Posted in Enter Now, fabo story

Sharpen your pencils for a new FABO Story competition!

Are you ready for another FABO Story competition? Author Kathy White has written a story starter. Now it’s up to you to finish it off.


1. Read the story starter and continue the story.

2. Your story should be no more than 500 words.

3. You have two weeks to write your story, so there’s no need to rush! Take your time and send us the best story you can write.

4. Send your story to us by 8pm Friday June 7th.

5. The winner of the competition will be announced on this website a few days after the competition closes.

6. Every fortnight a children’s author will post a new story starter for you.

Kathy’s Story Starter: They. Are. US.

The headline on the news said it all. CAT BAN BEGINS.

“The government says the new Cat Eradication law comes into force from the 1st of June,” the newsreader said. “All cats must be surrendered to the Department of Conservation or council office in your closest town before the 1st July. Anyone caught with a cat after that date will pay a $50,000 fine or face five years imprisonment. The War on Pests is ramping up.”

“I know who the pests are, and it’s not the cats,” Dad muttered. He pushed the button on the TV remote. The screen went black and silent.

“They can’t take Fwankie,” Tim sobbed, squeezing Frankie hard against his chest. “Fwankie’s my fwend. My best fwend.” Frankie poked his furry ginger kiss-coloured head out from between Tim’s chubby fingers and smiled at everyone. He clearly didn’t understand his days were numbered.

“What’s wrong with these people?” I asked, pointing at the TV. “Frankie’s part of our family. What makes them think it’s okay to kill our pets?”

Dad gave a deep sigh. “The only difference between a pet and a pest is the letter S,” Dad said. He always comes out with random and profound philosophical statements at times of family stress.

Mum plonked a steaming bowl of spaghetti bolognaise on the table. “Its not okay,” she said, slamming the knives and forks on the table. Her hands were shaking with rage. “Frankie … is … us. Do you understand? It’s not okay.”

I frowned (although I’d plucked my eyebrows so much this afternoon, that no one could tell I was frowning). Mum’s eyes seemed to be glowing in the dim light, and her skin was turning a pale shade of olive green. “Are you … okay, Mum?”

“We love him. We feed him. We worm him. We take him to the vet.” She looked at Dad defiantly, clenching her greening fists, like this was his fault. “He wears a bell so the birds know he’s in the garden. He’s a good cat and this is a BAD law. We’re NOT giving him up.”

Tim climbed off the couch. “We’re not?”

Mum put her hands on her hips. “We’re not.”
She was now as tall and wide as the Eiffel Tower and Tim was dancing around her.

She made me think of that moment in The Lord of the Rings when Gandalf slammed his staff into the ground and bellowed at the balrog “You shall not pass.” It was scary when it was my own mother. I mean, this woman puts gummy bears in my lunchbox.

Dad took a deep breath: “Josie, Tim … there’s something we’ve never told you … about your mother ….”

Now You Finish The Story…

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