Showdown in Crittertown

by Justine Fontes

  The treaty spelled out everything (with a few misspellings). In general, it said that the post office colony would be willing to offer some living space to members of the library colony in exchange for the freedom to harvest food off library colony land.

  We proposed merging the colonies for our mutual benefit. Females could raise litters in the safety of the post office, away from Dot’s evening friskies. Young mice ready to learn various subjects could live under the library in a sort of boarding school.

  The double colony could have a combined “army” of scouts to patrol the borders and seek new food sources—and make contact with other colonies who might be willing to enter into a treaty.

  Resources like the post office colony’s newspapers and the library colony’s access to facts would be shared.

  The leaders of both colonies would become co-leaders of the merged colony. If they couldn’t agree on an issue, it would be decided by a vote. Any mouse old enough to have a nest would be allowed to vote.

  My writing paw felt tired. Brownback yawned and said, “Read it back to me again, please.”

  I was up to the part about the “combined army” when Twitchy raced into Brownback’s nest.

  “Visitors!” he exclaimed. Then he ran back to the entrance and said, “Sorry! I forgot to knock.”

  “Come in,” Brownback told him.

  Twitchy ran in, ran back out, knocked, and ran back in again. “Visitors from the library colony!”

  Brownback smoothed his fur as Twitchy went on. “It’s that girl, the pretty one you told me about. And a tall, skinny lady named Travel. They’re waiting at the entrance. Should I bring them here or tell them to wait for you out there?”

  Twitchy danced from one foot to the other. Brownback patted Twitchy’s shoulder as he walked past him. Brownback then turned to me and said, “Let’s greet our guests.”

  I smoothed my fur and then followed. Poetry was here! I wondered what she wanted. I hoped she wanted to see me!

  I vaguely remembered Travel from our first evening at the library colony. When Brownback bowed, she said, “Enchanté!” She added, “That’s French for ‘enchanted.’”

  Nilla asked, “Why is she enchanted? I thought that meant magical. Is she a witch?”

  Poetry blessed us with one of her beautiful smiles. “It’s an expression that’s short for ‘enchanted to meet you,’ meaning, ‘it’s nice to meet you’—only fancier.”

  Nilla rolled her eyes. “Just what we needed, another confusing expression!”

  Poetry explained that Nonfiction thought “a young lady” needed an escort when she went visiting. And Travel seemed the logical choice.

  Travel couldn’t wait to “see the sights, meet the natives,” and “learn the local customs.”

  Poetry told Brownback that she was acting as her grandfather’s ambassador. Nilla, of course, wanted to know “What’s an ambassador?”

  Brownback confused her more when he said, “A diplomat who represents one country or group when visiting another.”

  Nilla asked, “What’s a diplomat?” just as Grayson appeared. He was surprised to see our guests.

  Brownback suggested that Grayson give Travel “the grand tour.” Grayson said, “What about Poetry?”

  His grandfather replied, “Cheddar, Nilla, and I will take care of Poetry.”

  Grayson started to protest, “Aw, Pops…”

  But Travel latched on to one of his paws and asked, “What do the locals do for fun around here?”

  Brownback led Poetry to his nest. He told her about the treaty. She promised to bring it directly to Nonfiction. She assured us that he wanted peace. Then she added, “The problem is my stubborn brother. He and his soldiers are so excited about fighting a war. Grandfather is afraid he won’t be able to stop them!”

  Brownback looked over his shoulder at Grayson and whispered, “We have a similar problem. But I think we might borrow a solution from the humans.”

  Brownback asked Poetry if she’d heard of the Olympics. He suggested that the colonies hold a “Mouselympics” to let “the young hotshots” have a chance to show off while running races, jumping, throwing, and competing in other sporting events. He concluded, “The winners could become the leaders of the combined colony’s army.”

  Poetry smiled. “I believe you’re as smart as my grandfather!”

  I took out a piece of paper and started writing. “We can make the Mouselympics an amendment to the treaty.”

  Nilla asked, “What’s an amendment?”

  And we all laughed.

  Travel declared the post office colony “charming and rustic.” When I gave her some of the clerk’s toasted pumpkin seeds, she added, “The local cuisine is delicious!”

  Grayson said, “Wait until you taste the cheese crackers.” He glanced at me. “It’s too bad those don’t ever seem to last around Cheddar.”

  I blushed. Then Grayson noticed the roll of paper tied with a ribbon that Poetry held like a leash.

  “It’s a letter for Nonfiction,” she said. Then she giggled. “Does this make me an official Critter Post carrier?”

  “Of course!” I exclaimed.

  Grayson looked suspicious, but what could he do?

  Brownback said, “Please give your grandfather our regards.”

  Poetry replied, “I’d like to come back and take the grand tour, too.” She smiled at Grayson, and the clouds left his face.

  As soon as Poetry and Travel were gone, Grayson wanted to know what we had talked about in Brownback’s nest.

  “Mostly about the Mouselympics,” Brownback replied.

  “The mouse-whatics?” Grayson asked.

  “It’s explained in the letter we sent to Nonfiction,” Brownback began. “If he agrees, our colonies will compete in a day of sporting events. Cheddar thinks the children will be happy to help, as long as we schedule it after the crafts fair.”

  “Mouselympics!” Grayson exclaimed. “Are there prizes for the winners?”

  “I suppose we’ll need to get some,” Brownback answered.

  Grayson grinned. “This’ll be great! I wonder how many prizes I’ll win…”

  Brownback winked at me. When I was sure Grayson wasn’t looking, I winked back.

  Chapter 9 “Mouseletes” in Training

  I had just settled in for a nice morning nap when I heard someone approach my nest. “Rise and shine, Cheddar! The mail truck just left.”

  I rolled over and muttered sleepily. “That’s okay. You and Nilla can go upstairs without me.”

  Grayson asked, “You don’t want any cheese crackers?”

  At the word “cheese,” my eyes popped wide open. Of course I wanted cheese crackers! I wanted them even more than usual, because I was determined to save one to give Poetry.

  While I stood up and stretched, Grayson fidgeted. “Come on, sleepyhead!”

  “What’s the rush?” I asked. “You know it’s safer to wait until after the carriers load their cars.”

  Grayson sighed. “Safer isn’t always better. We have work to do. The tinkerers have an idea for making weapons. But they can’t test it until I bring them some jumbo paper clips.”

  My heart sank. With Grayson and General History both so eager for war, did the peace treaty have a chance?

  Grayson grew annoyed all over again when Nilla said, “Shouldn’t we wait until the carriers leave?”

  “Quit worrying,” he snapped. “Just stick with me and stay alert.”

  We were so early that the clerk was still unloading the mail cages. She tossed the packages into big bins for Route 1 and Route 2. She looked surprised when she read the label of an Express Mail package.

  When the Route 2 carrier arrived, the clerk said, “You have an Express Mail package for the school from Arthur Kingston. Could it be the Arthur Kingston?”

  The carrier said, “Who’s Arthur Kingston?”

  “He’s a great artist!” the clerk exclaimed. “He painted lots of book covers and a famous poster of a knigh
t on a hill with these amazing clouds behind it.”

  The Route 1 carrier called from behind her shelves of mail, “I had that poster!”

  The clerk went back to sorting. “It’s probably just someone with the same name.”

  Later that day, when the school secretary bought stamps, we found out it was the Arthur Kingston. She said, “He attended Crittertown Elementary School until his family moved out of state. He didn’t graduate in Maine and wasn’t born here, so he isn’t known as a Maine artist.”

  Mike listened as the secretary chattered on. “After he received Mr. Clark’s letter, Mr. Kingston dug out some drawings he did while he lived in Crittertown—and he’s donated them to the school. Principal Clark plans to hold an auction at the crafts fair. He’s going to send letters to all the summer people to see if they want to bid on ‘the early works of Arthur Kingston.’”

  Mike exclaimed, “Well, that’s wicked decent of him. I wonder if the auction will raise enough money to repair the school.”

  The secretary smiled. “I hope so! Because the Lakeville secretary has more years on the job, and a combined school won’t need two secretaries.”

  Mike assured her that even if the schools merged, she would most likely “land on her feet.”

  “I’m not a cat,” the secretary said. “But I suppose I’ll manage somehow.”

  “What does she mean?” Nilla asked.

  I’d read in Cat Fancy magazine that when cats fall, they usually land on their feet. But what that had to do with the secretary keeping her job or finding another was beyond me.

  I suggested, “While Mike’s busy, should we get the crackers?”

  Grayson chuckled. “Is cheese all you think about?”

  I didn’t want to admit I was actually thinking of Poetry. I made sure Grayson didn’t see me tuck one of the crackers in a plastic bag that used to hold pumpkin seeds. When we went back to the basement, I hid the bag under my nest.

  I knew Grayson would soon be busy training for the Mouselympics. He and his more athletic friends had cleared a track around the edge of the basement.

  These mouseletes raced around the track until they made the rest of us dizzy! They used pencils and old ledger books to practice pole vaulting. An old ruler measured their progress in the broad jump.

  While Grayson was jogging and jumping, I used cardboard and tape to make a box big enough for the cracker. Then I wrote a note to the children about the Mouselympics.

  Between races I heard Grayson tell his grandfather, “We don’t need a war to beat the library colony!”

  Brownback winked at me again.

  Grayson asked, “Don’t you want to train, too, Cheddar? I know you can run fast.”

  Nilla chuckled. “You sure sprinted the day we explored the market!”

  “That was different,” I said, shuddering at the memory. I’d been terrified! “If I’m not running to some cheese or away from a cat or other danger, it’s hard to get my paws moving.”

  Grayson giggled. “Maybe we need to add a cheese-eating contest.”

  I smiled. “Now that’s an event I could sink my teeth into!” For a moment, I was lost in a cheese-flavored dream.

  Then several small paws tugged my attention away from that delicious vision. Charlie and some of the other Critter Post recruits squeaked, “We want to be in the Mouselimpers, too!”

  “Mouselympics,” I said. “But it’s only for grown-ups.”

  Charlie grumbled. “Everything’s only for grown-ups. Can’t we help?”

  I looked at Grayson. He shrugged and ran off to join the other mouseletes racing around the track.

  Charlie asked, “Why aren’t you running?”

  “Cheddar’s too fat,” a bony young recruit muttered.

  Charlie pulled the skinny mouse’s tail—and I didn’t stop him. But I did prevent further fighting by saying, “There is something important we can all do. Every sporting event needs a cheering crowd. We can make signs and pom-poms to cheer on the post office colony.”

  I briefly wondered if the recruits would go for this idea, or if they’d insist on holding a junior Mouselympics. Then suddenly my ears filled with high-pitched squeaks. “Yay, Cheddar!” “Yay, us!” “Yay post office colony!”

  We spent the rest of the morning turning scraps of shiny paper and string into pom-poms. Then we made up a simple cheer.

  It was so simple that even the youngest recruits could recite it. We practiced until my ears ached, and we could shout the cheer more-or-less together while shaking our pom-poms.

  That afternoon April’s garage was just as noisy. After reading my note about the Mouselympics, the children became as excited as the mouseletes and the Critter Post recruits. All the kids squeaked at once.

  “Let’s make miniature sports equipment!”

  “We can use pipe cleaners or maybe Popsicle sticks for hurdles!”

  “I’ll make a balance beam!”

  “We can use pot holders for gym mats.”

  Jill told Grayson, Nilla and me, “You mice can keep one set of equipment for your games. We can sell all the others at the fair as ‘dollhouse playground equipment.’”

  Wyatt and Andy built a basketball court. Grayson, Nilla, and I had fun testing the hoops.

  While we were catching our breath, I asked the kids if they knew about Arthur Kingston. Then I told them what we overheard in the post office.

  Javier said, “I’ll look him up in my art books!”

  The next day, Mrs. Olson handed out a flyer about Mr. Kingston and the auction. She couldn’t understand why the children already seemed to know about the artist.

  Later, in April’s garage, Tanya did her Mrs. Olson imitation again. “I had no idea Kingston was so well-known among young people. Even I didn’t know he’d spent part of his youth in Crittertown.”

  Tanya laughed. Then she added in her own voice, “You should’ve seen her face when Javier started rattling off facts about Kingston’s career.” In Mrs. Olson’s voice she added, “Why don’t you write a report to be part of the auction exhibit?”

  Javier groaned. “Just what I need—another homework assignment when I’d rather be drawing!”

  “I can help you,” April whispered.

  Javier smiled. “That’d be great!”

  When the children took a break from their crafts, April asked Javier to repeat what he’d learned about Arthur Kingston. Then she arranged it in paragraphs.

  Recalling the grammar lesson from our days at school, I made sure each sentence had a noun, a verb, and a sprinkle of punctuation. By the time the report was finished, we all felt rather proud of it.

  Chapter 10 Bull’s-eye

  To our surprise and delight, this short report was printed in the local newspaper, along with the notice about the upcoming auction and fair. According to the paper, “Depending on his schedule, Mr. Kingston might attend.”

  When he read that, Javier whooped so loud that Buttercup nearly jumped out of his fur. Grayson, Nilla, and I laughed.

  I told the loud dog, “Now you know how Dot feels!”

  Nilla grumbled, “She deserves every bark!”

  Javier gushed, “Wouldn’t it be cool if I could meet Mr. Kingston and get his autograph and maybe even show him my sketchbook?”

  Nilla tapped my shoulder. “What’s an autograph?”

  I shrugged and suggested, “Maybe we can stop by the library to ask Dictionaries.”

  I was eager for a chance to present Poetry with the cheese cracker.

  As if reading my mind, Grayson asked, “What’s in that box you’ve been carrying around?”

  “Nothing,” I fibbed. “It’s just a box I made for Poetry. She…likes boxes. So I made one for her.”

  Grayson nodded. “Cheddar has a crush.”

  “What’s a crush?” Nilla asked.

  Grayson replied, “It’s when a mouse who usually only cares about cheese suddenly starts thinking about Poetry.”

  We expected General History or at least some
of his scouts to greet us outside the library. But we squeezed through the narrow passage into the basement before anyone noticed our arrival.

  Grayson remarked, “No guards on duty?”

  As before, Cookbooks’ keen nose alerted the colony to our presence. “I smell…post office mice!” she said.

  Travel rushed forward to embrace us. The tall mouse insisted on kissing us each first on one cheek and then on the other. She explained, “It’s how they greet one another ‘on the continent.’”

  Nilla was puzzled. “On the condiment?”

  “Continent,” Grayson corrected. Then he muttered, “But I still have no idea what she’s talking about.”

  Cookbooks asked, “Are you here to see Nonfiction?”

  I shrugged. “Nothing formal, just stopping by on our way home from making crafts with the children.”

  Nilla added, “Is Dictionaries around? I want to know what an autograph is, and maybe he can remind me about the difference between condiments and continents.”

  Grayson sighed. “One is stuff like ketchup and mustard, the other is a giant land mass.”

  “Oh,” Nilla said. Then she bristled, “You’d think things that are wildly different wouldn’t have names that sound so much alike!”

  While they talked, my eyes scanned the crowded basement. Where was Poetry? I didn’t want to have to ask for her—especially after Grayson’s comment about my “crush.”

  Just as I was about to give up, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around, and there she was!

  I gave Poetry the box. While I’d measured the cracker and taped the cardboard sides, I’d made up all sorts of pretty speeches. Now that the moment had finally arrived, all I said was, “Here.”

  Poetry smiled. “Should I open it now?”

  I saw Grayson and Nilla watching us.

  “No!” I exclaimed. “No need. There’s nothing in it, just a box, because I know you like them.”

  Poetry looked puzzled, but she played along. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful. It’s the perfect size for…a box. Did you make it yourself?”