How to Save Your Tail (5 page)

“Why did your aunt stay?”

“Just too mousy, I guess,” said Bob.

“Did she stay forever?” asked Muffin.

“No,” said Bob. “You see, there was this fairy—but that’s another story.”

“Oh, we
have
to hear this one,” said Muffin. “I love fairies!”

“Another time, another place,” said Brutus. “Like in a half hour or so, from inside my stomach.” He squirted mustard on the rat’s head. “Come on, Mack, time to go … and I mean
go
! Pass the ketchup, Muffin.”

Bob shook the mustard off his head. No point in looking
too
delicious.

“Oh, Brutus …”

“Don’t even start, Muffin,” said Brutus. “The only subject I’m interested in is eating small, pointy-nosed mammals.”

“Well, you know, sir,” offered the rat, “that actually happens in this tale.”

“What?” asked Brutus.

“Small, pointy-nosed mammals,” said Bob. “Eaten with relish. Devoured for dinner. Enjoyed a great deal, I imagine.”

“See?” said Muffin. “It’ll be great … and tasty … and icky … and …”

“Oh, all right,” said Brutus. “But this is the last, and I mean
last
story.”

So Bob wiped a mustard smudge from his nose, and the cats settled down to hear all about Griselda and the fairy she met in the woods.

A
nyone who knows her will tell you that my aunt Griselda has always had a heart of gold, snow white fur, and the brightest, beadiest eyes anywhere. They’ll also tell you that it was a wretched twist of fate when hard times forced her to share a cottage with two shrews.

The shrews happened to be her evil
stepmother and stepsister. They poked Griselda with their sharp claws and made her do all the work.

One day, the shrewmother sent my aunt into the woods to gather berries.

“And mind,” said the shrewsister, twisting Griselda’s tail, “that they are plump and juicy.”

It was early winter, and Griselda had to search a long time to find any berries at all—plump or not. When at last her basket was full, the poor thing was pinched with hunger. She feared her shrewmother would feed her to a fox if she ate any berries, so she pushed on until she came to a well, where she could at least have a sip of water.

As she drew water from the well, a scraggly old mouse crept into view.

“Madam Whiskers,” said Griselda. “You are looking poorly. May I help you to a drink?”

The old mouse hobbled closer. She was frightfully pale.

“Or perhaps a berry will put the roses back in your cheeks.” Griselda held out the basket.
Surely the shrews will not miss just one small berry
, she thought.

But the mouse, who was really a wood fairy, drank every drop of water and gobbled
every
berry. When she was refreshed, she spoke to the little rat.

“You are a dear soul,” said the Fairy. “And now, in return for your kindness, I have a gift:

“Thank you, ma’am, but you needn’t—” said Griselda, and as she spoke, three diamonds, two pearls, and one ruby fell from her mouth and into her basket. “That’s odd,” she said, and out popped two emeralds.

When Griselda arrived home, her shrewmother flew at her in a fury for being just three minutes late. “Give me the berries!” snarled the shrewsister, and she grabbed the basket. The gems tumbled to the floor. Then, as Griselda told them about the raggedy old mouse, twenty-nine sapphires slipped from her lips.

In a twitch, the shrewmother ordered her own daughter into the woods. “Remember to butter up that old mouse,” she said, “and I mean tail to whisker.”

“I will be as sweet as tree sap,” said the shrewsister, “and get all I deserve.”

Now, fairies are notorious changelings, and
the Wood Fairy, it so happened, changed herself that very day. When the shrewsister reached the well, she saw nothing but a cricket.

“Pity me, miss. I am so thirsty. Will you help me to a wee sip of water?”

“Get it yourself, bug-face,” sniped the shrewsister. And she flicked the cricket into the well.

The Fairy, however, was an excellent flyer and landed neatly in the bucket.

When the shrewsister raised the bucket and tipped it to drink, she came nose to nose with the wet cricket.

“Such manners must be repaid,” sputtered the cricket. “And I have the perfect reward.”

The shrewsister guessed at once that the cricket was, in fact, the Wood Fairy. She curtsied and whined and offered to dry the dear thing’s wings.

“Silence!” said the Fairy.

The shrewsister shut her mouth, squeezed her eyes closed, and waited for her reward.

Then, drenched in well water and shivering in the chill of twilight, the Fairy intoned her magic words:

“For all the care

you share with others;

Take my gift—

to share with your mother.”

Though the shrewsister had no idea what any of this meant, she was well pleased. Without bothering to say “Thank you,” she hurried home to find her mother pacing at the door.

“It’s about time,” said the old shrew. “What happened?”

“Oh, don’t get your fuzz in a bunch,” snipped the daughter. And with that, five frogs and three toads
hopped from her mouth. “Ewwwwww!” she squealed, and out slid a snake that swallowed both shrews whole.

With no one left to order her around, Griselda moved into town, opened a jewelry store, and lived happily ever after.

Cookie Break

“O
h come on,” said Brutus. “I never met a mouse who could make diamonds come out of my mouth.”

“That’s because the minute you meet them you eat them,” said Muffin.

“Whatever,” said Brutus. “Does Griselda sell cat collars with rubies?”

“Yes,” said Bob, “and bracelets and earrings and tiaras. Everyone shops there. Even the Prince went to her for an engagement ring—but that’s another story.”

“You mean
our
Queen’s son? The one who used to live in this very castle?” asked Muffin. “Prince
Charming
?”

“That kid is nuts!” said Brutus. “Remember when he used to pretend he was a horse and trotted around all day going
klop klop klop
?”

“Yes,” said Muffin. “And sometimes, when he thought no one was looking, he whinnied and neighed and did horse tricks.”

“I still can’t figure out why that Cindy person married him,” said Brutus.

“I know exactly how it happened,” said the rat. “But you don’t want any more stories, right?”

“You
did
say that, Brutus.”

“Can it, Muffin,” said Brutus. He hooked a claw around the rat’s scrawny neck.

Bob’s ears, tiny though they were, drooped.

“Look, Mack, I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough stories. Got it?”

“Maybe just one more story, then,” said Bob, smiling his most cooperative smile. “And I must say that the hero in this one is as brilliant and daring as he is good-looking.”

“Give me a break,” said Brutus. “A rat is a rat is a plain old rat.”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Bob.

O
nce upon a cottage hearth, in a warm hollow between the stones, there lived a charming, handsome, smart, and well-mannered rat named Bob. Bob loved to read. Unhappily, though, the cottage belonged to a witch, who never read anything. Her only book was
Hansel and Gretel and Other Recipes
.

Bob read the cookbook over and over again until he was so bored he began to write his own stories. He wrote about everyone he knew—the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, and that horrible witch.

Bob read his stories to the witch’s servant girl, Cindy. Cindy hated being cooped up in the cottage, and she was sick of sweeping the fireplace. She wanted to get out and kick up her heels.

Nearby, in a castle, lived a Prince named Charming. He was crazy for horses. He spent so much time talking to his horses that the King and Queen were afraid he would forget how to talk to people. For that reason, they announced a gala party and invited every maiden in the kingdom.