Showdown in Crittertown (4 page)

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.

When Grayson woke from his morning nap he asked, “What's all this?”

He looked at the letters. “At this rate, you'll never have enough to send to every nest in town.” Then he grinned slyly. “But there is a way!”

Grayson's ideas scare me. I still shudder when I recall the time I helped him trip a trap. So with a dry mouth and a nervous stomach I asked, “What do you mean?”

“The copy machine!” Grayson squeaked. “I've seen Mike use it lots of times. You put what you want to copy on the glass, type a number, then push ‘copy.'”

I said, “We'll have to wait until Mike goes to lunch.”

“Of course,” Grayson agreed.

I taped twelve of the neatest invitations to a piece of paper to make one sheet as big as the glass plate. As soon as Mike left, Grayson and I slipped this page under the post office's back door.

Mike had turned off the radio. The office was very quiet as we crawled toward the copy machine. It took two of us to lift the lid. Grayson grunted, “Put it facedown on the glass.”

I looked from him to the paper and grunted back, “With what?” I thought of Nilla napping in her nest. We should have woken her. Clearly this was a three-mouse job!

But Grayson doesn't give up. He stretched a foot toward the page. I stretched out a foot also. Between the two of us, we managed to turn the sheet over and center it on the glass.

My paws ached from holding the lid over our heads. It reminded me of a trap! I dreaded getting squashed under it and being photographed dozens of times while the life leaked out of me.

As soon as we released the lid, it fell with an awful bang. We froze, but no one heard the noise.

Grayson tapped the “copy” key. Nothing happened.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

Grayson shrugged. “I don't know!” He jumped on the key with both feet. Suddenly, we heard the familiar whirr and saw the bright light flash under the glass.

“Cover your eyes!” I squeaked, putting my paws over my face. I peeked through my fingers and saw Grayson staring into the light.

“We did it!” he exclaimed as a sheet of paper oozed onto the tray. “Now for twenty more!” Grayson tapped the number keys. “Do you think twenty is enough?”

Nilla would've tried to do the math: twelve invitations on each page times twenty copies. Instead, I looked at the stack and said, “Let's get these on their way. We can always make more.”

We were halfway to the door when I shouted, “The original is still on the glass!” We scrambled back to retrieve it. With my heart pounding with panic, I wondered what Mike would think if he found our invitations.

Back in the basement, the Critter Post recruits helped Grayson, Nilla, and me chew the big pages into single invitations. Then we rolled up each one with string to tie around a mail carrier's neck.

Nilla scolded. “I can't believe you didn't wake me!”

Grayson shrugged. “What's that human expression—‘you snooze, you lose'?”

Nilla got so mad that she chewed right into an invitation. Grayson laughed.

All the Critter Post carriers were eager to help with this special delivery. Birds, chipmunks, and squirrels spread the word around town so fast that I could hardly believe it!

Before the school day was over, pinecones and other craft supplies started pouring in. Birds brought old feathers, certain that “the children can think of a use for them.”

Some generous squirrels even parted with acorns. Not Rusty, of course. He still thought the whole campaign was “pure foolishness.”

I couldn't wait to share the good news with the kids. But Buttercup was late!

Grayson grumbled, “Where is that silly dog?”

“I see him!” Nilla squeaked.

“What's that behind him?” Grayson asked.

The Lab pulled something large and red. Grayson and I recognized it at the same time. We squeaked in unison, “A wagon!”

Buttercup tugged the wagon's handle and stumbled around its bulk.

I said, “No wonder he's late.”

Buttercup dropped the handle long enough to bark, “Sorry I'm late.” Then he bumbled toward us again. When he reached the post office, Buttercup explained, “Chitchat told me about all the supplies. So I figured I better bring the wagon.” Then he added, “The children make it look easy to pull. But it's hard!”

By the time the wagon was loaded, we were so late that Jill and Bill came to us.

“There you are!” Bill exclaimed.

Jill added, “We were starting to worry!”

Then they saw the wagon heaped with pinecones, balsam boughs, acorns, and more. With the twins' help, we soon reached April's garage.

The kids were amazed at all the supplies the Crittertown critters had already gathered. Tanya declared, “This is going to be awesome!”

Everyone started working right away. The kids quickly learned that Magazines was right. Not to brag, but having mouse helpers makes crafts go much quicker.

Tiny paws easily arrange balsam branches to form wreaths. And we're good at turning Popsicle sticks and other craft supplies into Christmas ornaments.

Jane said, “It's too bad you can't be with us in art class.”

Hannah agreed. “I think Mrs. Brann would like you.”

Grayson hesitated. But I shook my head and wrote, “Too risky.” Then I added, “Remember when Principal Clark called the exterminator?” I also remembered him calling me “vermin.”

April sighed. “It's too bad grown-ups can't know you the way we do.”

Javier added, “Just imagine if people and mice all over the world started working together. Think of the things we could build! I bet you guys would be great at making computers, with all those tiny circuits and switches…” His voice trailed off, and he started sketching.

“He's off again,” Bill observed. “On another one of his nutty ideas.”

I wondered, was it nutty? Besides, what's wrong with nutty? I love nuts, especially roasted acorns! Think of all the lives that could be saved if people stopped hating mice. Instead of building traps, we could build things together. Maybe even spaceships like the one that went to the moon. I know it isn't really made of cheese, but…what a vision!

We worked until April's mother said it was time to go home. The children were very proud of all the things they made in just one afternoon.

Tanya declared, “This is going to be the best crafts sale ever!” and everyone cheered.

Chapter 5  
A Dark Rumor

That night Grayson, Nilla, and I felt too excited to stay in the basement. Grayson begged his grandfather to let us make a quick Dumpster run.

Brownback agreed. “As long as the Postmouseter goes along to keep you from turning this ‘quick run' into a grand tour.”

We weren't even halfway to the big, blue metal container when we heard someone chattering in the tree overhanging the parking lot. Chitchat had “big news!”

Grayson was skeptical. “That gossip thought it was ‘big news' when Mike got a new car.”

I thought the postmaster's car was big news, too. But I didn't feel like arguing with Grayson. Luckily, I didn't have to because Nilla piped up. “Let's at least hear him out.”

Without waiting for Grayson's reply, she rushed off to meet Chitchat. Grayson and I followed.

Grayson said, “So what's your ‘big news'?”

Chitchat glared at him. “Well if you're going to take that tone…”

Nilla smiled. “Don't mind him, Chitchat. I'm dying to know, and so is Cheddar.”

Chitchat scrambled down from the tree so he could stand close to us. He looked over both shoulders before he began. “I just heard this from old Rusty, who lives in the woods behind the library.”

Grayson groaned. “Oh, that old crank.” Grayson was still sore from the scolding Rusty gave us the first day we visited the library. We took some acorns from the old squirrel's pantry, and he called us a bunch of nasty names.

Chitchat frowned. “Rusty may be cranky, but he's no fool. He overheard a meeting of some of the younger members of the library colony. It seems they'd been gathering under his tree for a while, and this morning Rusty heard them talking about war.”

Grayson suddenly snapped to attention. “War with whom?”

Chitchat smirked. “Wouldn't you like to know!”

For a moment, I feared Grayson might be foolish enough to try to fight a squirrel. But with great effort, he calmed himself enough to say, “I'm sorry I doubted you, Chitchat. This is vital news, and we appreciate your bringing it to us.”

Chitchat barely waited for Grayson to finish his apology before he gushed, “With you! With the post office colony! The library's gotten quite crowded, and General History thinks the post office would make a ‘more secure headquarters.'”

Grayson said, “The library was awfully crowded last night. But how could General History think that we'd just let them take our territory?”

I looked over at Nilla. She seemed greener than the time we ate some spoiled sardines. “What's wrong?” I asked.

She shook her head. Her eyes filled with tears.