Crisis in Crittertown

by Justine Fontes

  The white around their eyes was hard to get used to. But overall the biggest difference between people and mice seemed to be size. Well, that and the variety of human inventions like maps and globes.

  From our geography talk at the library, Nilla recalled countries and “condiments.”

  Grayson rolled over in his sleep and muttered, “Continents.”

  Nilla grumbled, “Whatever.” She couldn’t believe there were fifty states in the United States of America. “Why so many?”

  “It’s a big country,” I replied. “Each state is full of cities and towns. Some cities are big enough to need several zip codes.”

  Nilla looked skeptical. But it’s true!

  We didn’t know when or where the children would eat lunch. But from the tasty smell we’d noticed at the far end of the building, we supposed the school had a kitchen and a dining area.

  I felt a rush of panic when Mrs. Olson announced, “Please get your lunches or lunch money, and line up for the cafeteria.”

  We scrambled to hide behind Jill’s math book while she reached in her backpack. The bell rang so loudly that I nearly jumped out of my fur.

  Grayson smirked. “Relax, Cheddar.”

  How could I relax?

  Grayson wanted to follow the children and explore the cafeteria. We could have slipped under the door after Mrs. Olson locked it.

  But I reminded him, “We can’t be seen!” Then I said, “The cafeteria will still be here after the people go home.” That didn’t seem to matter, so I added, “This is a perfect chance to explore the classroom.”

  Grayson ran to Mrs. Olson’s desk. I nibbled an eraser. Then Nilla wriggled into the bottom drawer and squeaked, “There’s an open can of nuts!” We feasted on as many cashews as we dared. For dessert we tasted crayon tips. Despite their different colors, they all tasted alike.

  We found some candy hidden in Tanya’s desk. And I finally had a chance to see what Javier had been drawing.

  Nilla looked over my shoulder and asked, “People can’t fly, can they?”

  “No, these pictures are…” I struggled to find the word. I recalled Nonfiction’s handsome nephew. “…Fiction.”

  Just then we heard a burst of noise from outside. We rushed to the windowsill.

  We saw the children playing games: basketball, tetherball, and jump rope. They climbed on jungle gyms and tunnels, slid down slides, and rode seesaws. We didn’t know what any of these things were called yet. But we recognized fun!

  Nilla looked thoughtful. “I guess…it wouldn’t be so bad to be human—at least a young human.”

  We shared the children’s sadness when recess ended. We hid behind someone’s rubber boots in a cubbyhole to watch the third graders return.

  Jill and Bill argued. Jill asserted, “Mom wouldn’t do anything that funny.”

  “I can’t write that small,” Bill replied.

  “Then who did?” Jill countered.

  I wanted to introduce myself. But two things stopped me: 1. The fact that the children wouldn’t be able to understand me any better than they’d understood poor Buttercup, and 2. The fear that if Mrs. Olson saw mice in her room, she’d be even meaner than when she caught Tanya chewing gum!

  During the remainder of the school day, Grayson felt restless, but Nilla and I enjoyed every minute. Grayson couldn’t wait to explore the cafeteria. He reasoned that if it were big enough, the dumpsters alone could support the whole colony!

  Nilla worried that the “little humans” had keen eyes. “They’re bound to spot someone.”

  Grayson dismissed her concerns. “Kids are almost as big and slow as adults. You hardly ever see kids carrying brooms. I think it’s worth the risk to have such a great new home.”

  Nilla squeaked. “Can you convince Brownback of that?”

  Grayson stamped in frustration. He turned to me, black eyes blazing, and asked, “What do you think, Cheddar?”

  I knew he expected me to back him up. Instead, I said, “Maybe there’s another way. Maybe we can get the children to help us!”

  Grayson stamped his foot again. “Haven’t you been paying attention? They can’t understand when animals speak!”

  “So we won’t squeak,” I said. “We’ll write. Clearly Jill was able to read my note.” I added proudly, “Bill thought my printing was neat.”

  Nilla giggled. “That’s true!”

  Grayson remained skeptical. “Are you suggesting we write a letter to each kid? It took you forever just to write ‘Sorry we nibbled your sandwich. We were hungry!’”

  I rubbed my shoulder. Maybe Grayson was right. It had been tiring to write those few words. Still, I wasn’t ready to give up on the idea. “It wouldn’t have to be ten long letters. We could write ten little letters to put in each child’s desk. We’ll number them from one to ten…”

  Nilla sighed, “You and numbers. Why don’t you give them stamps and zip codes, too?”

  “No need,” I replied, before I realized she was joking.

  When the final bell rang, I felt sad to see the students leave. Grayson was excited. Nilla tugged his tail. She said, “Some humans are still here. We better wait until it’s completely quiet.”

  Between after-school clubs and sports, it took a long time for the building to empty. While Grayson and Nilla watched the children play, I chewed a big piece of blank paper into ten small pieces.

  Then we took turns pushing a pencil around to write:

  1. Dear Children:

  2. We are mice from under the post office.

  3. We’d like to be your friends.

  4. Our clan needs a new home.

  5. Can you help us stay here?

  6. Please protect us.

  7. We promise not to make a mess.

  8. Please don’t tell anyone we’re here.

  9. Thank you!

  10. Grayson, Nilla, and Cheddar

  Grayson rubbed his shoulder. “I had no idea writing was so tiring!”

  Nilla flopped on the ground. “I never want to write anything again!”

  I felt just the opposite. “That’s too bad, because I think we should write home to say we’re all right.”

  Grayson groaned. “Cheddar’s right. Pops will be worried.”

  Nilla frowned. “My folks must be worried, too.”

  Grayson said, “Couldn’t we tell a bird to give them a message?”

  Just then a red squirrel landed on the windowsill with a loud THUD. He must have jumped from a nearby maple tree. The squirrel shouted, “Open the window!”

  “How?” Grayson asked.

  “Turn the lock, then the crank,” the squirrel instructed. I heard him mutter, “Mice don’t know anything!”

  The squirrel was much easier to understand through the open window. He asked, “Are you the three from the post office?”

  We were too shocked to reply.

  The squirrel laughed. “Of course you are!” Then he added, “You put quite a kink in old Rusty’s tail, taking acorns from under his nest tree yesterday! And if you want to keep a secret, don’t tell Buttercup. He talks to chickadees, and you know birds: chirp, chirp, chirp.”

  After pausing for breath, the squirrel chattered on. “I’m Chitchat. Let me guess: The pretty mouse is Nilla; the bold one is Grayson; and that makes the chubby one Cheddar.”

  I’m not really chubby, just full-furred. Nilla blushed. Grayson nodded. I asked, “Could you please do us a favor?”

  “I have to know what it is first,” Chitchat replied.

  “Could you carry a letter to the post office basement?” I answered.

  The squirrel grinned. “That’s easy. Treetops and wires cover the whole distance. I won’t have to touch ground until I reach the parking lot.”

  Grayson was still tired from writing the children’s notes. So he gladly let me write:

  Dear Post Office colony:

  We are fine. Hope you are, too.

  Here’s what we’ve learned so far:

  1. The store colony
is small but fierce.

  2. The library colony is very nice, but already crowded and there’s a CAT!

  3. The B&B is no place for mice.

  4. The Elementary School seems possible.

  We’ll stay here to learn more.

  I wasn’t sure how to end the letter. “Sincerely” seemed too formal, and “Love” seemed too personal. So I settled on my favorite:

  …Happy thoughts!

  Then we each signed our names. I added:

  “P.S. We’ve made good friends, including this squirrel, Chitchat, and the noisy dog called Buttercup.”

  Chitchat smiled. “Nice of you to call me a friend. Some critters think I talk too much. That’s how I got my name. But I believe in knowing the neighborhood.”

  Grayson bowed. “We appreciate your help.”

  Nilla asked, “Will you stop by again tomorrow?”

  Chitchat said, “This is my territory. Besides, I’m interested in your ‘mission.’” Then he winked, “And I’m still laughing over grumpy old Rusty’s acorns!”

  A twinge of guilt troubled my tummy. “Will you please tell Rusty we’re sorry about the nuts and hope he gets over his cold soon?”

  Chitchat nodded.

  I rolled our letter around a piece of string and taped it shut. Chitchat seemed to understand my intention, because he bent his head to make it easier to tie the string around his neck. He said, “Very clever, leaves the paws and mouth free.” Then he leaped back up into the maple and called out, “See ya tomorrow!”

  We spent the evening exploring the school. As Grayson hoped, the cafeteria was a paradise of crumbs. The dumpster was huge! We played in the playground, even though the seesaw and swings were way too big for us to move.

  We nibbled more of the cashews out of Mrs. Olson’s drawer. Then we tried to sleep. But that’s hard to do in a strange place, especially with worries on your mind.

  So Grayson stared at the stars. Nilla studied Mrs. Olson’s math book. I snooped through the children’s cubbyholes and desks. You can learn a lot from the things a critter keeps. I wanted to know these small humans. I hoped they’d feel the same way about us.

  Chapter 9 Trouble in the Tree House

  At the first HISS of bus brakes, we hid behind the boots in the cubby hole again.

  “Remember,” Nilla told Grayson. “We must be careful!”

  Grayson protested, “I’m always careful!” Then he realized Nilla knew him better than that. So he just slid deeper into the shadows.

  It was fun to see the children gradually find their letters. At first they accused each other, like Jill had blamed Bill the day before.

  They soon discovered everyone had a note, and they put them in order. Tanya read aloud and then concluded, “It must be a joke.”

  “Who’d do that?” Javier asked.

  Tanya stared at each of her classmates in turn. Then she exclaimed, “I don’t know!”

  Grayson almost rushed out of hiding. Nilla caught his tail just as Mrs. Olson entered. Tanya hid the notes in her desk and muttered, “Mice can’t write.”

  Mrs. Olson asked, “What’s that, Tanya?”

  “Nothing. I mean, ‘Good morning.’”

  When Mrs. Olson turned to write on the blackboard, Grayson slipped free and waved. Javier looked back at just the right moment. He kicked Ian’s desk. And in seconds, every child had turned and seen the three of us waving from the cubbyhole.

  When Mrs. Olson faced the class again, we ducked back into hiding. Do I even need to tell you how eager we all were for lunchtime? I felt sure that with the children on our side, the colony would be saved!

  When Mrs. Olson briefly left the room, the three of us slipped into Jill’s backpack. My stomach growled at the smell of her salami sandwich. But I was determined to wait for her to offer before nibbling her lunch again.

  I didn’t even have to ask. As soon as we entered the cafeteria, Jill broke off a piece, gave it to us and said, “I hope you like salami.”

  I squeaked, “Not as much as cheese, but thanks!”

  Jill looked puzzled. Then I remembered poor Buttercup. I took out Jill’s assignment pad and wrote, “Yes, thanks!”

  During the rest of lunch, the children were so full of questions that I nearly wore out my paw writing replies. Maybe they noticed, because at recess we all just played instead of trying to talk. When the children slid down the slide or swung on the swings, we rode in their pockets and sweatshirt hoods.

  Grayson squeaked, “This is so much fun!”

  I thought, “This can’t get any better.” But after recess, it did!

  The class went to the art room. Mrs. Brann, the art teacher, gave each table of children a box of “found objects.” Then she challenged them to “make something out of these.”

  The objects included paper towel tubes, boxes, empty thread spools, and egg cartons. Mrs. Brann also provided the students with tape, scissors, pipe cleaners, string, and glue.

  April whispered to Jill. “I’m going to make a seesaw for the mice.”

  Jill squealed. “That’s brilliant!”

  Jane asked, “What’s brilliant?”

  And the idea of making “mouseables” instantly spread!

  Wyatt turned a small box into a mouse desk.

  Andy used one to make a bookshelf and laughed. “Maybe they can write their own tiny books.”

  Javier made a chair out of two sections of an egg carton. Jill helped Jane turn a paper towel tube into a slide. Bill made a wheelbarrow out of a box and a spool. Ian used pipe cleaners and string to make a hammock.

  Mrs. Brann marveled at all the “busy little hands.” So did Mrs. Olson. I heard her whisper, “Usually they need help with ideas.”

  Mrs. Brann shrugged. “Maybe I ought to clean out the store room more often.”

  Mrs. Olson asked each child about his or her creation. “How interesting that all of you thought of making miniature furnishings.”

  “They’re just toys!” Tanya exclaimed.

  “For a dollhouse,” Hannah added.

  “Well, you’ve done amazing work!” Mrs. Brann gushed.

  Tanya asked, “Can we do this next time, too?”

  Mrs. Brann said, “Yes,” then muttered, “I guess I’ll clean my garage this weekend.”

  The next few days felt like paradise. The children brought us treats from home, muffins from the B&B, pizza from the store. Hannah made tiny peanut butter sandwiches.

  We posed in the small furniture while Javier drew our pictures. Nilla wore a little hat and vest that April made. Jane hosted a tea party using dollhouse dishes. We’d never eaten off plates before. We felt so elegant!

  I wrote a note asking the children, “Would you mind if the rest of our colony joined us here?”

  The girls squealed with delight, and the boys seemed just as happy.

  Jane said, “I can bring in my dollhouse!”

  “We can build them a house,” Wyatt said.

  Andy said, “I wonder if we could hide it in one of the cubbies.”

  Bill jumped in, “Why not? We can make it tall and skinny, with a spiral staircase of Popsicle sticks in the middle.”

  It sounded great! Grayson nudged me. “Ask them if we can occupy several cubbies. And…”

  “Hold on!” I squeaked. “Let me get a pencil.” Grayson never had the patience to write—or to wait for my writing to catch up with his squeaks.

  I’d only gotten as far as “Grayson wonders if…” when we heard footsteps and voices. We looked up and saw Mrs. Olson and Principal Clark!

  Mr. Clark exclaimed, “A mouse! What’s a mouse doing in this room?”

  We scrambled into the dark space under the cubbies. We peeked out at the angry grownups.

  Mrs. Olson frowned. “Now I know why my cashews have been disappearing.”

  Mr. Clark shook his head. “Where there’s one, there are sure to be more. I’ll call the exterminator first thing tomorrow.”

  My heart sank straight past my paws. There would
be no spiral staircase, no slide rides at recess, no tiny peanut butter sandwiches. We would be homeless!

  Once the grownups were safely gone, the children did their best to console us. “Even if you aren’t living at the school, we can still be friends!” Ian declared.

  “We’ll help you find a new home!” Wyatt promised.

  “How?” April asked.

  Half a dozen voices exclaimed, “What’d she say?”

  Wyatt heard her and replied, “I don’t know…yet.” His blue eyes narrowed with determination as he added, “But we’ll find a way!”

  Hannah had gymnastics and Ian had a piano lesson, but the rest of the class stayed after school to help us somehow.

  Grayson started pacing. “There’s no point going back to the post office just to stick around until it closes.”

  “What’s he squeaking?” Jill wondered.

  I wrote the gist on her pad, as Grayson went on. “I’ve gotten used to making my own rules. Pops…” His voice trailed off miserably.

  Nilla nodded and then asked, “What else can we do? It’s not like the three of us can just start our own colony.”

  Grayson patted Nilla on her shoulders. “That’s exactly what we’ll do!”

  Jill tapped the short pencil in my paw and urged, “Come on, Cheddar. What did he squeak?”

  My paw shook with fear and excitement. But I managed to write, “Grayson wants to start a new colony.”

  Bill read the note over Jill’s shoulder. “We can build you a house. It doesn’t have to be in a cubbyhole. It can be bigger and better! I’ve always wanted a tree house!”

  “Me, too!” Jill exclaimed. It was the first time I’d ever heard the twins agree.

  The other children loved the idea, too. Their voices tumbled over each other’s as they made plans.

  They decided the old fairgrounds would be an ideal spot. It wasn’t far from school. Lots of kids already hung out there. So it wouldn’t seem odd if they built a tree house there.

  “What’re we waiting for?” Bill asked. “Let’s meet at the grounds with boards, hammers, nails, and whatever else we need. I bet we can finish before dark!”