Beaming, the little mouse nodded. “It looks just like you, doesn’t it?”
“That’s me?!” cried Obi, horrified. The moment she said it, she was sorry she had. Bill heard the shock in Obi’s voice, and his happy face instantly fell. Obi felt bad. She leaned closer to the drawing and, squinting, said, “Why, yes, of course! Now that I look more closely, it does look just like me!”
This cheered Bill right up.
Gertrude placed a paw on Obi’s back and said, “Come, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”
Obi followed Gertrude into the log cave. About a dozen mice were sitting and standing about—young mice, old mice, middle-aged mice, fat mice, skinny mice. Each mouse had a broken piece of a crayon in his or her two front paws. The mice were drawing on little scraps of paper.
“This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!” said Obi.
Gertrude laughed. “Everyone, this is Obi.”
The mice peered up from their drawings and, smiling, said hello to Obi.
“Hawo!” said Obi, and gave them all a little wave.
Gertrude introduced each of the mice to Obi. As Obi followed Gertrude about the log cave, she wondered what it would be like to have your home be in a woodpile. She couldn’t imagine herself living in one. The log cave was so dark, so bleak, and, in wintertime, would be so cold. Yet this colony of mice seemed perfectly happy.
“Where did you get all the crayons?” Obi asked.
“From the Armstrong twins,” replied Gertrude. “They sometimes leave them outside on their back patio. Hey, finders keepers, losers weepers! As for the scraps of paper, we get them from the Armstrongs’ garbage.”
Gertrude led Obi over to a big pile of seeds. “Hungry?” she asked.
Obi stared at the pile of seeds in astonishment. She’d never seen so many different kinds of seeds.
“Thanks!” she said as she helped herself to a sunflower seed. “Where did you get all these seeds?”
“From the bird feeder that hangs outside the Armstrongs’ kitchen window,” replied Gertrude. “The seeds drop down to the grass and we grab them. So tell me, Obi, what brings you to our woodpile?”
“Well,” said Obi, “I’m looking for a—”
“DON’T MOVE!” cried Gertrude suddenly.
Obi, who had been about to pop the sunflower seed into her mouth, held her mouth open and her paw frozen in the air.
Gertrude called out to the other mice, “Everyone, come take a look at this!”
The mice hurried over to Gertrude and Obi.
“See how Obi’s paw is in the air. Your eye goes straight to the paw and then to her wide-open mouth.”
“Nice!” said Bill. He picked up his crayon and began to draw Obi.
“I’m sorry, Obi, you were saying?” Gertrude asked.
Obi took this as a sign that it was okay to move again. She ate the sunflower seed and then said, “I’m looking for a dog.”
“What kind of a dog?”
“A little puppy.”
“Why are you looking for him?”
Obi hesitated. She wasn’t sure how much she should tell Gertrude. She liked Gertrude, and Obi was worried that if she told her the whole sordid story and Obi’s less than admirable role in it, Gertrude might not like her. But Obi had done what she had done and, like it or not, she’d have to live with the consequences. Plus, it was hard to tell why Kenobi was lost without explaining how he got lost. So Obi told Gertrude everything, even how Obi had let the puppy escape. Obi expected Gertrude to be absolutely horrified at what she had done. But to Obi’s surprise, she wasn’t. In fact, Gertrude totally understood.
“I would’ve done the exact same thing,” she said.
“You would’ve?!”
“You were stressed out.”
“I was stressed out!” Obi agreed. “I was very stressed out!”
“And angry!”
“Yes, I was angry, too!” admitted Obi. “Very, very angry!”
“But don’t worry, you’ll find the puppy.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because, Obi, I know which direction you need to go in to find him.”
Obi stared at the old mouse. “You do?”
Gertrude nodded. “He came by here yesterday. He sniffed all around our woodpile.”
“That sounds like Kenobi!” said Obi. “He’s a very curious dog.”
“Come,” said Gertrude. “I’ll show you the direction he took off in.”
Obi followed Gertrude to the opening of the cave. Gertrude stepped out onto the end of the log, into the open air and bright sunshine. She pointed her cane at the yellow house that was next door to the Armstrongs’. “He headed that way,” she said.
“Well, then, that’s where I need to head,” said Obi. She turned and gave Gertrude a big hug. “Thank you so much for everything, Gertrude.”
“Good luck, Obi,” said Gertrude. “If you’re ever near our woodpile again, be sure to stop by. You’re a great artist’s model.”
“Oh! Well, thank you,” said Obi.
Obi walked out onto the end of the log. She rose up on her hind legs, crouched, and swung her front paws back, like a human diver about to plunge into a swimming pool. Obi was about to leap off the woodpile when Gertrude cried out: “DON’T MOVE!”
Obi froze. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Gertrude turn toward the log cave. “Everyone, come take a look at this.”
The other mice hurried out of the log cave and gathered around Gertrude and Obi. Gertrude pointed at Obi. “See the determined look on Obi’s face. It’s like nothing can stop her!”
“Nice!” cried Bill. He lifted his broken crayon and began to sketch Obi on his scrap of paper.
“Sorry, Bill, you can’t draw Obi now,” said Gertrude. “She needs to go. This is a gerbil on a mission!” Gertrude turned to Obi and said, “Don’t worry, Obi, you’ll find that dog. I just know you will.”
Gertrude’s words had a positive effect on Obi. Feeling extremely confident all of a sudden, Obi leaped off the log. She landed softly on the grass. She turned and peered up at the woodpile.
“Bye, everyone!” shouted Obi, waving to the mice.
The colony of mice all waved back and yelled goodbyes. Then, as if that wasn’t nice enough, the mice, clapping their front paws, broke into a spirited chant:
“O-bee! O-bee! O-bee! O-bee!”
Obi, smiling, turned and headed in the direc tion of the yellow house. The mice’s chanting grew fainter and fainter as Obi made her way through the grass. She felt sad to leave the woodpile. She had really enjoyed meeting Gertrude and the other mice. They were all so talented and, well, cheerful. It was nice to know that not all mice were bitter and filled with hate the way Mr. Durkins was. He gave mice such a bad reputation. He really did.
Chapter Seventeen Jailbreak!
It’s amazing what can happen when someone believes in you, and says so, the way Gertrude had said so to Obi. It can really boost your self-confidence and self-esteem. Throw in a bunch of enthusiastic mice perched on a woodpile, chanting out your name and happily cheering you on, and, well, you’re all set to go out and conquer the world!
Or, at least, find a lost puppy.
That was how Obi felt as she made her way across the Armstrongs’ back lawn toward the next door neighbors’ yellow house. There was no doubt in her mind now that she would find Kenobi.
But then, unfortunately, she heard it again.
That strange, rustling sound!
It was back!
Back and sounding as close and as spooky as ever!
“Please go away!” Obi murmured as she picked up her pace.
But the strange, rustling sound did not go away! It kept following her! Obi glanced over her shoulder, but, like before, she saw no creature, just lots of tall, unmowed grass. Obi flicked her gaze back toward the woodpile. Gertrude and the other mice had all gone back into their log cave.
Obi peered in front of her. Up ahead, she spotted the sandbox that th
e Armstrong twins played in. This gave her an idea. If she ran to the sandbox, she could hide in it and maybe ditch the creature. It was a bit of a long shot, but it wasn’t like Obi had many choices here.
Taking a deep breath, Obi took off. She sprinted like a maniac toward the sandbox and leaped into a sand pail that lay in the grass.
Over the wild pounding of her heart, Obi heard the strange, rustling sound grow louder as the creature grew closer. Obi closed her eyes and waited, hoping the creature had not seen her duck into the pail. She heard the creature race up to the sandbox.
Then she heard it go right past the sand pail!
Obi peeked out from inside the pail. In the tall grass, she spotted a gray fluffy tail bouncing about in the air, twitching uncontrollably. It was the tail of a—
Oh, no!
It wasn’t!
It was! It was that goofball squirrel who lived in the Norway maple—the one who was convinced that Obi was a criminal because she lived in a cage.
Obi, fuming, leaped out from behind the pail.
“You!” she cried, pointing an accusatory paw at the squirrel.
The squirrel let out a shriek. He spun about. He looked terrified.
“Please don’t hurt me!” he cried, throwing up his front paws in surrender.
“Why have you been following me?” Obi demanded.
“I was curious to see what a criminal does after a jailbreak.”
“Jailbreak? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t worry!” said the squirrel. “Your secret is safe with me! I won’t tell anyone that you’ve broken out of jail!”
“Look, how many times do I have to tell you?” said Obi. “I’m not a criminal!”
“Then why do you live in a jail?”
“It’s not a jail! It’s my cage!”
Obi sighed in exasperation. She didn’t have time for this! She really didn’t! She had a puppy to find!
“I don’t have time for this!” cried Obi. And with that, she continued on her way.
The squirrel hurried to catch up with Obi.
“Where are you going now?” he asked. “You’re not planning on breaking into the next door neighbors’ house, are you?”
“Of course not!” replied Obi.
“Are you going to steal their human mobile?”
“NO!” cried Obi. She suddenly realized something and stopped. She glared at the squirrel and said, “What are you doing?”
The squirrel stopped. He looked very frightened. “Nothing,” he replied.
“You’re tagging along after me!” cried Obi. “I don’t want you tagging along after me!”
“But I want to find out what a criminal does after a jailbreak!”
“How many times do I have to tell you?” said Obi, losing her temper. “I’m NOT a criminal! And I haven’t broken out of jail!”
“Then what are you doing out here?”
“Look, if you must know, I’m searching for a little dog.”
“Why?” asked the squirrel. “Did he double-cross you? Are you trying to get even with him?”
“No, he didn’t double-cross me and no, I’m not trying to get even with him!” said Obi. “The dog is lost and I’m trying to find him!”
“He must’ve done something!” insisted the squirrel.
“He didn’t!” said Obi.
“C’mon, you can tell me!” said the squirrel. “What did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything!”
A few things about this squirrel were quickly becoming clear to Obi: 1) He really was totally daft in the head. 2) He was going to keep tagging along whether Obi wanted him to or not. 3) He didn’t want to hear the truth—he only wanted to hear what he wanted to hear.
So Obi decided to give him what he wanted.
“Okay, I’ll level with you,” said Obi. “I really am a criminal.”
“I knew it!” cried the squirrel.
“But I’m not the kind of criminal you think I am.”
“What kind are you?”
“Well …. have you ever heard of Robin Hood?”
The squirrel shook his head. This didn’t surprise Obi. Why would he have heard of Robin Hood, the noble outlaw of the Middle Ages who robbed from the rich and gave to the poor? The squirrel didn’t get to listen to bedtime stories the way Obi did when Mr. Armstrong read to Rachel at night before she went to sleep. That was how Obi had heard of Robin Hood and his Sherwood Forest gang. It saddened Obi to remember how Mr. Armstrong read stories aloud to Rachel. It made her yearn for the good old days. Obi felt so lucky she got to hear stories. The squirrel never got to hear stories. That made Obi feel a little sorry for the squirrel.
“Anyway, I’m like Robin Hood,” continued Obi. “I’m a criminal but I have a kind heart. I steal from the rich and give to the poor. I’ve got a gang that helps me. One of the gang members is this dog. But he got lost. That’s why I had to break out of my cage—I mean, my jail. I have to go find him.”
“What about your little friend?” asked the squirrel. “Is he looking for the dog, too?”
Obi frowned. “Little friend? What little friend?”
“You know, that little mouse I saw up in the Armstrongs’ attic with you.”
“Oh, you mean Mr. Durkins!” said Obi. “No, he’s not looking for the dog. He’s back in the Armstrongs’ house, guarding the hideout.”
As Obi said this, something else occurred to her.
Maybe this squirrel, as nutty as he was, might be able to help her find Kenobi.
“You know,” said Obi, “I could use someone like you in my gang!”
“Oh, no!” said the squirrel, eyes wide, vehemently shaking his head. “Not me! I don’t want to be a criminal! I don’t want to end up like my Uncle Leroy! I don’t want to end up in a trap and never be seen or heard from again!”
Obi knew all about Uncle Leroy. The squirrel had once told Obi about how his Uncle Leroy had been captured in a trap that Mr. Armstrong had set in the shrubs outside the Armstrongs’ house. Fortunately, it was the kind of trap that captured the animal alive and didn’t hurt or kill him. Mr. Armstrong had taken Uncle Leroy someplace far away. Nobody had ever seen or heard from him again.
“Don’t worry,” said Obi, “you’re not going to end up like your Uncle Leroy.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I look out for my friends! I don’t let bad things happen to them!”
The squirrel thought about this for a moment. Then he said, “So what do you want me to do?”
“Well, I’ve been watching you,” said Obi. “I’m very impressed at how well you climb up telephone poles and run across telephone wires.”
“Well, I am a squirrel,” he said modestly.
“See that telephone pole?” Obi pointed to a telephone pole that stood on the front lawn of the next door neighbors’ property, by the street. Obi and the squirrel were on the side lawn of the Armstrongs’ house, between the Armstrongs’ lawn and the next door neighbors’ house. “I need you to climb up it and look around and tell me if you see a little puppy that looks like he’s lost.”
“Sure, I can do that!” said the squirrel.
“Then let’s go do it!”
Obi and the squirrel hurried over to the telephone pole. The squirrel leaped up onto the pole and fearlessly scampered up the side of it. He was an amazing climber! He made it to the top of the pole in a matter of seconds!
To see the squirrel, Obi had to tilt her head way back. “See anything?” she called out.
The squirrel scanned the horizon. “No sign of a puppy anywhere!” he yelled back.
“Try the telephone wire!” Obi shouted. “Maybe you’ll see him from there!”
The squirrel jumped onto the telephone wire.
Tail bouncing, he began running across it. To get a better of the view of the squirrel, Obi moved to the other side of the telephone pole. As she lifted her eyes upward, she saw the poster.
It was about five feet from the ground and stap
led onto the brown telephone pole. The poster showed a photograph of a little puppy’s cute face. Obi stared at the photo, incredulous. It was Kenobi! Above the photograph, in big, bold, black capital letters, the poster said:
Obi wondered who had put the poster up there. Probably Mr. Armstrong, she decided. Or Rachel. Or both of them. Obi began to read the poster. She was reading the part about where to call if you should find the puppy when she felt something wet plop down upon her left shoulder. Obi, bewildered, glanced at her shoulder and saw a glop of slimy, disgusting slobber!
Someone had just drooled on her!
Chapter Eighteen Mookie
Obi wiped the slobber off her shoulder and looked up. She nearly fainted from shock. A huge black Newfoundland dog was hovering above her. Head tilted back, he, too, was reading the poster on the telephone pole.
“Want me to tell you what it says?” the enormous dog asked.
“Excuse me?” said Obi. It made her nervous being so close to such a big dog.
“This poster,” said the Newfoundland. “Want me to tell you what it says? It says ‘Pancake Breakfast at My House! All Welcome!’”
Obi, puzzled, shifted her eyes from the dog to the poster. She frowned. Were she and this big black Newfoundland reading the same poster?
“That’s not what it says,” said Obi.
“Yes, it does!” said the Newfoundland.
“No, it doesn’t!”
“Yes, it does!”
“No,” said Obi. “It does not.”
“Then what does it say?”
“It says ‘Lost Puppy! Reward!’”
The Newfoundland chuckled. He looked terribly amused. “It does not say that!”
“It does so!” insisted Obi.
“Okay, then, what else does the poster say?”
“It says, ‘Lost golden retriever puppy. Answers to the name Kenobi. $50 reward for anyone who finds Kenobi. Please call—’”
“Wow! You’re good!” interrupted the Newfoundland. “How can you make this stuff up so fast?”
“I’m not making it up!” cried Obi, insulted. “That’s what the poster says!”
Gerbil on a Mission Page 7