Alfie, Barry and Marmaduke Stories

It was World Laughter Day.

This was very exciting for Dad.

“Do you know what today is?” he announced at breakfast, with the energy of a man who had slept almost six hours and made himself one entire cup of hot coffee.

“No,” said Mum, scrolling through emails.

“No,” said Alfie, buttering his toast with precise, responsible movements.

“Yes,” said Barry, confidently.

Everyone looked at him.

“It’s… Pancake Christmas?”

“No,” said Dad. “It’s World Laughter Day!”

There was a pause.

Mum blinked. “Is that a real thing?”

“Yes!” Dad said. “A whole day dedicated to laughter.”

Alfie frowned. “Why would we need a specific day for that?”

“Because laughter is important,” Dad said. “It boosts mood, reduces stress—”

“Can it make Barry stop touching things he shouldn’t?” Mum asked.

“No,” said Dad. “That’s beyond science.”

Barry, meanwhile, had stopped listening.

Because Barry had a much bigger problem.

Barry wanted a pet.

“I want a pet,” Barry announced, climbing onto his chair backwards, no verbal filter applied.

“No,” said Mum instantly.

“You didn’t even think about it,” Barry complained.

“I have thought about it,” Mum replied. “Every time you leave Lego on the floor, every time you forget to flush the toilet, and every time you try to ‘experiment’ with household appliances.”

“It’s called learning,” Barry said.

“It’s called chaos,” Alfie corrected.

Dad, still clinging to the joy of World Laughter Day, chuckled. “What kind of pet do you want, Barry?”

Barry considered this.

“A lion.”

“No,” said Mum.

“A snake.”

“No.”

“A hamster.”

“…No.”

“A tiny elephant?”

“Definitely not.”

Barry sighed dramatically. “You’re ruining my dreams.”

Alfie looked up. “You cannot keep a lion in London.”

“You can if you believe,” Barry said.

“You can if you want to get arrested,” Alfie replied.

Later that morning, Marmaduke arrived.

Marmaduke always arrived with enthusiasm, curiosity, and a willingness to agree with Barry on almost anything.

“Hello!” he shouted, running in. “I brought a biscuit!”

He held up a slightly squashed biscuit like it was treasure.

“Excellent,” said Barry. “I have news.”

Marmaduke gasped. “Is it about dinosaurs?”

“No.”

“Is it about space?”

“No.”

“…Is it about snacks?”

Barry leaned in.

“I want a pet.”

Marmaduke’s eyes widened. “That’s amazing.”

“I’m not allowed one.”

Marmaduke frowned. “That’s terrible.”

“I know.”

There was a thoughtful pause.

Then Marmaduke said, very slowly, “I have a cat.”

Barry blinked. “You do?”

“Yes.”

Another pause.

Then Marmaduke leaned even closer.

“I could sell it to you.”

Now, there are many things in life that should raise questions.

Buying a cat from your four-year-old best friend is probably one of them.

Barry, however, was not a man of questions.

He was a man of action.

“How much?” Barry asked.

Marmaduke thought carefully.

“…Two biscuits.”

Barry nodded. “Deal.”

From across the room, Alfie froze.

“No,” he said immediately.

Barry ignored him.

“You have to bring the cat,” Barry said.

“I will,” Marmaduke promised.

“You cannot buy a cat,” Alfie said, standing up.

“Why not?” Barry asked.

“Because that is not how cats work.”

“It worked for the biscuit,” Marmaduke pointed out.

“That is because biscuits are not alive,” Alfie said.

Marmaduke looked at his biscuit. “…Are we sure?”

Dad, still in a surprisingly good mood, overheard part of this conversation.

“Are you boys making a deal?” he asked, amused.

“Yes,” said Barry.

“No,” said Alfie.

“Yes,” said Marmaduke.

Dad laughed. “It’s World Laughter Day! I love this.”

Mum looked up. “What are they doing?”

“Business,” Dad said.

Mum narrowed her eyes. “What kind of business?”

Alfie pointed. “Illegal cat trading.”

Mum closed her laptop slowly.

“No one is buying a cat,” she said.

Barry crossed his arms. “You’re stopping my happiness.”

“I’m preventing a disaster,” Mum replied.

“Same thing,” Barry muttered.

But Barry was not one to give up easily.

If he couldn’t buy a pet…

He would simply have to create one.

“New plan,” Barry whispered to Marmaduke.

“I like plans,” Marmaduke said.

“They’re usually bad,” Alfie added.

Barry ignored him.

“We make our own pet.”

Marmaduke gasped. “Like a robot?”

“Better.”

“A dinosaur?”

“Better.”

“…A robot dinosaur?”

Barry grinned. “Perfect.”

Alfie rubbed his temples. “No.”

The plan began in the garden. This was already a warning sign.

Barry collected sticks. Marmaduke found a box.

Alfie followed, purely to supervise and prevent what he described as “total collapse of society.”

“What are you doing?” Alfie asked.

“We’re building it,” Barry said.

“Building what?”

“Our pet.”

“That is a box,” Alfie said.

“It’s a base,” Barry corrected.

Marmaduke added a leaf. “Decoration.”

Barry stuck on two googly eyes.

“It’s alive,” he said.

“It’s not alive,” Alfie said.

Barry made a roaring noise.

“It’s alive.”

Things escalated quickly.

The “pet” grew.

More sticks.

More leaves.

A suspicious amount of tape.

At one point, Marmaduke attempted to feed it a biscuit.

“It’s hungry,” he explained.

“It’s cardboard,” Alfie said.

“It’s a growing cardboard,” Marmaduke replied.

Then came the twist.

The cat.

Marmaduke’s cat.

Appeared.

No one had invited it.

No one had planned for it.

But there it was.

Watching.

Judging.

“THE CAT!” Marmaduke shouted.

Barry’s eyes lit up. “You brought it!”

“I didn’t!” Marmaduke said.

The cat walked straight into the middle of the “robot dinosaur pet.”

And sat down.

On it.

Crushing it instantly.

There was a silence.

A long, meaningful silence.

Barry looked at the cat.

The cat looked at Barry.

“…It killed our pet,” Barry said.

Alfie folded his arms. “It sat on a box.”

“It was a living box,” Marmaduke said.

Dad came outside just in time to see the aftermath.

The destroyed “pet.”

The cat.

Barry looking betrayed.

And Marmaduke holding a biscuit like a peace offering.

Dad burst out laughing.

“I love World Laughter Day,” he said.

“This is not funny,” Mum said, appearing behind him.

“This is very funny,” Dad insisted.

“Our garden looks like a recycling centre,” Mum replied.

“It’s creative,” Dad said.

“It’s a mess.”

“It’s a funny mess.”

Mum did not laugh.

Alfie did not laugh.

Barry did not laugh.

Marmaduke… giggled a little.

Then, something unexpected happened.

The cat—clearly pleased with its work—walked over to Barry.

And sat next to him.

Not on the dino pet.

Next to him.

Barry looked down.

The cat blinked.

Barry reached out slowly.

He stroked it.

The cat purred.

Everyone paused.

“…It likes me,” Barry said.

Marmaduke beamed. “It’s your cat now!”

“No,” said Mum immediately.

“But it likes me.”

“It is still not your cat.”

Barry thought about this.

He stroked the cat again.

The cat purred louder.

“…It can visit,” Barry said.

Mum hesitated.

Dad smiled.

Alfie considered.

“…That seems reasonable,” Alfie admitted.

Marmaduke nodded. “Visiting cat.”

And just like that, Barry had something close enough to a pet.

Not owned.

Not bought for two biscuits.

But earned.

Accidentally.

That evening, as the house settled down, Dad stretched out on the sofa.

“What a great day,” he said.

Mum raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes. Laughter, creativity, minimal injuries…”

“Our garden is still covered in tape,” Mum said.

“Funny tape,” Dad replied.

Alfie shook his head. “I’m surrounded by chaos.”

Barry smiled, thinking about the cat.

Marmaduke waved from the door. “Bye! Tell the cat I said hi!”

“I will,” Barry said.

And as Mum tidied up the remains of the “robot dinosaur pet,” she shook her head.

It wasn’t perfect.

It wasn’t calm.

It definitely wasn’t what they had planned before children.

But somehow—

Between the mess, the madness, and the unexpected moments—

There was something to laugh about.

Even if she refused to admit it.

Out loud.