“That’s wicked decent of you,” I said. “Thanks a lot, Chitchat!”
The squirrel hurried away. His bushy tail soon disappeared between the bare twigs. The cold, quiet night surrounded us. Stars twinkled in the big, black sky. The moon looked like a pale sliver of cheese. But, for once, I didn’t want to think about cheese.
A few dim lights shone on the school. I shuddered. Would the humans really close it? What if the kids started staying after school in Lakeville? Would they forget about us and the Critter Post?
Buttercup’s bark stopped my brooding. “All aboard for the library!” he said, adding, “It’s about time I gave Dot a good teasing.”
“She deserves it!” Nilla agreed.
Nilla had never gotten over our brief contact with the library’s cat. The library colony was used to Dot’s evening friskies, but we had never seen a cat close-up before. Those huge claws, sharp fangs, awful pounces, and the mocking laughter of her hunting chatter still haunted our nightmares.
Buttercup laughed. “I like to see Dot’s tail fuzz up when I bark.”
I shuddered. Everything about that cat terrified me, especially her eyes. It was nice to think our dog pal was big enough to tease Dot.
We clung to Buttercup’s collar as he trotted from the school to the library. We usually made this journey during the day to be with the children. In the dark everything seemed different.
The streets were so quiet! No cars, no dog walkers—just the soft pad of Buttercup’s paws. Then he paused to sniff the air.
“We’re not alone,” he barked softly.
“No you aren’t, house dog!” howled a coyote emerging from behind a bush.
“Looky here!” another coyote bayed.
Other howls answered those. Grayson, Nilla, and I strained our eyes trying to spot the whole pack. My friends pressed closer to me, and we all tightened our grip on Buttercup’s collar.
“Why are you carrying those snacks on your back?” the lead coyote asked.
“They’re not snacks,” Buttercup growled. “These are very important mice. They are the three who saved the post office.”
The coyotes laughed cruelly. “What’s the post office?” one howled.
“Who cares?” the leader replied as his pack circled Buttercup.
“Can you eat it?” another wondered.
I had never been so near a coyote before. From a distance, they looked like skinny dogs with scraggly fur. As they came closer, the coyotes seemed more like tall foxes than dogs. Or maybe that was just the cold menace in their eyes.
Buttercup opened his big mouth and barked as loud as he could. “Bow wow wow, woof, woof, WOOF!”
Dogs in nearby houses started barking, too. Lights turned on. Human voices asked things like, “What is it, boy?” and “Something out there?”
The coyote leader howled, “Let’s go!” and his pack mates howled their answers. They knew a barking dog would bring humans with guns. So off they loped.
Nilla exhaled. “Whew! That was scary!”
Suddenly realizing I’d been holding my breath, I exhaled too.
Grayson bragged, “Buttercup could’ve taken them! He just didn’t want to get in trouble, right, Buttercup?”
The Lab said, “Not smart to take on a whole pack. One coyote, sure, but they rarely travel alone.”
“You did the right thing.” I patted one of his soft ears. “The Critter Post can’t afford to lose you. And if you got hurt, you’d have to go to the vet.”
Buttercup hated the animal doctor as much as he despised skunks. He chuckled to himself, recalling, “The last time I was at the vet’s I teased a cat. You should’ve seen how fat her tail fuzzed when I barked!”
Nilla stared into the dark night and said, “Let’s not talk about cats, okay?”
“Okay,” Buttercup agreed. Then he stopped suddenly.
Grayson asked, “What is it?”
Buttercup tilted his head, listening. Then we heard it, too. A rustling, rattling sound near some garbage cans in front of the next house.
Nilla grabbed one of my paws and squeezed it hard. I knew what she was thinking. Stray cats like garbage cans.
I opened my mouth to remind her that Buttercup could protect us. But the dog spoke first. “Raccoon,” he said, just as the black-masked critter trotted into view.
The raccoon kept his distance as his bright eyes stared at us with amusement. “Why carry someone on your back?”
Buttercup said, “These mice are my friends.”
The raccoon laughed. “My friend is any garbage can with a loose lid, or an apple tree that’s heavy with fruit.” Then he waddled away, chuckling to himself. “Stupid dog! Wouldn’t catch me carrying anything but my own supper.”
My body sagged with sadness.
Nilla felt my shoulders droop. “What’s wrong?”
I sighed. “Not every critter has Critter Post potential. Some don’t get the idea of working together or caring about anything beyond themselves.”
Grayson said, “We don’t need a bunch of flea-bitten raccoons or trashy street gangs with fangs.”
Buttercup agreed. “Even cats have more Critter Post potential than coyotes.”
Nilla shuddered. “Let’s stick to squirrels, chipmunks, dogs, and birds.”
Buttercup took a few steps and then froze again. We didn’t have time to ask why. We didn’t need to. Six deer leaped off the nearest yard onto the pavement.
Ever seen a deer up close? They’re big, tawny animals with long, skinny legs and dark, wide eyes. Why are they so beautiful? You just want to stare at them and wish they would stay, like a rainbow.
That night we weren’t the only ones staring. The deer stared at us and Buttercup. They made soft sounds among themselves. I saw the traces of spots on the smallest four. I figured they must be fawns, and the other two their mothers.
The largest doe spoke. “Are you the noisy dog named Buttercup?”
“Yes,” the Lab replied in a gentle whisper, trying not to spook them.
The doe went on. “Are these the mice who saved the post office?”
Grayson stood up and bowed. “We are.”
Both does bowed gracefully. The fawns fumbled to imitate their mothers.
The doe said, “We are grateful. We don’t like all people, but some feed us, some grow apples. Some bring a swift death to the weary. And the cleared roads make winter travel easier. So we are glad when this town prospers.”
The deer bounded off as suddenly as they appeared, flashing their white tails. I thought, “No wonder Santa Claus uses deer to pull his sleigh. What could be more magical?”
Nilla felt the same way, because she squeaked, “That was… cheesetastic!”
I gasped. “I had no idea that even the deer had heard of us.”
Nilla teased me, “You’re famous now, Mr. Postmouseter.”
Fame meant nothing to me. But the enchanted encounter gave me hope for our cause.
Chapter 3 Putting the Fun in Fundraising
As Buttercup trotted across the library’s parking lot, we heard chattering in the trees. Chitchat was telling Rusty about the town council meeting.
The grumpy red squirrel groused, “I don’t give a pinecone whether Crittertown has its own elementary school or not!”
Grayson chuckled. “Rusty only cares about his precious acorns.”
A voice came out of the darkness. “That’s because he’s an old fool.”
General History and two of his scouts stood between Buttercup and the entrance to the library’s basement. General History went on. “The school has strategic value for humans and critters alike.”
“What’s strategic?” Nilla asked.
General History replied, “Strategy is planning for wars and other things.”
“Oh.” I could tell Nilla was about to ask another question. But General History went on. “I’m sure my grandfather will want to talk with you.” A smile flickered across his serious face. “And my sister will be glad to see yo
u, too.”
As Buttercup lowered himself to the pavement, Grayson and I smoothed our fur. Grayson squeaked, “Cheddar, you can tell Nonfiction about the meeting while I visit Poetry.”
I squeaked, “You can read my notes as well as I can.”
Nilla sighed. “Fight over Miss Pretty Paws later. We have a school to save!”
Meanwhile, Buttercup sneaked up to the library’s front window.
“What’s he doing?” I wondered.
Grayson said, “Let’s find out!”
We scurried up the drainpipe to peep in the window. Dot napped on the checkout desk. The orange and black spots on her white fur rose and fell with each breath. At least her horrible amber eyes were safely closed.
Buttercup took a deep breath. We all knew what that meant. Nilla tapped his paw and begged, “Please don’t wake her! I can’t go inside if that nightmare is awake.”
The big dog let out his breath slowly and then sighed. “I guess I can wait until after you leave.”
“Could you?” Nilla scrambled up his paw to kiss Buttercup’s ear. “You’re the best dog in the world!”
Buttercup wagged his tail so hard that his butt wagged, too, and we all laughed.
“I’ll be back to pick you up—and scare the fuzz into Dot’s tail—when the moon is high,” the dog promised.
Then we followed General History and his scouts into the library basement.
As soon as we cleared the narrow passage, we all noticed the change.
Nilla whispered, “It’s so crowded!”
I stared at a sea of eager eyes and twitching whiskers. I recognized lots of the library colony mice. But there were also many new faces among those squeaking, “It’s them!” “It’s the three!” “That’s the Postmouseter!”
Several young mice stepped forward to introduce themselves. One squeaked loudly and clearly, “I’m Public Speaking. I work with Self Help.”
The others also had “subtopic” names, like “Quilts,” who was part of the Hobbies group; “International Cookbooks;” and “Computer Games.”
I spotted Poetry near Nonfiction, her grandfather. She waved. But since Grayson stood next to me, I couldn’t be sure if her smile was meant for him or me.
Nonfiction asked, “What did you learn at the meeting?”
I handed him my notes. The old mouse read them quickly. “Very thorough.” Then he added, “Neat paw-writing.”
I blushed at the compliment.
Nonfiction went on. “Is it certain the school will be closed?”
My blush deepened. Before I could describe my ill-fated cheese run, Grayson said, “It seemed so by the time the people left.”
Nonfiction nodded. “Well, minds can be changed. Ways can be found.”
Economics squeaked, “Fundraising is a popular topic.”
Nilla nudged me. I shrugged.
Dictionaries explained, “Raising funds is gathering money for a charity or a cause.”
Nilla squeaked, “That’s what we need to do!”
The old mouse known as Local History spoke slowly. “Crittertown has hosted many fundraisers. The library, the Historical Society, the Fire Department…”
Nilla interrupted. “That’s great. How do they do it?”
Local History droned on. “The library sells used books. The Historical Society has ‘wine and cheese socials,’ inviting wealthy citizens to donate money. The Fire Department holds bean suppers, bake sales, and crafts fairs.”
At the phrase cheese socials, my mind wandered to a pretty paradise where giant cheese wedges introduced themselves. “Hello, my name is Gorgonzola, and this is my wife, Mozzarella…”
Nilla’s squeak ended my fantasy. “Crafts. Isn’t that the second half of ‘arts and crafts’?”
Nonfiction replied, “Yes, it is.”
I squeaked, “The children do both!”
Nilla added, “They could sell their creations!”
Economics looked skeptical. “They’d have to sell an awful lot of arts and crafts to raise enough money for all those repairs.”
A happy thought stirred in me. The children would not have to work alone. I said, “Maybe they can—if all the kindly critters in Crittertown help!”
Nonfiction patted my shoulder. “You can count on the library colony.”
Every mouse started squeaking ideas for crafts.
Cookbooks suggested, “The children can sell baked goods. Everyone loves homemade cookies!”
Magazines added, “The Christmas season’s on the way. They can make ornaments and wreaths. People spend tons of money decorating their nests.”
General History jumped in. “We can gather pinecones and balsam branches for wreaths.” He turned to his scouts. “We’ll send patrols into the woods and set up relay stations for bringing the supplies back to base.”
Magazines said, “We can help make things, too—bend wires, hold things in place while glue dries, and that sort of thing.”
At the height of the excitement, Cookbooks squeaked, “Shh! I smell ca…”
Before she could finish that dreaded word, Dot jumped into the center of the gathering. Panicked mice scattered in all directions.
“This way!” General History shouted.
Grayson, Nilla, and I followed him into a narrow alley between piles of old books. Nilla’s eyes were black pits of panic. Her chest heaved as she slunk deeper into the shadows.
I peered over General History’s shoulder to watch the last of the colony mice scramble for shelter. Poor Cookbooks! Her nose might be quick, but her chubby legs were slow.
She ran toward an old filing cabinet, and a huge white paw blocked her way! Dot’s amber eyes glowed like twin flames branding my soul with fear.
Cookbooks turned toward a bag labeled “book sale.” As she took off, the cat raised her other paw—to strike or just to tease? We’ll never know, because just then, the basement echoed with a loud “Woof! Woof! WOOF!”
Dot’s tail instantly fluffed to triple its normal width. I’d never seen anything like it! The cat raced upstairs in a blur of fur.
Cookbooks sighed. “That was a close call!”
Nilla chuckled. “Three cheers for Buttercup!”
“Hip, hip, hooray!” the library mice cheered.
Grayson turned to Nonfiction. “Thank you for your help.”
I took a last, wistful look at Poetry and then squeaked, “That’s our ride. Good-bye for now.”
She said, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.”
Nilla groaned. “What does that mean?”
I smiled. “I have no idea, but I’m sure it’s poetry.”
Chapter 4 Many Paws Make Light Work
As soon as we climbed onto Buttercup’s neck, Nilla patted his ear and squeaked, “You were great!”
Grayson asked, “Why do cat’s tails fuzz up like that?”
Buttercup laughed. “It’s supposed to make them look bigger and scarier.”
Nilla shuddered. “As if cats need to look scarier.”
I changed the subject to happier thoughts. “The library colony sure had lots of good ideas!” I was eager to get somewhere less bouncy to write them all down.
Buttercup had some ideas, too. “The kids can sell doggie gift baskets and treats! One of the guests gave me a basket once. Mrs. Hill thought it was ‘a complete waste of money.’ But it was super!”
He barked on. “How about fancy bird feeders? People buy lots of bird feeders. I love to watch the chickadees. Can you imagine hanging upside down to eat?”
Grayson chuckled. “You’d break the branch if you tried to eat in a tree.”
Nilla squeaked, “Suet is yummy! Seeds are good, too.”
I concluded, “But nothing beats cheese!”
The next morning, as always, Chitchat stopped by the post office on his way to school. Instead of my usual short note for the kids, I gave him a long scroll.
Chitchat teased, “What’s this? The complete memoirs of a mouse?”
I gave him two ac
orns. “An extra nut for the added weight.”
But I knew what the nosy squirrel really wanted. So I told him, “It’s a list of fundraising ideas.”
I started to tie the scroll around his neck. But Chitchat said, “Read it to me first.”
I sighed. Human postal carriers are paid money to deliver mail. The Critter Post pays Chitchat in acorns—and gossip.
After he heard the list, Chitchat said, “Get your pencil! You need to add squirrel feeders, peanut butter pinecones, and garden gnomes.”
While I wrote, Chitchat asked, “Did I ever tell you about the time I escaped from a cat by posing like a garden gnome?”
“Only a few times. Why don’t you tell me again after you deliver this list to the kids?”
I wish I could’ve been there when the third graders read my letter. Instead, Chitchat scurried back to tell me later that morning. The squirrel gushed, “The kids were so excited that they didn’t notice Mrs. Olson come into the room. So she took your letter right out of Tanya’s hands!”
“Oh no!” I squeaked.
Chitchat laughed. “Oh yes! She’d never seen anything like your tiny paw-writing. But then she read it and asked the kids, ‘May I show this list to Principal Clark and Mrs. Brann? I think an arts and crafts sale is a great idea!’”
I asked, “What’d the kids say?”
“They said, ‘Sure!’” Chitchat replied. “They were so relieved she hadn’t focused on the mystery of the tiny writing.”
I was, too!
Chitchat added, “Then Mrs. Olson went to Mr. Clark’s office to ‘make this thing happen in a big way!’”
I decided to do the same thing. I wrote a letter inviting “all kindly critters” to help with the fair. The trouble, though, was figuring out how to make enough copies.
Just then Charlton, one of the Critter Post recruits, came up to me and asked, “What’re you doing?”
The recruits were too young to make deliveries, so they spent their time learning street names as well as odd and even numbers, and practicing their writing. I grinned and said, “Charlie, I hope your recruits are ready to get busy!”
Soon, even the youngest were copying the invitation. Some of their letters looked more like scribbles than words. But I praised them for their efforts and hid the sloppy ones under my nest.
Showdown in Crittertown Page 2
