The raid on the zoo

Janet watched the raid on the zoo live on TV, the whole scene captured by a 24 hour news helicopter. Hundreds of hooded and masked youths laid siege to the zoo gates, some armed with pickaxes, crowbars and sledgehammers, others carrying cages and mobile phones, clearly following orders of the exotic animals they were required to steal for sale to private buyers.

Once the gates were open the mob poured into the compound, the same zoo where she had taken her sons Nicolas and Nigel just a few days before. “It’s like a scene from a movie,” Janet’s husband said, though he didn’t say which movie and Janet was unsure if he thought it reminiscent of the storming of the Bastille or a scene from Lord of the Rings.

“They should be locked up,” she said to him, half asleep on the sofa beside her, “attacking innocent animals. Where are the police when they’re needed? The feckless scum, they probably don‘t know an elk from an antelope.”

At least for once Janet wasn’t concerned for her own safety, the riots had started just a mile or so from her house, but now at least they were on the other side of London. She also believed her two sons to be well away from the trouble, staying with their friend Fred. In this she was totally wrong, for her sons were there on the TV screen, just going into the zoo, Nigel in a Nick Clegg mask, Nicolas dressed as Santa Claus.

Nicolas and Nigel weren’t there as members of a gang, they weren’t following orders to steal a tiger, they were simply there for the buzz, the thrill, a generation of youths telling the government that it didn’t care. At first, anyway, in their youthful innocence (Nigel was ten and Nicolas just turned eleven) they believed the mob voice, that was until they saw animals being slaughtered, with their comrades seeing the animals as nothing more than the next night’s supper, walking tiger meat.

Nigel had to hold back his tears as he watched seals being clubbed and giraffes kicked and head butted (unsuccessfully). Worst of all was the attack on the penguin compound, the lovely waddling birds he’d laughed at just a few days ago, watching their games and knock-about fun as they chased after fish. Youths were stealing penguins to take home for their dinner or to sell on to the local kebab shop.

“We have to save them,” said Nigel to his elder brother. “Tell the looters to stop.”

“We can’t,” said Nicolas, more conscious than his young sibling of the comparative size and strength of the penguin killers around them, “there are hundreds of them, if we try to stop them they’ll kill us as well. I’ve an idea though, we’ll save one, take it home in my rucksack .” Like all good looters they’d come prepared with a bag for their loot.

Janet knew nothing of her sons’ involvement in the riots when they returned the next day, simply lecturing them that they must never hang out with “This sort of person.” According to the politician she was watching on TV, all of the rioters were black or asian and the sons of single parents, though how the politician knew this when they were all masked and hooded and none had been caught, is hard to ascertain.

Exhausted from their night’s adventure the two boys went to their room to crash out, but before sleeping they remembered to fill the bath for the penguin, which leapt happily out of the bag and began to splash about in its new home. The boys laughed as they watched the penguin play, but even as they laughed they felt their eyelids drooping and soon crawled off to bed for a much needed rest.

At first Janet thought the splashing and banging from the bathroom was from one, or both, of her sons, but after it had gone on too long she knocked on the bathroom door and asked them what they were doing. Receiving no response she nervously entered the bathroom and was astonished to see the penguin there.

She immediately shouted for her husband and they stormed into the boys bedroom, shook them both awake and found out the dreadful truth.

Normally Janet would have frogmarched her children to the police station for taking part in the riots, but she had just been watching the news coverage of a woman who had done just that, and was now being told by the council that she would lose her house, for having a rioter in the family.

“We should smuggle it back in the zoo,” suggested her husband, “that way there’s no harm done, the penguin is returned to its natural environment and we don’t have to involve the police and courts.”

“I suppose so.” Janet reluctantly agreed, and instead of involving the police invented a series of suitable punishments for the children, including removal of all pocket money and a two week curfew.

The penguin fitted in nicely as a pet and was even given a name, Misha. Misha was a fun plaything and aside from having to be temporarily moved whenever someone needed a bath, caused little inconvenience. The only oddity was Misha’s habit of standing by the window every night emitting an “iek, iek” noise.

On the second night it became clear what the purpose of the ieking was, when just around midnight Janet heard a tap, tap, tap on the back door. Calling for her husband they opened it together, to find another penguin standing there. “Ah, it must be Misha’s boyfriend.” Janet said.

“Or his girlfriend,” her husband added, alluding to the fact that they hadn’t been able to tell Misha’s gender.

The second penguin moved in, after all it was supposed to be a temporary measure until the zoo re-opened. Alas Janet heard the bad news one day on the 24 hour news channel, the zoo would never re-open. Most of the animals had either been eaten or sold on to private owners. Many were now believed to have been purchased by city bankers as exotic pets and the government did not want to do anything to offend the bankers. Nick Clegg announced that as the zoo was a burden on the public purse and there was no money for new animals, the zoo would be closed as of that day, with the zoo grounds being converted into a play park for off-duty bankers.

“Does anybody have anywhere to put a rhino?” Clegg added as an afterthought.

The problem became worse before she even had a chance to discuss it, for when she next went into the bathroom the two penguins had become four. No, Misha hadn’t had chicks, she had simply opened the window and let two more penguins in.

The next night, as a desperate solution, the four family members grappled the four penguins into bags and rucksacks and Janet’s husband drove them to the nearby river, where they were released. He then drove the penguin-free family on to the nearest McDonalds for a celebratory meal.

Alas, when they returned the penguins were back, it appeared that Misha had somehow stolen the spare key and learned how to unlock and open the door. They were greeted by a house full of over thirty penguins, now spread out beyond the bathroom.

Janet, her husband and the boys gave up fighting the penguins and over the coming days and weeks watched the colony grow, with over a thousand birds eventually making their home. This was surprising, as there had only ever been thirty birds at the zoo, but Janet and the family just accepted this as their fate, their punishment from the penguin god for their part in the riots.

The council eventually moved Janet’s family to a new house and a city bank, as part of their big society pledge, bought Janet’s house from the council, declared it a penguin park and charged visitors to enter.

“Once again,” declared Nick Clegg, “the city’s banks have ensured a happy ending for all of us.”