Mean Margaret

by Tor Seidler

“What about him?”

  “All gone.”

  “He went to get you some nice honey?”

  Margaret shook her head, smiling at the bedroom.

  “You mean he’s still in bed?” Phoebe said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Good girl not to cry. He needs the sleep.”

  After handing Margaret the bowl, Phoebe went to peek at her late-sleeping husband and almost fainted. The bedroom was completely full of mud.

  “What on earth?” she cried. “Where’s Fred?”

  “All gone,” Margaret said, giggling some more.

  Phoebe dug in a panic. When she unearthed Fred’s tail, her heart stopped beating for several seconds, then she burrowed even more frantically.

  Finally she was able to pull Fred out into a corner of the living room. He was caked with mud but, mercifully, still breathing.

  “Fred? Fred?”

  His eyes opened.

  “Are you all right?” Phoebe cried, cradling his filthy head in her lap. “Say something!”

  His eyes seemed to bulge. Instinctively, she sat him up and smacked him on the back. He coughed up a wad of mud.

  “Thanks,” he croaked.

  “You poor dear! What happened?”

  “I tried—” He coughed up another mud morsel. “I was trying to add on, then—a cave-in.”

  “How horrible,” she said, picking mud out of his ears. “Are any bones broken?”

  “I don’t think so,” Fred said, sitting up straighter.

  But he was very feeble, and when he saw his mud-coated fur, and the mud-filled bedroom, he passed out.

  “Margaret,” Phoebe cried. “Help me get him into the fresh air!”

  Margaret looked up from the bowl, milk drooling down her chin, and shook her head. “Too dirty,” she said.

  So Phoebe had to drag Fred outside by herself.

  Moving Day

  Instead of enlarging the burrow, Fred had managed to make it smaller. With no bedroom and Margaret hogging the living room, the only place left for the woodchucks to sleep was the kitchen.

  One night of this was enough for Phoebe. “I really think we’d better try that cave,” she said the next morning.

  There was a time when nothing could have enticed Fred away from his beloved burrow. But that was before he’d been squirted with dandelion juice, pelted with nuts, stung by bees, coated with honey, and buried alive in mud—before his beloved burrow had been converted into a dark, sticky, smelly pit of honey, berry mush, and mud.

  Margaret hadn’t budged from the burrow since the night she’d seen the giant teddy bear with the big teeth, and she screamed as violently on being pushed out as she had the first time she was pushed in. She’d gotten used to it in there. She liked lolling around and being waited on hand and foot.

  “We’re going to a nice new place, sweetie,” Phoebe assured her, setting the bowl on Fred’s head like a big cap. “It’ll be an adventure.”

  Margaret didn’t like the sound of “adventure.” She didn’t like exercise either, especially now that her weight had doubled. She walked for a little while, then got tired and crawled alongside the woodchucks, whining as she went. She finally plunked down on her tummy in the shade of a quaking aspen and fell fast asleep. Try as they might, the woodchucks couldn’t wake her, so in the end they had no choice but to carry her. By the time they dumped her at the mouth of the cave, Fred couldn’t have gone another step.

  “Hi, there!” said the squirrel, popping out.

  “Hello,” Fred said, panting.

  “So this must be your wife.”

  “Phoebe,” Phoebe said.

  “Nice to meet you, Phoebe,” said the squirrel. “Look, everybody, the human child!”

  “Remarkable,” the skunk said, stepping out. “What’s its name?”

  “Margaret,” Phoebe said proudly.

  “It looks very well fed,” the skunk remarked.

  “Doesn’t she?” Phoebe said.

  “Have you come to stay?” the squirrel asked hopefully.

  “Well, if there’s room, and you don’t mind,” Phoebe said, “we thought we might give it a try.”

  “Fine with us,” said the skunk.

  “Where’s the snake?” Fred asked.

  “Out hunting, probably,” said the squirrel. “But I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

  Fred wasn’t so sure about that, and after helping Phoebe get Margaret into the cave, he stationed himself outside to await the snake’s return. Inside, the squirrel made such a to-do that the bats woke up and started flying in crazy circles around the cave. Phoebe was enthralled. Not just by the warm reception, but by the rock walls—no more cave-ins—and all the room there was for Margaret to grow in.

  “Does she like nuts?” the squirrel asked. “I’ve got scads hidden.”

  “She didn’t when Fred tried them on her,” Phoebe said.

  “Did he shell them?”

  “Is that what you do?”

  After retrieving a nut from a hiding place in the back of the cave, the squirrel removed the shell with his magnificent front teeth and presented the inner kernel to Margaret. She made a face, touched the nut with her tongue, then stuck it in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed.

  “More!”

  “She liked it!” the squirrel said joyfully.

  “I wonder if she’d care to try some of my bugs?” the skunk said. “I have a couple of fresh crickets.”

  “That’s a very kind offer,” Phoebe said, “but I wouldn’t risk it.”

  “What’s her favorite food?” asked Mr. Bat, parking upside down on the ceiling again.

  “Raspberries!” Margaret cried, answering for herself.

  “Staggering,” said the skunk. “She even speaks our language.”

  Mr. Bat whizzed out of the cave and quickly returned with a ripe raspberry, which he dropped into Margaret’s hand like an expert bombardier. Margaret shoved it into her mouth.

  “Thank the nice bat, dear,” Phoebe said.

  “More!” Margaret cried.

  At dusk Fred spotted the snake. But instead of slithering in his usual way, he approached the cave like someone lugging heavy baggage. And, indeed, he was.

  “Are you all right, snake?” Fred asked, gaping at the huge swelling in the middle of his slender body.

  The snake gave him a drowsy smile. “Never better,” he said. “You?”

  “Well, er, I’m a little worried. You see, we had some problems at home, and we were thinking of moving in with you for a while—if you think you could stand it.”

  “Fine, fine,” the snake said, smiling away.

  The snake dragged himself into the cave, followed by a rather surprised woodchuck.

  “Excuse me, squirrel,” Fred said. “But what’s with the snake?”

  After giving Margaret another shelled nut, the squirrel looked around and saw the snake curling up in his sleeping place.

  “Looks like a bullfrog,” he said.

  “A bullfrog?”

  “His favorite food.”

  While the snake fell into a contented, digestive sleep, everyone else fussed over Margaret. Mr. and Ms. Bat flew out for berry after berry, the squirrel shelled nut after nut, and the skunk helped Fred and Phoebe collect leaves to make Margaret a comfortable bed.

  Once she’d stuffed herself, Margaret plopped into her new bed.

  “We won’t make a peep,” the squirrel promised. “Sweet dreams, Margaret.”

  Margaret grunted, then started snoring. Phoebe whispered her gratitude to the animals and, following Fred into a secluded nook of the cave, curled up next to him for the night—as close as she could get without mussing his fur.

  Cave Life

  Fred was back in his old burrow, sweeping. There wasn’t a trace of mud anywhere. Everything was just so, as neat and tidy as when he and Phoebe first got married. And there was Phoebe, dusting with a cattail . . .

  Margaret’s snoring burst the delicate bubble of the dream. Blinking, Fred saw bats hanging upsid
e down overhead, smelled the musky odor of skunk. He shut his eyes tight, trying to float back into the dream world. But morning light was already seeping into the cave, and before long Margaret was yelling:

  “Food!”

  Fred dragged himself out of the cave and shuffled off around the base of the hill. When he neared the bee tree, he saw that he would have to wait his turn. The bear was feasting today. So it was a good while before he got back to the cave, honeycomb in his paws, sting on his snout.

  “Here you go, Margaret,” he said, holding out the gummy thing.

  But for a change Margaret didn’t snatch it. “Full,” she said.

  “Isn’t it a miracle, sweetheart?” Phoebe whispered. “Everybody pitches in.”

  It seemed the bats and the squirrel had already supplied Margaret with a sumptuous breakfast of berries and nuts. Fred set the honeycomb on a shelf of stone for Margaret’s lunch.

  While he went off to the stream to clean his paws, Margaret hunkered down for her after-breakfast nap. She was glad they’d moved to this cave. When it had gotten chilly in the middle of the night, she’d just shouted, “More leaves!” and the bats, who didn’t seem to mind the dark, had flown out and fetched her some. Now she had more than just two woodchucks to boss around: she had a pair of bats as well, and a squirrel, and a skunk.

  Margaret spent her days eating and napping, never budging from the cave, and the animals fell into a routine that revolved around her wants. Only one creature refused to wait on her.

  “Nasty snake,” Margaret said one morning. “No arms or legs.”

  “Shh,” said Phoebe. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”

  “He won’t get berries!”

  “Oh, are you hungry? Why didn’t you say so, dear?”

  Even though it was raining, Phoebe went out to find the child some berries.

  It rained for several days in a row. One soggy afternoon the squirrel came back to the cave soaked to the bone.

  “You look like a rat,” the snake remarked as the squirrel emptied his cheeks of nuts.

  “Do I?” the squirrel said cheerfully. “Guess what I saw on the other side of the hill.”

  “What?”

  “A bunch of woodchucks wandering around in the rain.”

  “What did they look like?” Phoebe asked.

  “A grown-up female and three kids—two still pretty small.”

  “Oh, Fred, it sounds like Babette. We better go see what’s wrong.”

  “If it’s Babette, I’m sure it’s just a lark,” said Fred, who had no intention of getting drenched.

  But when Phoebe rushed out, he naturally followed.

  They found the four woodchucks huddled under a holly bush. It took a moment to recognize Babette. She wasn’t her usual glamorous self at all.

  “Phoebe, thank goodness!” said the bedraggled woodchuck. “I went by your burrow and found a horrid old badger squatting there.”

  While Phoebe hugged the moist children, Fred stared numbly at the driving rain. Now, on top of everything else, his once lovely home had been taken over by a badger.

  “I’ve been meaning to drop by to tell you we moved,” Phoebe said, “but I’ve had my paws full. What are you doing out in this weather?”

  “We woke up all wet, Aunt Phoebe!” Matt chirped. “It was cool!”

  “The stream rose and flooded us out,” Babette moaned. “We’re homeless!”

  “Don’t be silly,” Phoebe said, scooping up the two little ones. “Just follow us.”

  Oh, lord, thought Fred.

  When they arrived back at the cave, the snake hissed out a laugh. “You look like a herd of possums,” he said.

  While Fred indignantly shook himself dry, Margaret scowled at the newcomers. “Who?” she said, pointing.

  “It’s not nice to point, dear,” Phoebe said. “This is my sister, Babette, and these are her children—your cousins.”

  “No!”

  “Well, not by blood, of course. But in a way Fred and I are your parents, and these are my niece and nephews.”

  “No room!” Margaret declared.

  “No room, dear? What do you mean?”

  “No room!”

  For once, Fred agreed with the child.

  “You mustn’t say that, Margaret,” Phoebe said. “Would the rest of you mind if they stayed for a while? Their burrow got flooded.”

  Except for the snake, who said nothing, the animals were all very cordial. The three little ones were exhausted and went right to sleep in a corner of the cave.

  Babette took this opportunity to fix her fur. “Hiya,” she said, noticing the coiled-up snake.

  The snake grunted.

  “What are you doing?” Babette asked.

  “Trying to relax.”

  The snake coiled himself up the other way, so his head faced away from her—leaving Babette totally bewildered. In her whole life no one had ever reacted to her like this.

  She was still in a state of confusion when the children woke from their naps and started running wild around the cave. The squirrel was out, the skunk had kindly gone with Phoebe to help carry back the bowl of goat’s milk, and the bats were trying to doze, so it fell to poor Fred to try to get the brats under control.

  Margaret, of all creatures, rescued him from his babysitting. She lunged at one of the smaller woodchucks, and when the tiny thing curled up in self-defense, she picked it up and bounced it off the wall like a furry little handball.

  “Fun!” she cried.

  She used all three of the youngsters for her game. They didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as she did. One by one, they stumbled back to their corner and fell in a dazed heap. Fred almost felt like thanking the child.

  The handball game was the most activity Margaret had had since the move to the cave, and that evening she passed out early. The handballs themselves were pretty worn out, too. While Phoebe and the skunk helped Babette put them to bed, the squirrel laid out a cold buffet supper for the rest of them.

  Babette was so fascinated by the snake she hardly touched a bite. “Have you always lived around here?” she asked, toying with her clover.

  The snake, who’d just swallowed a partridge egg, couldn’t have answered even if he’d wanted to.

  “I think he told me he was born in the compost heap on the pig farm,” the squirrel said, answering for him.

  “Really?” said Babette. “How interesting!”

  “Are you woodchucks all from around here?” the skunk asked.

  “Fred’s family goes back generations in this area,” Phoebe said. “Doesn’t it, dear?”

  “We were here before the greenhouse went up,” Fred said rather proudly.

  “Remarkable,” said the skunk. “I don’t even know who my grandparents were.”

  “I hardly even knew my mother,” the squirrel said.

  “Why not?” Phoebe asked.

  “She took off with a flying squirrel right after I was born.”

  “Good gracious.”

  The snake swallowed impatiently, getting the egg far enough down his gullet so he could speak. “That’s nothing,” he said hoarsely. “My mother got carried off by a chicken hawk and lived to tell the tale.”

  “How’d she escape?” Babette asked, wide-eyed.

  “Nipped the silly bird on the leg and it dropped her. Landed smack in a cow pat. Smelly, but soft.”

  “Is she still alive?” Phoebe asked.

  “Who knows?” said the snake with a shoulderless shrug. “I don’t keep up with family much.”

  “Phoebe was saying her mother’s buried right up the hill,” the skunk said. “By a spring.”

  “I bet that’s where we catch mosquitoes,” Ms. Bat squeaked from above.

  The creatures talked late into the night, till everyone but the bats started to yawn. When Fred and Phoebe crawled into their nook, she whispered, “It’s friendly here, isn’t it, dear?”

  Fred, of course, would have much preferred to be back in their burrow—at least as
it had been in the pre-Margaret days. But the darkness hid the cave’s messiness, and just now, with Margaret dead to the world, he was willing to admit that things could have been worse.

  Fun

  When everyone was in bed, the squirrel wished them all good night and sweet dreams, but he was far too worked up to fall asleep right away. He’d always longed to be part of a real family, and now that the woodchucks and their assorted children had moved into the cave, it seemed to him they were actually becoming one.

  Since it was nearly dawn before he dozed off, he slept in the next morning. He was dreaming about being a flying squirrel when something stung the side of his head.

  “Ouch!” he cried, sitting up.

  It was quite late and most of the animals had left the cave. Matt and the skunk had gone berry-picking with Phoebe, and the snake had gone hunting, with Babette trailing after him. Fred, stuck babysitting again, had been doing his best to keep himself between Margaret and the twins. So Margaret had started chucking nutshells at the sleeping squirrel.

  “Margaret!” Fred said sharply.

  She just giggled, pleased with her accuracy, and chucked another shell at the squirrel. This was almost as good as playing handball with the little fur balls.

  “That’s mean, Margaret,” said Fred. “Stop it.”

  “Fun!” she retorted.

  The cave acted as an echo chamber, and later on, when the twins started crying, Margaret booted them out. Once more Fred almost felt like thanking her, but he knew Phoebe would never speak to him again if he didn’t watch the babies, so he followed them outside. Margaret took this opportunity to start slinging nutshells at the ceiling.

  Soon the snoozing Mr. Bat woke with a squeal of pain that sent Margaret into peals of laughter.

  “What’s going on?” Mr. Bat asked.

  In reply Margaret pegged some nutshells at his wife, who soon had a rude awakening, too.

  “Ow!”

  This was the best game yet.

  Later that day, when all the animals were back, Fred organized a cleaning detail. If he was going to be stuck babysitting in this miserable hole in a hillside, it could at least be less of a mess. He didn’t bother the snake, who was shedding his skin in the back of the cave, or Babette, who seemed transfixed by that enterprise. But it hadn’t escaped Fred’s notice that the squirrel’s and the skunk’s fluffy tails might have been specially made for dusting and sweeping, and while he did his best to tidy things up, he encouraged them to put their tails to use.