The Penguin Who Saved The World

Fitzwilliam and the Sugar Dilemma

So tired. So very very tired; poor poor me.

I bet nobody is as tired as I am right now.

*YAWN*

The teabags are looking at me funny, saying 'Come on penguin! You know you want to..."

They're cheeky little buggers, those teabags.

The last time I had tea must have been around...

Oh wait, I haven't had tea before.

I wonder...

I flick the kettle on with utter grace and majesty which can only really be achieved by the very best of penguins.

Like me.

I am referring to me, of course.

Dum dee dum dee dum...

I hope the kettle's okay, it's making a rather strange spluttering sound.

Uh oh. I hear noises from upstairs. This can only mean one thing...

Mum's up.

She shuffles into the kitchen.

"Oooh, lovely, honey, are you making me a cuppa? Sugar please."

I shrug. 

Then I ask, "Mum, have you every considered how the sugar must feel, being boiled alive?"

Mum rolls her eyes. 

"I'm sure you wouldn't like to be boiled alive." I say knowingly.

I look at them then, the big family of sugar granules, waiting to be dunked and dissolved. They must be saying their final goodbyes right now.

I sniff, and wipe a tear off of my cheek.

"Oh mum, life is so unfair!" I wail dramatically, putting a hand to my forehead.

She nods. A lot.

I prance around a bit, waiting for the kettle to GET ON ALREADY AND BOIL!

It's positively fuming, though. And vibrating rather. It seems quite angry.

"There there." I say, trying to reassure the poor thing.

Suddenly, there's a very loud snorting, choking, wheezing noise from behind me. I flip my head around, scared out of my very wits!

It's mum.... laughing.

"Motherr! Ye' scared the bejesus out a' me!" I say with a very, very convincing Irish accent, of course. Rounds of applause, thank you very much your welcome please!

I bow gracefully. Mum applauds me frantically, quite rightly too.

"What's so funny?" I ask, sliding up to her on my knees and staring at her suspiciously with one eye.

"It's - HA! - it's Terry! He's - HA! - so - HAHAHAAHAA! - so very - HA! - funny!"

I scribble all of this down on my imaginary notepad, and nod with deep thought.

"I see, I see..." I say enigmatically.

Terry's mum's new bo. I haven't me him yet, but she seems really quite besotted.

I skip over to the kettle, who seems to have settled down.

"Now then, what was that all about?" I say as I pour out its insides into three matching Cath Kidston mugs.

"Un pour toi et un pour moi." I say in immaculate French.

Mum claps like a seal on cocaine, (and laughs like one, too) and I curtsy even better than Darcey Bussell. 

"Bravo!" she cheers.

There's suddenly a rather muted crash from the utility room.

"Ah," I say with wisdom. "That'll be Fitzwilliam."

And in walks Fitzwilliam, with a squished face and looking rather dazed.

I bow graciously to her, and she crinkles her nose and shows me her lovely pearly whites.

I stay in my bowed position, and she walks up to me like a proud drunk. She then rather emphatically rubs her nose against my hand, looking very contented indeed.

Oh, I forgot to mention. Fitzwilliam is our cat.

Ignore the name, there was a little... gender recognisation issue, a few years back.

"She's getting too old for the cat-flap. I think she fogets it's there." Mum sighs.

"Well, some people age," I give mum a meaningful look, "And some don't," and at this I lay a single finger on my forehead.

"Meow." says Fitzwilliam shortly.

I nod with deep understanding, "I know, little beany-bum, I know."

Mum crashes an angry fist on the table. "Tea!" she says rather loudly.

I take the teabags out of two of the mugs, and carefully walk over to mum. "Voila!" I bow like a lowly hippogriff.

I then put the third mug down to where Fitzwilliam is sitting, looking rather impatient indeed, licking her lips like a prostitute.

She cautiously prowls up to the tea, sniffs, then jumps back hissing, her furr all on edge and her back arched.

I frown. "What is it, Fitz?"

She jumps with conviction onto the surfaces, and nudges the sugar container.

I cross my arms dissaprovingly, then lean forward and tap her on the nose as she looks up at me hopefully with big puppy-dog eyes.

"Now now, Fitzwilliam." I lean in to whisper, "Would you like to be boiled alive?"

Her head hangs and she practically falls off the surface in a stroppy flop. Pha, what a drama queen.

"Did you not put any sugar in mine, then?" Mum asks accusingly.

I shake my head with utter defiance that can only be shown my true revolutionaries.

"I shall start a campaign to free all sugar." I say with conviction. "In fact, I will start... now!"

In a flash, I grab the sugar container at the speed of light, then run out the back door into the garden, and through the gate onto the main road. There's no traffic, so I'm safe.

"Be free, little souls! Be free!" I sing, hopping and skipping and sprinkling the sugar out onto the road.

It's really quite liberating.

Once all of the sugar granules are safe and free, I run back inside, and plop the empty container back with a satisfied crash.

I bow, once, twice, three times, as my mignions cheer, all lined up in little rows.

"That's right!" I preach to their little imaginary faces, "I have started the revolution! I have saved the sugar! Soon, everyone will be free!"

The crowd cheer manically, all standing up and clapping thier hands so much that they become sore.

Then they are all gone.

"Are you going to drink your tea, honey?" Mum says in a tired voice.

I look at the mug, free of sugar, and have a taste.

It doesn't quite taste right.

It needs to be a little more... sweet.

So penguinas and penguinos, the journey begins as I start to save every poor frightened granule out there. How have you enjoyed the first chapter of my epic journey? A little weird for you? A little bit too bonkers? Well tough. It can only get even more loony from here...

Lots of windows, PenguinPenguin123.