How the Mouse Got Its Squeak
We are so proud of the work our student’s do! The following imaginative tale was penned by Brave Writer, Keira, during a Just So Stories class and was inspired by the great Rudyard Kipling. Enjoy!
How the Mouse Got Its Squeak
by Keira Burnet (13)
Once upon a time (just like every good story should start) in a diner where the music was fresh and the dancing was hip; in a time when your grandfather’s moves were still groovy, there lived a dashing young mouse named Charming.
Now Charming was a magnificent mouse and he knew it. He used to boast about how he had the most fabulous fluffy fur, the biggest boldest eyes, the most terrific untarnished teeth but the thing he was most proud of, was his divine deep tone. He was very fond of his velvety voice. He used to talk just for the sake of it. Just to hear himself say words like “swank,” “swarve,” “trousers,” and “tabasco.”
If you were sitting in the diner in booth number five on a flat-out Friday evening (many years ago), you may have heard a faint, yet deep rich voice coming from behind your left checkered winkle picker.
“What I am asking you to understand is quite simply simple. Your poor pitiful pathetic voice is wavering, weak and pitchy. It offends my elegant ears.”
Which was then followed by silence, as the bewildered bug had no come back.
If you were sitting on a barstool on a mellow Monday morning, sipping a marvelously massive mouthwatering malty milkshake (many years ago), you may have heard a faint, yet deep rich voice coming from behind the cold drinks counter.
“I really must concur that your fur is hardly fabulous, it is more rough like a rug. It irritates my intensely incandescent eyes and renders them dreary and daft………… Actually, just like yours!”
Which was then followed by silence, as the rueful rat had no reply.
If you were jiving by the jukebox on a swinging Saturday night (many years ago), you may have heard a faint, yet deep rich voice coming from behind the curtains, sitting on the windowsill.
“I am amazed that a cat of such vanity would have terribly tarnished teeth. They are quite conspicuously crooked and coffee stained. Your fiercely fishy breath stupefies my sensitive sniffer.
Which was not followed by silence as the cunning cat had a curt comeback. “Cool it Clyde, chill your chat. The word from the bird is that you need to cut the gas or you might lose that deep tone that you are so fond of.”
(The cunning cat just so happened to know that mice have a limited number of words to use in their life before they run out.)
But that was followed by a smart, quick-witted comment by Charming. “You’re just jealous of my beautiful glow and deep rich tone.”
“Careful Clyde, you’re cruisin’ for a bruisin’.”
Now Charming had got himself into some dangerous situations when telling animals like cockroaches to ‘take a shower’ and telling alley rats ‘I’m not afraid of you, you’re just an oversized mouse with bad breath and a temper like a Rhino’.
You would think that these incessantly insulting comments would lead to some serious consequences for Charming but with his silver tongue he smooth talked himself out of each situation.
Everyone was getting tired of Charming and his constant criticism. The lady who ran the diner owned the cool and cunning cat. He generally liked to keep to himself but with the constant complaining everyone had been doing about Charming, the cunning cat found it very hard to sleep. He thought he might fix the problem by himself; and it went a little like this:
One day Charming found himself nervously negotiating his way out of becoming the cunning cats dinner, having told the cunning cat he should brush his tarnished teeth yet again, (that is a very touchy subject for a cat). Now, this remarkably rude statement overly offended the cunning cat and he thought this was the perfect time to teach Charming a lesson.
(Do you remember that the cunning cat just so happened to know that mice have a limited number of words to use in their life before they run out?)
Charming was convincing the cunning cat that he was no good to eat. “All my fabulous fluffy fur would get lodged in your larynx. A cool and cunning cat like you is far too smart to eat a mouse of such fabulous fluffy fur.” Charming continued convincing the cunning cat.
And this cat was too smart. So the cunning cat pretended to agree with Charming. “I dig it Clyde. I’m a cool cat, I’d have to have smog in my noggin’ to eat a gas bagging fur ball like you.”
“And I must say that the best way to maintain fabulous fluffy fur is to eat copious amounts of cheese. Not the colorless cheap kind but the exquisitely expensive kind aged in ash.”
The cunning cat continued to concur and tell the mouse to tell him everything about everything.
(You must remember that the cunning cat just so happened to know that mice have a limited number of words to use in their life before they run out?)
“What’s your tale Nightingale? Lay it on me!”
Charming got very excited. He enthusiastically started speaking faster and faster and louder and louder and shriller and shriller.
“Nobody understands me, I’m just such a majestic mouse and I’m so terribly offended by utter ugliness. Take the bug in the booth for example, his poor pitiful pathetic voice is wavering, weak and pitchy, it offends my elegant ears. And the rat, oh that dreadfully dirty rat, his fur is hardly fabulous, it is more rough like a rug, it irritates my intensely incandescent eyes and renders them dreary and daft, and may I add that I am not afraid of rats, they’re just an oversized mouse with bad breath and a temper like a Rhino, and I really do think that cockroaches should bath themselves more thoroughly and SQUEAK!”
Suddenly, out of Charming came a scratchy “squeak.”
(Do you remember that the cunning cat just so happened to know that mice have a limited number of words to use in their life before they run out?)
Charming, very confused, cleared his throat.
“Har, hum.”
And tried again.
“Squeak.”
Yet again, another squeak.
“Squeak, squeak, squeak.”
And another and another until all Charming could do was squeak.
Charming was confounded; he tried to communicate with the cunning cat.
“Squeak, squeak, squeak!!!”
What in heaven’s name has happened to my velvety voice? wondered a worried Charming. And then he remembered the cunning cats comment; it was true, it had happened. Charming had run out of words.
“If I were you Clyde, I’d act like a banana and split,” chuckled the cool and cunning cat.
Charming swiftly scurried behind the counter. Without Charming’s velvety voice and silver tongue he could no longer talk himself out of sticky situations. He now had to rely on his speed and agility to get himself to that safe crevice before he got caught. Charming’s confident character was transformed to that of a quiet cautious creature.
The mouse is now a quiet timid and shy animal that always hides and they are no longer able to boast about their fabulous fluffy fur, big bold eyes, terrific untarnished teeth and divine deep tone.
The End.
