Skimbleshanks looked at his pocket watch, and smiled happily.
“Just time for a cup of tea before the midnight mail is due to leave,” He said to himself, and headed up to the guards van. So pleased was he at the thought of having a nice cup of tea that he did a series of skip steps up to the van, and jumped in the open door. Two minutes later, a mad shriek echoed from the van. “WHAT? NO TEA!”
Skimble burst from the van, looking very different than the happy cat that had gone in. His fur was sticking up on end in horror and his face was haggard with distress. His eyes stared wildly about, wide as saucers.
“This cannot be happening! Who has stolen the teeeeeaaa?” He wailed. It was a terrible situation. Skimble couldn’t cope without his regular cup of Earl Grey Tea. He looked up at the station clock – only minutes to go until the Midnight Mail had to leave. Could he make it to the Junkyard in time? He’d just have to. There was only one cat who could save this situation – the Goddess of Tea, Jennyanydots.

“We-ell…” Jenny said reluctantly, after a hurried search through her cupboards,
“I’m afraid I just ran out of Earl Gray. Victoria needed the teabags to put on her ears. How about some nice English Breakfast Tea?” There was a short silence. Jenny watched nervously, for she’d never seen Skimble look such a wreck. Then….
“WHAT? Are you SERIOUSLY SUGGESTING that I drink English Breakfast Tea? That is just NOT GOOD ENOUGH!” Jenny winced and put her paws over her ears – just in time for Skimble’s next explosion.
“OH, WOE IS ME!” He howled. “WHAT has come of the world, that I am expected to drink ENGLISH BREAKFAST TEA?” Jenny uncovered her ears cautiously. “Sorry, but you’ll just have to stop being such a drama tom. You have to be at the station, so the train will leave on time.” Skimble stared at her. “The train.” She nodded. “The TRAIN? THE TRAIN? I don’t give a CAT’S WHISKER about that train! It is of NO IMPORTANCE!” At this unmatched roar, the entire Junkyard stopped what they were doing, and stared in Skimble’s direction. It was unheard of that Skimbleshanks, the Railway Cat, could ever say that the train was of no importance. As Skimble ran his claws through his headfur, causing it to stick up almost as much as Macavity’s, the Rum Tum Tugger had an unusually clever idea. “Here, Skimbley,” he passed an unopened bottle of Scotch whiskey into Skimble’s trembling paws. “That’ll hold you for tonight!” He grinned to himself sexily, and half the queens in the vicinity fell over in adoration at that irristible smirk. Skimble looked at it, then at the Tugger. For a moment, he seemed to calm down. “Right. The drop of Scotch. I have to get to the station!” He said, and raced off as fast as his legs could hop.

All the guards and Al the Porter and the Station Master’s daughters were searching high and low. “Skimble! Where is Skimble?” The oldest daughter called worriedly. “Has he gone to hunt the thimble?” Her younger sister asked. “We must find him, or the train can’t start!” Al the Porter exclaimed. “It’s eleven FIFTY EIGHT! He’s never this late!” Then he heard a noise. He looked down to his feet, and there was the missing tabby, purrring. “There you are!” Everyone cried in relief. Skimble spared the sobbing officials a glance, then leapt off to do the signal. The whole platform was a hustle and bustle of last-minute doings that had been put off in the search for Skimble. But, true to his unbroken record, Skimble’s train left the station at twelve o clock (00:00 hours). But what none of the passengers knew was that the Railway Cat had consumed quarter of a bottle of whisky in order to do it.

In a compartment of the third carriage, three cats sat chatting. They’d all come down to London for one of the Jellicle Balls, and now they were returning home to their loving owners. “It’s my stop first,” Jemeter remarked. “Yes, and I have like, FIVE HOURS on this wretched train after Keran gets off!” Jeniiva wailed. “It’s not fair that I live so far away!” “But the Jellicle Ball is worth it, right?” Keran asked. “Yeah,” she agreed. “Maybe Skimbleshanks will talk to me, if he isn’t too busy on his duties.” Suddenly, a flea bounced by. Jemeter gasped in amazement. “A flea? What’s that doing there? There shouldn’t be any fleas on this train!” They watched it bounce down the corridor, expecting at any moment that Skimble would leap out of hiding and catch it in the act. But no. The flea was allowed to continue its journey down corridor 3. The three cats looked at each other in astonishment. The silence was only broken by Keran’s “Maybe it has a special pass.” Which was treated with the contempt it deserved.

In the guards van, there was only one quarter of the Scotch left. And they hadn’t got to Great Yarmouth yet, not to speak of Poole. Poole had shifted to somewhere near Norwich for the Midnight Mail so that they didn’t have to do a stupid double back to get everyone off (it was all Keran’s fault for living in Poole anyway). Skimble was looking decidedly cheerful. “Scotch, scothch, shocth,” He sang. “Who needs tea, hu-huh? I’ve never had sho mutch sthcothch in my life! Good old Rummy Tung Tung!” Oh dearie me, he’s completely drunk. That’s what happens with more than just PERHAPS a drop of Scothc. Scothc. Scotch.

The train arrived at Crewe (if you come from there, call it ker-ew). And carried on going. Through Crewe. And out the other side. This is why. Jeniiva was rather bored. Jemeter and Keran had got off within ten minutes of each other, and she’d been alone for two-and-a-half hours. Far too long for one hyperactive multicoloured teenaged queen. She’d tried sleeping but that didn’t work. She tried counting mice, but she just got hungry. She tried catching the rampant fleas, but that just made her worry about Skimble. Then she decided to go and find him. As all good Phans know, it is the Scottish Thing to Climb Up the Tall Objects When You’re Drunk. So what’s tall in a train? Exactly the question Skimble (who is of Scottish descent) asked himself. The funnel, of course! Jeniiva found Skimbleshanks on top of the steam engine, balancing on the rim of the funnel, black with soot, and dropping empty Scotch bottles down it. “Here comth Santa!” He hooted, dropping the next. Jeniiva was offended. “Hey! I’m not round and jolly!” She told him. “Besides, he lives in Lapland. I think Mitsuki lives there.” “Not you!” Skimble told her sillily. “The bottle. It’th giving the train a Christhmash preshent.” Jeniiva stared. “You’re drunk aren’t you?” She said, although it wasn’t really a question. She looked around, and spotted a city approaching at high speed. “Omigosh! It’s Crewe! Skimble, Skimble, they’re all asleep!” She tried to tell him, but Skimble was too preoccupied with playing Santa. “Stuff Crewe!” He laughed. “Stuff it with olives and hang it up to dry in the rain!” Jeniiva tried to raise an eyebrow, and failing, turned to go back inside. “I wonder where he got all those bottles?” She wondered, then decided she’d rather not know, and went to wake the ones who were supposed to get off herself. Of course, none of the passengers would listen to a half-grown queen’s mewing. The train sped through Crewe. Similar things happened at all the other stations along the line. By the time they got to Carlisle, Jeniiva was in a right panic. “STOP THE TRAIN!” She screamed as Skimble came back inside. She was jumping up and down in front of the plastered tabby, waving her arms wildly. “I have to get off!” Skimble looked at her severely. “This is a one-way train to the Heaviside Layer. There is no getting off.” Jeniiva gulped. What if Macavity jumped out of Skimble’s skin like he’d done with Old Deuteronomy. “Somebody, SAVE ME!” She yelled. The was a loud BANG. “MACAVITYYYYYYYYY!” She screamed, at the same time as Skimble’s joyful cry of “SANTA CLAUUUUUUS!” It’s not even Christmas yet, you nut. Jeniiva stopped screaming as the Great Rumpuscat appeared in front of her, fake muscles and all. “Don’t worry, little kitten! I will save you!” So proud was Jeniiva that she’d been rescued by her comic-book hero at long last, that she forgot to mind about being called a kitten.

It was almost dawn in the Junkyard, and Jeniiva was elaborating her story of the Rumpuscat’s arrival and dropping of her in the Junkyard. “And then! I did this!” She flung her arms out and growled menacingly. Etcetera and Jemima “oohed” perfectly. “And the Rumpuscat said, ‘Oh Great Jeniiva! Please save me!’ And then I said, ‘Just take me to the Junkyard and you will be safe.’ So he did! And here I am!” “Wow!” The kittens were amazed, and looked at Jeniiva with renewed admiration. “Now let’s go and watch Skimble,” Jemima suggested, as Jeniiva seemed to be about to start the entire tale all over again.

Skimble was lying on a bed of Earl Grey teabags. There were Earl Grey tea leaves threaded around his neck, and teabags on his ears. In his paws, he blissfully held a cup of steaming Earl Grey Tea. Tumblebrutus and Mistoffelees were having great fun pinging Earl Grey tea leaves at him. “Never again shall I take Tugger’s advice and drink Scotch!” Skimbleshanks sighed happily. “It’ll be Earl Grey Tea, now and forever.”

-the end-