison's family at what must be a difficult time."

So MP Pete had been into farmyard love. Sicko. Harry says prison's too good for 'em.
Chapter 32: And Then There Were Two

The Corgi brothers were dead and the nation mourned. In spite of Pendrivel trashing the X-Pets the British people had taken the Corgi brothers to their hearts. Even Pendrivel had been careful not to say much against them. They had played their part in The Big Night. They deserved their cut of the stash. I'd been in Club Magik when I heard the news. I was sitting with Chris and the guys having a few junglefrenzies when my phone rang. It was Big Cheese.

"Harry, can you come over to my place pronto, something's up." I said goodbye to the guys and Chris and headed straight over. I arrived at 6.15pm as Stace was about to read The News. As usual, Cheese was sitting in front of his TVs and computer screens. He seemed a bit agitated. He occasionally bashed his tail against the sofa. I helped myself to a junglefrenzy and sat on the chair opposite.

"So what's up?" I said.

"The Corgi brothers are dead Harry. Their bodies were found this afternoon by a woman out walking her dog. They were found in Cubitt Park over in east London. That's all I know."

"That's terrible," I said.

"It's tragic, Harry," said Big Cheese, "they had their whole lives ahead of them."

"I'm gutted," I replied.

Big Cheese sat on the sofa for a while and said nothing. I was quiet too, drinking my junglefrenzy. Eventually Cheese spoke.

"Harry, I'm afraid it gets worse. I've heard that the police have brought Will the Pit in as a suspect."

"What do you mean? Like he might have killed them?"

"Look Harry, we knew from the off that he didn't like corgis. And, I may be wrong about this of course, and in many ways I hope I am, but I seem to remember him making death threats against the Corgi brothers. Maybe you can help me out here - you were there."

I kinda remembered it, but then Will was always making death threats against everybody. It didn't mean nuffin. He was a Pit Bull after all.

Big Cheese continued. "It's kind of coming back to me. The corgi brothers, I'm going to kill them. I seem to think that's what he said. Who knows, maybe he was planning to kill us too and keep the stash for himself."

We heard later that Will the Pit had been arrested. This prompted another article by Pendrivel about how dangerous X-Pets were. Though he didn't mention the Corgi brothers case he played on the sympathy there was for the Corgis.

"The GMA Act is going through parliament due to the courageous and clear-sighted sponsorship of Peter Harrison, one of few members of The House who puts the public interest before their own ambition. This Act is essential. No longer will we see so-called X-Pets lording it over human beings, living in the lap of luxury while ordinary citizens struggle to make ends meet. But it should not be thought that the GMA Act is motivated by vindictiveness. There are deeper reasons why the Act is necessary. Every society has certain core values. Values that are, and must remain, non-negotiable. Fundamental to our way of life is the division between animal and human. The X-Pet phenomenon as it has developed in recent years represents an attack on the values of ordinary decent people. And then there have been recent incidents, outbreaks of violence directed against innocent victims. No civilised society can tolerate this. We must act now to deal with this problem or else store up trouble for the future. The GMA Act is a huge step in the right direction, despite the misguided voices raised against it. I've always been able to see beyond the merely fashionable and I've never been afraid of being unpopular. I've never been afraid to ask the questions that Britain needs the answers to."

Eventually, after a long interrogation, Will the Pit confessed to the crime. As Big Cheese was the spokesperson for the X-Pets he issued a statement.

"It is with deep sorrow that I heard it confirmed that Will the Pit is guilty of the brutal killing of the Corgi brothers. This is a double blow to the X-Pet community. The Corgi brothers were much loved by the British public and were held in high esteem by their fellow X-Pets. They will be sorely missed. The circumstances of their deaths, the result of a brutal and pre-meditated attack, makes their passing even more painful for those who knew them. Few X-pets have done as much to reassure the public that X-Pets can, and indeed must, make a positive contribution to society. That two such fine X-Pets should be killed by a fellow X-Pet is indeed a regrettable tragedy. Will the Pit we all knew and respected for the way he struggled against his violent and psychopathic tendencies, his genetic legacy, which no amount of genetic modification could change. If ultimately he was unable to overcome these tendencies then that too is a tragedy. But let us try to take something positive from this deeply regrettable incident. Let us all learn from this and move forward together. This is what the Corgi brothers would have wanted. I realise that any statement is inadequate at this time when we are all united in grief."

I was with Big Cheese when he was finishing the statement. He read out the first version to me and asked what did I think. I said I thought it was ok. He thought for a while and then said would it be better to say at the start "with deep sorrow" instead of "with great regret". I said that I thought "with deep sorrow" sounded good. Using the cut n paste facility Cheese made the change. Then he said: "This should do the job. I'll get the press release ready."

With the Corgi brothers, Bloodbath Henry and Will the Pit out of the picture there were now only two X-pets left to share the stash. There used to be seven but now there was only me and Big Cheese.
Chapter 33: Fluffy is Here to Stay

Fluffy lay in a comfy cat basket in the conservatory of the Manning's house. During his convalescence Fluffy lacked for nothing. The vet had removed two small metal pellets from Fluffy's body, one from his head and one from his chest. Air gun pellets probably. The cat was very lucky to be alive. For a couple of weeks he had hardly been able to move. Helen took her nursing duties very seriously. Fluffy wasn't yet able to eat much in the way of solids but he always had a saucer of fresh milk and a few cat treats. Helen would carry Fluffy over to the saucer and make sure that he licked up at least a few drops. Fluffy was gradually getting stronger. He would sit up and lick his paws and even walk around a bit. Fluffy had been a good name after all because Fluffy had a nice fluffy coat. And now he was getting back to health it was getting nice and shiny. Mummy and Daddy were getting used to having Fluffy around. They had taken Fluffy to the vet. The vet was nice.

"This cat is very lucky to be alive," she said.

"A cat has nine lives," said Helen.

"Then he must have used a few of them up," said the vet. Then they had gone home.

About ten days after the vet's someone rang the front doorbell. Mummy answered the door. It was two men.

"Good morning. Sorry to disturb you. We were wondering if you've seen a brown tabby cat?"

Fluffy was lying in his basket when the bell rang. His ears twitched a bit. When the men spoke he went really strange. His ears shot back his eyes went right open and his body tensed. He froze in that position.

"Have a look," said one of the men. "I'm sorry," said mummy, "I haven't seen a cat like that."

"If you do give me a ring on this number," said one of the men.

"Yes of course I will," said mummy.

Then the men went away.

Mummy came into the conservatory.

"How is little Fluffy?" she said.

"Fluffy is getting better mummy. Soon he'll be able to go out into the garden."

"That's great sweetie," mummy said. Fluffy was here to stay.
Chapter 34: The Scenario

The scenario is Cheese and me are on our way to collect the stash. He knows how to get there, big picture, I know exactly where the stash is. That was the deal. We are both quiet. Cheese seems tense. I know I'm tense. Big day. Finally picking up the stash. We are near a wood and it's getting dark. I don't like the dark. Cheese stops. This is the place he says. He asks me if I know the way from here. Yeah I know the way from here I say just follow this path into the woods. It is a path I remember, the path that leads to the stash. After a while Cheese says are you sure this is it and I say yeah I'm sure this is it. We pad on side by side. It is spooky. Hamsters and dark woods is not a good mix. There are all sorts in the woods. Foxes, badgers, owls. Even a hamster in peak condition is going to struggle against that kind of psycho. A cat is all right though as a cat can fight most things. Not a hamster though. I could really do with a junglefrenzy. The woods smell all earthy and it isn't a good smell. I'm Harry the Hamster, an A-list celeb, not some animal running around the jungle. I belong in Club Magik not in the horrible smelly woods.

I remember the way to the stash just like we agreed. We'll soon be at the stash. Cheese looks quite cool but I'm churning up inside like at The Night at Porky's, like the first time I was on TV, like at the fox hunt. But this time it's worse coz now I've got a plan I've gotta carry out. Cheese stops and I do too.

"Badger," he whispers. I move real close to Cheese, so close I can feel his heart beating. It is beating very fast. For a minute we don't move, we can hardly dare to breathe. Then Cheese says ok and we move on.

We're at the place, the place where the stash is hidden. I recognise the tree. This is the place I say, the stash is here. I hope it is still here. No reason why not.

"So who can dig better, a hamster or a cat?" I say. I know the answer is a cat as this is part of the plan. Cheese doesn't say anything and I point to the spot where the stash is. Cheese gets to work with his front paws. I'm standing behind him, just beyond the reach of a pounce. Cheese keeps digging away at the earth. Suddenly he stops and feels around carefully with his paws. Then he starts pushing something up through the earth. It is the stash. My throat is dry and my heart is hammering. Gotta hold it together. Now is the time, time to make my move.

"What is it Harry, a Schmouser?"

"Yeah, a Schmouser. I will use it."

"Of course you will. I don't doubt it. Never underestimate Harry."

"I'm sorry Cheese, but I need the whole stash. Chuck it over here."

"So what's all this about, Harry? After everything we've been through. Come on Harry, let's talk. Don't do anything stupid."

"Let's talk? Ok let's talk - let's talk about the Corgi brothers and Bloodbath Henry. Let's talk about Will the Pit."

"I swear the dogs I know nothing about. Just an unfortunate turn of events. Bloodbath Henry, that's different. That cat was a loose cannon. He never really bought into the programme. But you and me Harry, that's something else. We go back a long way. Come on Harry, put the Schmouser down. You don't want to do this."

I had expected this. Jaw work. Mousecrap. I wasn't buying it anymore. I had my own ideas now. I was directing the scenario.

"Throw the stash over here."

"Sure thing Harry, if that's what you want. No problem. Here it comes."

Cheese put a paw under the stash and flicked it towards me. A little bag, so small, so valuable. It was almost within reach. My stash. But I can't take my eyes off Cheese. It is very dark now and hamsters don't see too well in the dark. Cats do. Keep the Schmouser pointing at him. He could pounce at any moment and that would be goodbye Harry. But I'm Harry the Hamster, no one gets Harry, Harry always comes out on top.

"So what are you going to do now, Harry? We've got a bit of a situation. You could pick up the stash and walk away. Go ahead, I'm not going to stop you. Take the stash and go. No hard feelings Harry."

All I could see in front of me was a dark furry ball with sounds coming out of its mouth. But then there were the eyes. As it got darker they seemed to get brighter. So all I had to do was pick up the stash and walk away and Cheese was OK with that. I don't think so.

The first slug hit him in the chest. He didn't make a sound, just kind of fell back and lay on his side. The blood was pounding in my ears. What to do next, how to act out the rest of the scenario. Pick up the stash and run? Go over to see how Cheese is? What if Cheese got up? He still might be able to come after me. Gotta be sure. I carefully walked up to Cheese. He wasn't moving. I put the second slug in his head then I grabbed the stash and headed back to the path. I know where I'm going I think. No, I've lost it and I'm just doing random running through grass and sticks, all that forest stuff. There are wild animals out here. Blundered off the path, gotta find it again, where is it yes here it is but is it left or right? Maybe I should look at the moon or something. I should have been a boy scout. Go right. Keep a good grip on the stash whatever don't drop the stash. Path is dark, black. Keep going, all that fitness work paying off. Stamina and speed good. I'll soon be out of the woods. Everything is going to be fine.

Then I heard it. I heard it before I saw it. Imagine your worst nightmare is coming true. There is the moon and the darkness then I hear this sound beside my right ear and it's something big, something close and something moving fast. It's coming after me all wings, beak, feathers. It's the last thing I want to see - an owl. And this owl is in my face. Harry says it's time to say your prayers. Owl vs hamster, not a good scenario for the hamster. Then suddenly I remember I've still got one slug left in the Schmouser. Twist onto my back, like an Olympic gymnast going for gold, bring the Schmouser around then - Wham! goodnight my beaky friend. I throw the empty Schmouser into the woods and keeping a tight grip on the stash I head for home.
Chapter 35: The Meatless Bone

Charlie Spitzenburger was standing at the window of his office, part of a spacious suite occupying the middle floors of the London headquarters of Neazo Inc. He was looking out over London. It was a view that he never tired of. He was having a moment of quiet reflection. If he had been prone to self-congratulation, which he wasn't, he might have reflected that he stood on a summit more difficult to scale than Mount Everest. This was the summit represented by the nexus of money, power and culture. Few, but very few, managed to make it to these rarefied heights.

Senior management was now, in 2048, little more than the upper echelon of the frayed collar class. They were happy as long as they could chew on the meatless bone of strategic thinking. Their decisions were really non-decisions: they merely took the inevitable action in any given situation to an agenda set from above. But they had their place in what was now a large and very effective buffer class.

If strategic thinking was a pleasant fiction there a few - very few - who were genuinely shaping the future. Their philosophies (the word "plan" is too banal) would come to fruition over decades. As far as the GM project was concerned, just putting the necessary legal framework in place would take decades. And the legal framework was at the heart of the project. The GM project wasn't really about plants, seeds and food: it was about the creation and management of socio-economic structures. Of course there would be opposition and some major intellectuals would be ideologically opposed to the project. Innovators had always been misunderstood and any revolution will have its opponents. And people in general did not always know what was for their own good, so there would be a degree of popular opposition. Of course there would be mistakes, failures: sacrifices would have to be made. Progress would be painfully slow at times. Perhaps Spitzenburger himself would not see the project completed, and maybe not even his successor. But it would all fall into place one day.

Spitzenburger was waiting for the arrival of Sir Philip Coleman, a senior civil servant. They would discuss Phil's imminent elevation to the House of Lords and, thus ennobled, his eventual candidature for the post of Science Minister. The path towards this had been paved a couple of years ago by large but discreet donations to the party. Needless to say, everything had been done with complete transparency. Phil was a member of elite networks such as The Leader's Group and the Windsor think tank. When Phil took up the post of Science Minister - and it would all happen in good time - there would be no crude promotion of the interests of Neazo Inc. It was more a question of steering certain intellectual streams into the right channels. Decision makers could be influenced to favour certain areas of research. An intellectual climate could be created where previously unacceptable ideas gradually became more acceptable. The legal debate could take on a certain tone. Phil would of course be a model of disinterest: reasonable, affable, open-minded and innovative: a skilled chair, a good speaker but a better listener.

A potential source of embarrassment had now been cleared up. The Wind in the City Project, that irritant of the past few years, was now moving off the agenda at last. The latest and final report - it had been decided to close the book on this episode - had confirmed than none of X-Pets, so-called, were still alive. There was just a question mark over one. Spitzenburger had made the judgement call that this was not worth worrying about. Projects like Wind in the City were by their nature untidy. As Churchill pointed out, perfection equals paralysis.

The buzzer on Spitzenburger's desk sounded and he pressed the answer button.

"Yes," he said. It was his PA.

"Sir Philip Coleman to see you."

"Show him in," said Spitzenburger.
Chapter 36: The Bodification

I was sitting in the office of Dr Gutierrez, the hospital shrink. He was a guy in his thirties. After the bodification op the docs thought I needed to see this guy. I don't know why. I might be many things but I ain't no psycho. I've known a few psychos in my time so I know what I'm talking about. I'm as sane as the next man. Saner even. Gooty would be better off treating the real psychos.

When I was recovering I had to get used to a whole new body. One day you're a hamster and you're small, furry with four legs. Then you wake up and you're big, really big and you're not hairy you are all smooth. You are six feet and two inches tall and you've got two legs instead of four. That makes it a bit difficult to walk. You've got arms instead of forelegs. For a hamster forelegs are important as they do a double duty. They can be like legs or they can be like arms. It all depends on how you want to use them. Now you haven't got that flexibility anymore. I used to work hard at my forelegs as I knew how important they were for me. That's why wheel work is so important. So now you have this big body. Everything is a lot bigger and I mean everything. You know what I'm talking about.

Gooty was putting in some jaw work.

"Harry, humans have these things called behavioural norms. A behavioural norm is the kind of thing that it is normal for a human being to do, what behaviour is appropriate for a human being. There are some behaviours that cause offence to other human beings and these are behaviours that we want to avoid. Do you understand what this means, Harry?"

Big hands. Big feet. Big legs. A big head that's like a building away from the ground. I was recuperating, doing a bit of post-op exploration, saying hello to my new body. Wahaaaaaaayy......what's this......forget the big head and the silly arms now we're coming to the bonus.........and it's a big bonus, know what I mean and getting bigger every second. Take it out, shake it all about, shake it to the left....ugh, shake it to the right.....ugh, shake your baddy, shake it all night.....

You know when you're a kid and you get a new toy. What do you want to do? You want to play with it straight away. I noticed a sign beside my bed:

RING THIS BELL IF YOU NEED A NURSE

I could just do with a nurse. GUYnacology had done a great topless nurse special last month. I pressed the bell. A couple of minutes to get everything warmed up properly. Then Sister Dolores came in.

"Hey sis - get a load of this."

Gooty continued.

"Harry it is important when you leave the hospital that you have a good idea of what behaviours are appropriate and what are inappropriate. That way you can live as a normal member of society."

"Sure Doc, I understand."

"We don't want a repeat of the Sister Dolores incident. If that kind of thing happens you could end up in trouble."

"I get the picture. It was just a rush of blood to the head. It's been a difficult time for me emotionally, adapting to my new body. I think I'm still in a kind of grieving process for my old body."

I'd picked up some of the jargon from hanging around the office and I knew this was the kind of stuff that Gooty wanted to hear. He was on ok bloke. Anyway, there was no real problem. It was just a case of getting used to the new scenario. Harry had done all kinds of scenarios and this was just another one. Harry could deal with any scenario. There was a whole new world out there, a world just waiting for a six foot two inch blond Harry with the body of a god. If Harry blew them away as a hamster, what would it be like now?
Chapter 37: Fluffy Goes on an Adventure

Ben Simpson sat at his bedroom window. It was 11.00pm. He was taking a break after three hours of Warhammer. He was surveying the street and the houses opposite with a pair of night vision binoculars. It was amazing what you could see in an ordinary street and in ordinary houses if you were patient enough. At the moment nothing was happening but that was all right. The night was young. There was a bright quarter moon and you could see quite well without the binos. The binos were for close-ups. Ben looked at the Mannings' house opposite. Nothing much happened there. Their car was parked outside so that they were probably in. Ben had once hoped that Mrs Manning would provide material for upload to milfwatch.com, but had so far been disappointed. The Mannings might even have gone to bed, preparing for a long day in the bank or wherever they worked. The place was very quiet. Ben had a look through the binos at the ground floor. Nothing. He had another look at the bedroom curtains. Nothing. But wait a minute – what was that? He thought he saw something move in the path that went up the side of the house and into the garden. Something small, dark and furry. Maybe a squirrel or a small dog, or a cat. But who knows it could be something more exotic. Maybe a mink.

Ben zoomed in. The animal was walking slowly down the path. It was a cat. No, not just a cat, it was the cat, the Mannings' cat. This was the cat that according to Mrs Manning was almost human. They'd found it in the garden, all bloody and beat up. The story was that kids had shot it with an air gun. Now what kind of kids would do something like that? Sickos. According to Mrs Manning the cat had nearly died. But Mrs Manning had nursed it back to health. Ben wasn't that keen on cats as he was more of a dog person, and he didn't like this particular cat. Didn't know why, it just seemed a bit creepy. But then many cats did. The cat stopped on the path and looked around. Ben knew that cats had excellent night vision.

Then something moved just in front of the hedge of the garden next door to the right. Probably just another cat but have a close-up just in case – bingo! – a fox. The fox was walking along the pavement in front of the Mannings' house. It was a fairly small fox. Ben had seen foxes around before and thought that they were great. There was something odd about them; they were kinda like a dog but also a bit like a cat. But then dogs were man's best friend and cats were cuddly. Foxes were aliens who killed without mercy. The cat saw the fox and the fox saw the cat. Great. Ben wished he had his video camera set up. This was gonna be FunVid stuff. The age old question: fox vs cat, who comes out the winner? Most people thought, on the basis of no scientific evidence, that the fox would come out on top. People thought foxes were bigger and more vicious and were wrong on both accounts. A fox might have a little size advantage but not much and cats were if anything more vicious than foxes. Cats were born fighters unlike foxes who could fight but hadn't evolved to do so. So cat vs fox was always an interesting contest. Another myth is that loads of cats are killed by foxes. If anything it would be the other way around. The usual result of the contest was a draw. A lot of hissing and posing until someone backed down, usually the fox. Let's see what happens here.

The cat stared at the fox. A cold hard stare full of real hatred. A good start to the contest. The fox showed its teeth and got into a kind of defensive position, with its body low to the ground and its ears pinned back, though it could have been preparing to pounce. Both froze in their positions for a few seconds. The cat made a move. It turned sideways and puffed itself up, making the hairs on its coat, even the tail, stand on end. This made it look a lot bigger. The cat charged at the fox sideways on, hissing as it moved. This cat meant business. The fox backed down, turning and running with its tail between it legs. The cat chased it for a few yards and then slowed down and stopped. It wasn't interested in the chase but just looked up the street after the fox. The stare was a searching one and the cat's body was tense and stiff. Then all of a sudden its body relaxed and in an instant it was as if the incident had never happened. Then Ben felt his throat go dry and the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He had zoomed in on the cat and felt a mild shock, causing him to quickly take the binos away from his face. He needed to check that the cat was still really that far away, just to reassure himself that that stare right at him couldn't be real. He didn't put the binos back up. He didn't want to see those cat eyes again. The cat trotted off left, with that purposeful air that cats have. Places to go and people to see. Time to get back to Warhammer. Man, that cat was evil. Just as well that Ben never saw that cat again. Neither did the Mannings.
Chapter 38: The Keynote Speaker

Mr G Poznansky

The Psychiatric Dept.,

Glasgow Hospital

25 Sauchiehall St

Glasgow

GL2 1BY

Dr William Evans

The Psychiatric Dept.,

St Mary's Hospital

4 Willow Gardens

Edinburgh

EZ6 5HT

Ref GWP/MC/20845

20 August 2045

Dear Bill

Re: The patient known as "Mr W."

I am now in a position to update you about the progress of the patient known as Mr W. First, he was finally identified as Peter Harrison, the former MP for Hull. You may remember him as the mover of the GMA Act. He used to appear on TV quite a lot. Peter responded well to treatment over a period of six months. He was able to recover his former, and real, identity and to overcome most of his problems. For example, he was able to resume a more or less normal sleep pattern, due mainly to the prescription of Calpidem combined with psychotherapy. The obsessional aspects of his condition lessened and have become manageable. I'm afraid Peter is likely to suffer from gatophobia for the foreseeable future, though this is not a debilitating condition. Peter left psychiatric care after eight months and with support eventually returned to a normal life. I believe that he is now working as a freelance political journalist.

By the way, I was wondering if you are going to attend the Science Foundation Ethics and New Technologies conference at UCL next month? The keynote speaker is Sir Phillip Coleman who is mooted to be the next Science Minister. I will certainly be there so if you are attending I look forward to seeing you.

Best wishes

Yours sincerely

Geoff

Mr G Poznansky

Consultant Psychiatrist

Chapter 39: La Manga

I kinda lost touch with most people. Most of the guys I knew lived in London and I now lived in La Manga. I didn't really mind that much. It's weird to say but since the new bod I didn't want to be around people too much. I had my own routine. Walking on the beach, sitting in the Pink Flamingo, going to a few other clubs. So I didn't bother with many people from the old days. And most of the X-pets were gone. The Corgi brothers - dead. Bloodbath Henry - dead. Will the Pit – in a dangerous animals pen for life. Freddy the Frog: au revoir mon ami. What happened to Foxy I don't know. Mouse Martin had gone underground since the GMA Act went through. No one knew where Porky was except his PA, his lawyers and his accountants. And since I wrote, starred in and directed my own scenario in the woods, Big Cheese was gone too. The only X-Pet left that I knew was big Westie. Westie never changed. He always led a quiet life. One day I got a call from him. It was great to hear that big deep advert voice again. He said he wanted to come to visit me in La Manga. He just had to see the new bod in real life and he wanted to visit La Manga. He could do with a bit of sun. You don't get much sun in Westbury. The owner of the Garden House Hotel was doing a driving holiday in Spain so she could leave Westie off in La Manga and pick him up a couple of weeks later. They would arrive in about ten days. Better get the Mucker's Knuckle in I joked.

Ten days later they arrived. The car rolled up and Westie and Mrs Jones got out. Westie had never been a fast mover but now the big dog was movin' real slow. Maybe it was because he had got even bigger. Mrs Jones opened the side door and Westie eased himself out on to the pavement. I was standing there wearing orange flip flops, Timmy Schweinsteiger shorts, my favourite naked ladies Hawaiian shirt and of course my Rayblokkers, the monster size that I needed now. It felt strange to see Westie. It was the first time I'd seen an X-Pet since the bodification. I felt a bit nervous like as if I was going to perform on stage. It was odd to be looking down on Westie, the giant Westie; remember those big tree trunk legs? Westie looked up at me and said, "Harry, long time no see. Love the new bod." I hunkered down where it didn't feel so weird and said, "Welcome to Villa Harry mate and the pleasures of La Manga."

We ambled over to the house. Mrs Jones left immediately. I showed Westie around the house and he said, "Nice pad." We sat out back and chilled. Westie made himself comfortable and I got a huge bowl of beer for him. I sat on a chair for a while but it just felt too weird. I had to lie down on the ground. That felt good. We chatted about the old days. The fox hunt, Foxy, fame and fortune, the hunnie bunnies, the junglefrenzies, the guys from GUYnacology, The Night at Porky's. I kept waiting for him to mention Big Cheese. If he did I was just going to say dunno what happened to him. He might have wandered into the woods and got rubbed out like Bloodbath Henry. Real Call of the Wild stuff. But Westie didn't mention Big Cheese. I was glad about that. I didn't want to talk about Big Cheese, not after the trouble he'd put me to. I'd had to put a lot of work into creating the scenario in the woods, then running around the woods like an animal, the place full of psychos, having to lug the stash back to my place in the middle of the night. Not to mention being attacked by an owl. Lucky I had my Schmouser. So best to just forget about Cheese. That cat wouldn't be bouncing back.

We had a great couple of weeks, me and Westie. We took it easy, sat by the pool, walked on the beach, sat in the Pink Flamingo and had a few beers. One man and his dog. Westie said we should be on that TV show, the one where the guy and the dog round up sheep. The guy stands there whistling and shouting instructions while the dog runs around and gets the sheep into a pen. I'd seen it a couple of times. It was one of the things that Cheese liked to watch. I could just see us. I'd be standing there in the field in my naked ladies Hawaiian shirt and Timmy Schweinsteiger shorts. I take my Rayblokkers out of the breast pocket and put them on. Just a touch of makeup - not too much - we need the natural look for this one. A kind of weather-beaten and at one with nature look. Not in nature - a part of nature. The makeup people should be familiar with the concept. I'd stand in the field as if I'd just sprouted from the earth, just like Westie all those years ago. I'd be a guy doing something good and natural. Westie would be twenty yards away, hunkered down and ready for action. Cameras! Action! I'd give a whistle and Westie would throw off the years, jump up and round up. Whistle, left, shout, right, come on big dog, get those sheep in the pen! This isn't a rehearsal! Close-up of the last sheep going in. Westie bounds up to me, kind of. Good dog. Give that dog a beer, then cut. No - one final shot of me, silhouetted against the sky, Westie by my side. I reach up and take my Rayblokkers off. I put them back in the breast pocket of my Hawaiian shirt as the camera pans back to left front. Close-up of me looking into the middle distance. Then cut, music, titles. Harry was back. A new bod, but the same old Harry.

I'll say one thing about Westie, the guy was still a tottie magnet and that was ok with me. We went over to the Caba de Palos market one Sunday and Westie had them swarming around him like flies. A lot of really hot babes too. All good things have to come to an end and after a couple of weeks Mrs Jones came to take Westie back. I said I'd see him again soon. He said yes Harry it's been great let's do it again sometime again soon. Westie got back into the car and they drove off. I watched the car disappear down the road and when I couldn't see it anymore I headed down to the Pink Flamingo.
Chapter 40: Cats Have Nine Lives

After Westie went home my life went back to normal. Most days I'd get up around 11.30am. I'd spend my day doing stuff like watching sports on TV. Spanish TV was rubbish so I never watched it. I didn't understand Spanish anyway. If it wasn't too hot I'd go out for a walk on the beach. I stayed in during the summer afternoon. It was just too hot to move. Aircon was a must. I'd never liked the heat. It's a furry animal thing. Of course now I was human I had no fur. But I did have a new body. I adapted ok. At first the problem was the height and weight. I felt like I was carrying a piano on my back, and every movement was an effort. Real slowmo stuff. And everyone else looked slow too. But there were advantages. I could see stuff great. On the other hand, my hearing was rubbish. I think the donor guy must have been deaf. The new bod was in great condition. I was a young guy of about 25, about six feet two inches tall and really fit. I think the guy was a surfer or some kind of athlete. Anyway, he must have worked out and that was great because I really liked to work out as well. I started to work out in the new bod but it didn't last. A hamster is made to be strong and fast and I was the strongest and the fastest. I think this was mostly down to plenty of wheelwork. But as a human it was different. Working out was a big effort so I gave up going to the gym after a while. I just kept in shape by walking on the beach. But after a while I became unfit and started to get a gut. The beer didn't help either. Sure when I was a hamster I put away a good few junglefrenzies but I always worked off the calories and I had a hectic lifestyle, always rushing around, loads of nervous energy.

Now I didn't have much to do. I didn't have to work. I had the money from the stash but I didn't go crazy with it. I bought a decent place on Camino del Ancla in La Manga not far from the beach. Decent but not a mansion. I had a pool which was great in hot weather. As a hamster I'd always hated water but now I loved it. Lounging around by the pool - great. All part of being human I suppose. I lived by myself. That's the way I liked it. A cleaner came in once a week so I didn't have to do any housework.

Tottie wasn't a problem. When I'd been a hamster hunnie bunnie hadn't been a problem and now tottie wasn't a problem. A great bod plus decent stash equals tottie. Average bod plus decent stash still equals tottie. If tottie stayed the night I kicked them out early in the morning. I liked to be on my own now, though it had been great to see Westie.

At the start of the new bod I'd kept in touch with Chris and the guys from GUYnacology. I'd been over to London and they'd been over here. At first it was great.

"Hey Harry, love the new bod," said Chris when I walked into the club for the first time. All the GUYnacology guys were glad to see me. After a few Aztec Warriors Chris said, "So what's it like Harry - tottie instead of hunnie bunnie, good eh?"

Tottie? There was still plenty of it around. Club Magik and GUYnacology were doing better than ever. So it seemed great to be human. Bigger, slower but the laughs were just the same. And when the guys came out to La Manga we had a whale of a time. We even had t-shirts printed-

### HARRY SAYS GIVVUS A SHAG LUV

a real blast from the past and they worked too. The guy getting married got a three girl thing out of it. But after the stag do we kind of lost touch. It was great but it somehow wasn't the same. I was one of the guys but that was it - just one of the guys. I wasn't anything special. There was only ever one Harry the Hamster. No matter how long the universe lasts there will never be another one.

There had been some media interest after the bodification. Chris set up a Harry Special in GUYnacology. A two page spread, photos, all about Harry's new life. There were other celeb mags too. But interest soon fell away. And to tell the truth I didn't mind. I was starting to get a bit bored with it. Been there, done that, got the Harry Says t-shirt, got a hundred of 'em. Back in the hamster days it had been exciting. But it seemed like a lifetime ago since I sat on the balcony with Cheese and he said that I could have it all. And I'd had it all. Watching the very first news story - incredible. Now there was no adrenalin rush and I didn't even need the money. I had all the tottie I could handle.

So I turned into a bit of a loner. That had never been me. I used to love people and people used to love me. Now most nights I'd sit by myself in a bar, just sit there with an Aztec Warrior or Margarita. Usually I'd watch sports on TV. Still a Hammers fan I kept in touch with the footie. Hadn't been to a game for ages though. Sometimes I'd chat to people in the bar. The Pink Flamingo was my favourite place and was a good place to pick up tottie. Sometimes I'd play some pool with other ex-pats. Kids didn't want to know me though, must be getting old. But Harry can't be getting old-I was only about thirty human years old. How many hamster years was that? Lots, a real old hamster me except I wasn't a hamster, I was a human. That's me, Harry the Human. If I didn't score any tottie at the Pink Flamingo quite often I'd stagger home, crash out and sleep it off. Then next night I'd do the same. I got back into this routine after Westie left. A couple of months later I got a phone call from Mrs Jones, owner of the Garden House Hotel.

"Harry, I'm very sorry to have to tell you this but Westie passed away yesterday. He died peacefully. It was a vet assisted death. We didn't want him to suffer and he didn't want that either. I'm very sorry Harry. His ashes will be scattered up at the White Horse. You know how much he loved walking up there. It was great that he got to see you one more time before he died. He really enjoyed the La Manga trip. He was always talking about it and about you. He said how well you looked and how great you were doing."

I felt something like as if a hairball was gathering in my throat.

"Thanks for letting me know," I said. "We had a fantastic time when he was over. I'm really sorry he's gone." I was going to put the phone down when Mrs Jones continued.

"Just before the end he said something. He left a message for you."

"What was it?"

"To be honest Harry I think he was just raving, it must have been the drugs. He'd had a lot of painkillers."

"So what did he say?"

He said, "Tell Harry to be careful, a cat has nine lives. Does that mean anything to you Harry?"

"Not really," I said.

I said goodbye and put down the phone. The big dog must have been raving at the end. Cats didn't have nine lives, that was just a myth. They just had one life the same as everybody else. And I feared no cat alive - or dead.

The death of the big dog put me on a kind of downer. I put away even more Aztec Warriors, more margaritas-hey put an extra shot of tequila in there for me. Then one night I staggered home with a good tequila head on me. I looked in the mirror and had a long hard look at myself. Time was when I was a hamster I could look in the mirror and say "perfect" but I couldn't say that anymore. I could see a lard lifebelt developing. Pinch an inch? Pinch half a foot more like. And then there were the Aztec Warrior b-cup titties. My legs were flabby looking. My face looked kinda young but kinda old, like I'd been beaten in a big game and there was no comeback. I used to say that Harry always bounces back, but that had been the old Harry, the real Harry. I looked in the mirror and realised I'd never really be a human being. Then maybe I'd never really been a hamster either. But at least I'd been a Somebody.
Chapter 41: The Report

24 September 2050

Report

by Severiano Delgado

Detective, La Manga Police Service

Subject: incident 30-08-2050, 24 Camino del Ancla, La Manga

At 8.30pm I was on patrol in car 9 with Officer P. Martinez. We received a call from the control centre asking us to attend an incident in Camino del Ancla. SRA Garcia who lives there had reported that she was concerned about one of her neighbours, Mr Harry Tresham. Mr Tresham lived opposite SRA Garcia. We arrived at the house of SRA Garcia at 8.45pm. She outlined the reasons she had made the call. She did not know Mr Tresham very well but she did sometimes talk to him and she was familiar with his habits. She had become concerned when she had not seen Mr Tresham for a couple of days and there appeared to be no sign of life at the house. Mr Tresham, according to SRA Garcia, was usually quite predictable in his movements. I asked SRA Garcia when was the last time she had seen Mr Tresham. She said about three days ago. She had been sitting in her garden at about 11.30pm when she saw Mr Tresham arrive on foot at his house. The house is about 100 metres away. She was certain it was Mr Tresham. He had looked over and waved to her. She thought he seemed a bit intoxicated, which he often was. SRA Garcia said that Mr Tresham regularly arrived home drunk late at night. He usually drank at the PInk Flamingo. SRA Garcia's niece worked at the Pink Flamingo as a bar maid. Mr Tresham went inside. I asked SRA Garcia if this was the last time she had seen Mr Tresham and she said that she had seen Mr Tresham later on that evening. She had been sitting in her garden drinking iced tea when around 12.30am she thought she heard a sound that she thought was being made by an animal. It sounded like a cat mewing quite loudly, as if in distress. The sound appeared to be coming from near Mr Tresham's house. About ten minutes later Mr Tresham came out of the house and looked around the garden. He appeared to be looking for something in the garden.

SRA Garcia thought that whatever it was he was looking for he found because he knelt down and she heard Mr Tresham talking. After a couple of minutes he went back into the house. He reappeared carrying a small bowl. SRA Garcia saw Mr Tresham put the bowl down on the ground. At that point SRA Garcia went inside. She never saw Mr Tresham again. SRA Garcia usually saw Mr Tresham a couple of times a day, in the early afternoon and in the evening. She became concerned when not only did she not see Mr Tresham but there appeared to be no movement in the house. Eventually she rang the police station in La Manga to express her concern.

After talking to SRA Garcia we walked over to Mr Tresham's house to investigate. Near the front door there was a small bowl on the ground which I assumed was the bowl referred to by SRA Garcia. The house was locked and the shutters were closed. We did not see anything of note and there was nothing suspicious. However, at this point something happened that made us decide that it was appropriate to make a forced entry. A young woman, later identified as Rosa Alonso, came up the path and spoke to us. She lived not far away and just happened to be walking past. She was Mr Tresham's cleaner. She had been due to clean the house yesterday but not been able to get in. Her key had not worked. She had been a bit concerned about this and now was even more convinced that there was something wrong. We now had enough grounds to justify a forced entry to investigate further. We decided to effect an entry by the back door of the house. Using a small battering ram we pushed the door in and were able to gain access.

The house was in complete darkness when we entered. We put the lights on and began to look through the house room by room. The kitchen and bedrooms were empty. However, the scene was very different when we got to the living room. There were items strewn around and the scene was typical of a burglary. We also found the body of Mr Tresham. It looked like he had died sitting in a chair. He had obviously been dead for some time. We examined the body and noticed that Mr Tresham had scratch marks on his face. I thought at the time that these might indicate that Mr Tresham had been involved in a struggle. We had to assume that this was a crime scene so we took the appropriate actions, beginning by securing the scene.

I tried to build up a picture of the last couple of days of Mr Tresham's life. I took a statement from SRA Garcia and also interviewed staff at the Pink Flamingo where Mr Tresham regularly drank. I took a statement from David Hunt the barman who regularly served Mr Tresham. I asked him to outline Mr Tresham's habits and if he had noticed any recent incidents involving Mr Tresham, particularly if anyone had argued with him or threatened him.
Appendix 1

Statement by David Hunt (transcription from taped interview)

Sure I knew Harry, that's Mr Tresham, quite well. Everybody knew Harry. A real character. He was a regular in the Pink Flamingo. He would come in most evenings. He liked to have a few drinks, or more, and watch sports on TV. He was a very good customer. He usually drank Aztec Warriors, Margaritas and the occasional Orange Bill. He'd usually be by himself and if he wasn't watching sports on TV he'd sit at the bar. Quite often he would drink quite a lot but he always seemed to be able to stagger home by himself. We get a lot of tourists and ex-Pats in here, so he would sometimes chat to those. Usually he wasn't any trouble. We kept an eye on him. At times he would pester young girls and we had to get him to back off a bit. But in general he was OK. Once he was pestering a group of young English girls when their boyfriends arrived. We got him to back off otherwise it might have turned nasty. But stuff like that happens here all the time. Too much sun and tequila.

The only real incident I can think of happened maybe a couple of weeks ago. I started work at 8.00pm. At about 8.30 a group of young English lads came in. They were probably a stag party. Did you know that La Manga is now the number one destination for stag parties? The guys started into the Aztec Warriors and were joking around and playing pool. They had probably been drinking long before they got to the Pink Flamingo. So far no problem, just a normal night, no special problems of crowd control. Apart from the stag -do guys there were not many other people in. Harry came in around, let me think, 9.30pm. He took his usual seat at the bar and ordered an Aztec Warrior. We've got a jukebox in the Pink Flamingo and one of the guys put on Don't She Know by the GM Men. Harry had quickly followed up his Aztec Warrior with a couple of Orange Bills and was starting to talk and sound a bit drunk.

At first everything was all right. Harry asked the guys where they were from and they said Warminster in Wiltshire, England. I think most of the guys were squaddies. They chatted for a while in a drunken kind of way. Then Harry said, "Hey, any of you guys remember Move Your Body, that great hit? Better than this stuff, this isn't music." One of them replied, "Better than this you've gotta be kiddin mate," and they all started singing:

Move your Baddy

Baddy Baddy Baddy

Next thing they were all up doing the conga around the bar, singing:

Move it to the Left

Move it to the right

Move your Baddy

Move it All Night

Then they started doing a take-off of the little hamster star that used to sing the song. Remember him? One of them put on a little squeaky voice. Another one started pretending he was on one of those little wheels that hamsters have in their cages. It was all quite amusing really, but for some reason Harry didn't like it. You could see it in his face. One of the guys said what was the other freak called and another one said Porky the Pig then they all started doing the conga singing: Porky the Pig goes oink oink oink

Oink oink oink

Oink oink oink

Oink oink oink

They then went back to singing Move your Baddy. Harry was getting a bit wound up. He said,

"Guys, that's enough, have some respect."

"Respect for what?" one of them said, "a couple of freaks?"

I could see that Harry was starting to get quite upset.

"A freak? Harry was a star! The biggest!"

Then the guys all started to sing Old Mac Donald had a farm, except the words were:

Old Mac Donald had a farm

e-i-e-i-oooo

And on that farm he had a...

(one of them chimed in with) HAMSTER

with ugh ugh here and a ugh ugh there

here an ugh

there an ugh

everywhere an ugh

and every time they said ugh they made hip thrusting movements. They were really enjoying themselves. Harry was just standing there looking at the conga guys. He looked kinda sad. Then he just walked over to the bar and sat down. He asked for another Orange Bill on ice. I said

"Harry, cheer up, it's only kids messing around."

"What do they know - nothing" he said, "there's never been a star like Harry. Harry was the greatest ever." There was a bit of banter between him and the stag do guys for the rest of the evening. The guys got into the Harry Says...thing and we had from Harry Says buy us a drink to Harry Says kiss my furry little ass and everything in between. I was going to be glad when this evening was over. We get stuff like that all the time but I felt kinda sorry for Harry. A bad atmosphere had developed, and I like a happy atmosphere. Harry was getting drunk and I could see that he was getting more and more, how shall I put it, morose.

The guys eventually decided to move on. On their way out they said something to Harry. I didn't quite catch what it was. Harry just sat still for a minute then he swallowed the rest of his Orange Bill in one and went out after the guys. I could hear a heated exchange and then what sounded like the start of a scuffle. When I got to the door I could see Harry on the ground being kicked by four of the guys. When they saw me they ran off. I went over to help Harry. He didn't look seriously hurt but he had taken a good kicking. Blood was oozing from his nose and mouth and he was lying kind of stiffly as if he was afraid to move. I asked him if he was ok and he said he was ok. He didn't look ok as he was groaning with pain. I said I was going to ring the police but he said not to and not to get an ambulance either. He said if I could help him get home he would be ok. By now a few people had gathered around to help. We got him up and someone brought a chair from the bar and a glass of water. Another man came up and offered to take Harry home or take him to the hospital. He might have been seriously injured. He looked not too bad but then I'm not a doctor. You hear about people having head injuries, going home, going to sleep and not waking up. But Harry was clear he didn't want to go to hospital. He just kept saying take me home and I'll be all right.

Eventually I took Harry back to his place in my car. We got him into the front seat all right and he told us where to go. It took about five minutes to get to his house in Camino del Ancla. When we got to Harry's house I helped him inside. We took him into the bedroom and set him down on the bed. I was a bit worried that Harry might have broken ribs or something but he kept saying he was ok. He asked me to get him a drink of water and stay until he had drunk it. He seemed ok as he sat up in bed and drank the water. I said I'd come back tomorrow to see how he was. He said not to bother as he'd be down at the Pink Flamingo again tomorrow night. Champions League semi-final, Hammers Real Madrid: wouldn't miss it.

"Don't worry," he said "Harry always bounces back." So I left him and went back to the bar. And he did turn up next day at the Pink Flamingo, just like he said he would. After that things seemed more or less as normal as far as Harry was concerned, at least as far as I could see.

End of statement.

The autopsy report confirmed that Mr Tresham had died of natural causes. He died of a heart attack. Apparently there was an underlying heart condition. The most likely chain of events leading to the death of Mr Tresham is as follows. He was suffering from an underlying heart condition, perhaps made worse by his unhealthy lifestyle. On the evening in question Mr Tresham had gone into the garden, perhaps to give some milk to a stray cat. While in the garden he had been taken ill and may have fallen into rose bushes just outside the front door. This would account for the scratches on his face. Mr Tresham had recovered and made it into the house where he had sat down in the living room. Soon afterwards he had died from a heart attack. The death of Mr Tresham is therefore no longer regarded as suspicious.

Mr Tresham appears to have had no living relatives. He was buried in Cartagena cemetery. There was one mourner at the funeral, his neighbour SRA Garcia.

Chapter 42: Harry Says......

So Harry finally is a goner. The grim reaper calls. Not even Harry can bounce back from that one. It's a pity that the whole story will never be told. The hunnie bunnies, the junglefrenzies, the parties, the shows. And what about Hollywood? That was maybe the best of all. There is much more that could be told, but Harry says.....

THE END

