Best Laid Plans

Beneath its busy streets, iconic monuments and creaky floorboards, the city of London is home to thousands - perhaps millions - of mice. And it is generally agreed that a typical mouse spends their days busily scavenging crumbs, gnawing on wires, and whatever else it is mice do to occupy their time.

But as the sun begins to dip in the sky, if one were to look closely enough, with enough patience (and a touch of luck), one might catch the odd glimpse of un-mouselike behaviour. One might see mice standing on tiny hind legs, wearing tiny clothes, speaking in tiny voices and, very occasionally, dreaming very big dreams.

And on the eve of this story’s events, if one knew where to look, they might have seen one such mouse look up at the world beyond his home and dream of crime.

Arthur Brown was not, all things considered, a typical mouse. The first giveaway was his attire; Arthur’s sleek waistcoat and fashionable hat would have made him the envy of any country club gentleman. Second was his bearing - suave and sophisticated. Last, but by no means least, was his intelligence. Arthur had a reputation for being a mouse with a plan.

“If we pull this off, Suzie, it’ll be the heist of the century.”

“Well, either that or Lt. Mittens is going to eat us alive.”

Arthur glanced over at his partner in - well, crime. Suzie Buttercream. An ambitious young mouse possessed of sharp eyes and sharper wit. She was also the best climber in the neighbourhood, which made her part in the aforementioned partnership all the more valuable.

As the two made their way through their home beneath the house of one Mrs. Henderson, they gained another, silent, companion.

Silence was a strength of John Brown’s, given he had never spoken. Arthur’s brother stared defiantly out at the world through a single eye - the other lost in one of many scraps and covered with a patch.

“Evening all”, the boss wheezed as the three of them entered his office (a spacious cardboard box). In his prime Harry Black had been a legend amongst mice, until a run-in with Mrs. Henderson’s cat had left him missing his tail. Even now he looked dapper, with his silk necktie and matchstick cane. He coughed, then spoke again.

“It appears Mrs. Henderson is planning a bit of a soiree tomorrow. A full house, from the looks of it. And you know what that means.” He gave the group a knowing look.

“Food.” Replied Suzie.

“Food!” Harry thumped his cane on the floor in agreement. “Enough bread, cheese and salmon puffs for us to eat like royalty for a month!”

(A month, it must be noted, being rather a long time for a mouse.)

“And then there’s the cake,” Harry went on, eyes glittering with hunger. “A mountain of whipped cream, chocolate sponge and cream cheese frosting.” Even John, usually so stoic, began to salivate at the thought.

Stepping forwards, Arthur unfolded a sheet of paper from within his waistcoat to reveal a detailed diagram of Mrs. Henderson’s kitchen.

“The plan”, he explained, “is simple.”

“Suzie, you scale the counter and let down a rope. I join you, we grease up the surface then slide the cake across and onto the ironing board-”.

He paused to indicate the outline of an ironing board leaning against the counter.

“-Whereupon it’ll slide down to John, who’ll be waiting with a trolley fashioned from a pair of ve-hicles, along with…” Arthur paused, looking around. “Hang on, Harry, where’s our muscle?”

As if in response, there was a gentle tapping at the wall.

“Come in!.” Harry called.

With a rustle, the cardboard wall folded back to admit a colossal, chalky-furred rat.

“Hullo everyone.” The rat gave a wave. His voice was much higher than anyone expected from a feller his size. “Sorry I’m late. Didn’t want to interrupt, so I thought I’d better wait outside.” He smiled.

Harry beamed at the apologetic giant. “Everyone, meet my cousin Seamus. As you can see, what he lacks in punctuality he makes up for in manners.”

“Hi, Seamus”, Arthur and Suzie squeaked in unison. John raised a paw.

“Ahem,” started Arthur, “so. Where was I? Ah yes, the cake - once we’ve slid it down the board, John and Seamus will load it onto the trolley.”

John nodded, patting a scuffed green toy car.

“From there, we run it out the cat flap, return home, and enjoy the taste of victory.”

Suzie cleared her throat. “Nice plan. But we’re missing two things. Firstly, you mentioned ve-hicles plural, and I only see the one. And second, what do we do if Mittens shows up?”

At this point, I should explain that Lt. Mittens was the name of Mrs. Henderson’s cat; a cantankerous animal who enjoyed catching and eating mice above almost all else. Although years of overfeeding had left him unable to climb or pounce very well, he made up for it with meanness.

“Don’t worry about the wheels, Suzie.” Arthur grinned. “I’ve got a guy on the inside who’s bringing another. The cat’s taken care of as well.”

Suzie raised an eyebrow - an impressive feat for a mouse, it must be said - then shrugged.

“Well, then.” Harry clapped his paws together. “What could go wrong?”

“Well, there’s our first setback” muttered Arthur as the group crept up through the crack in the floorboards - Seamus having to wiggle in order to fit - and surveyed the kitchen. Ahead of them the ironing board leaned, very inconveniently, against the wall opposite the counter.

Arthur paused for a moment, steepling his claws in thought.

His pondering was cut short, however, when the board began to wobble. Peering closer, Arthur saw the pale outline of Seamus, front paws gripping onto the fabric and pushing off the wall with his feet.

Suzie glanced at Arthur and John.

“Sure hope Harry doesn’t have too many cousins or we’ll be out of a job”, she squeaked as, slowly, the board toppled, landing to rest with a thunk against the side of the counter.

Arthur waited on the ground as Suzie scampered deftly up the tower of wood. Looking around, he leaned over and whispered something to John, who nodded and proceeded to pull a low-hanging tea towel from where it dangled from a cupboard handle and drag it over to rest in front of the counter.

After a few seconds, Arthur followed Suzie up - assisted by the rope she’d let down for him - and the two of them hurried over to the butter dish.

“One sec.” Arthur whispered. “I need to pinch some fish.”

“Why do you need fish?” demanded Suzie, but Arthur was already dragging one of the conveniently stacked tins of sardines from the back of the counter towards the edge.

“Need to pay my guy on the inside” he replied, heaving the tin down onto the tea towel, where it landed with a dull thump. On cue, an enormous, silent shadow squeezed through the unfastened door and trotted over to them. In its mouth, it carried a toy car.

“Mittens?“ Suzie hissed at Arthur. “Your guy on the inside is Mittens?”

Arthur shrugged as down below the cat relinquished the small plastic car to a very wary John - who set off to lash the two vehicles together - and began to tuck into the tinned fish. “I needed a car, he wanted fish. We made a deal.”

Suzie shot Arthur a ‘We need to talk about your choice of friends’ look and started greasing the counter.

The four rodents held their breaths as the cake slid down the smooth fabric of Mrs. Henderson’s ironing board, arriving with a tap at the edge of the opposite wall. Immediately, the team started wiggling it onto the makeshift trolley.

“Well, that went better than...” Arthur began as the four started wheeling the cake across the room, but trailed off when he felt a strange tugging sensation on his tail. The trolley rolled on without him as he turned, then suddenly found himself pinned to the ground by a gigantic, hairy paw.

“Oh, feta.” Arthur groaned.

“My apologies” purred Lt. Mittens, his fluffy tail swishing back and forth in the gloom. “Yes, we had a deal. But I have not had mouse in some time, you see, and…” He grinned, revealing wicked yellow fangs. “I rather fancied dessert”.

Arthur watched, horrified, as the cat lowered his terrible jaws, the swishing of his tail stilled in anticipation. In his terror he almost missed the silent form of John sneaking up behind the cat. Arthur felt a plan begin to brew.

“Wait!”

Lt. Mittens halted and cocked his head, quizzically.

“You, um, you said you hadn’t eaten mouse in a while?”

Mittens stared at him. “Which is why I’m looking forward to eating you.”

“Exactly! But, ahem, since it’s been a while there are things you should know about mice.”

The cat flicked an ear in irritation. “I think I remember well enough.” He started, opening his mouth again.

“Our skulls are all bony!” Arthur shouted. Mittens stopped, jaws open around Arthur’s head. John crept closer. “Absolutely terrible to eat. The, er, legs are much better.”

Mittens adjusted his paw slightly to reveal one of Arthur’s hind legs, which he started to nibble.

“But our feet are poisonous, so watch out for those!” Mittens paused again, looking down at Arthur’s toes. John reached out to grasp Mittens’ tail.

Mittens pinned Arthur’s foot with another paw. Behind him, John opened his mouth wide.

“Any last things I should know about mice?” Mittens asked, licking his teeth. Arthur grinned.

“Our teeth are surprisingly sharp.” He replied, just as John’s jaws clamped shut on the cat’s tail.

If you have never before heard the yowling of a pained cat, I haven’t the words to describe the fracas which ensued. The chaos was, fortunately, enough for Arthur and John to make their escape.

Unfortunately, it was more than enough to also wake Mrs. Henderson, who moments later burst through the kitchen door to discover her cat chasing his tail, her counter greased with butter, and her prized chocolate cake being wheeled away by a group of rodents.

Bellowing, she snatched up a broom and charged towards the cake.

John and Seamus gritted their teeth and pushed as hard as they could.

Arthur racked his brains for a plan.

And Suzie… Suzie did what she did best.

Suzie climbed.

Right up the trouser leg of Mrs. Henderson.

The woman’s shout became a shriek as she dropped the broom, patting at her legs to try and dislodge the fearless climber. In her panic, her feet became tangled in the broom and she toppled -

-Right onto Lt. Mittens, who had been preparing to pounce on the retreating mice.

The mauling which followed was, I’m afraid to say, far too graphic to describe here. Let me simply state that hell hath no fury like a grumpy cat denied his dessert, and that Suzie made it out unscathed, and I shall leave it at that.

Although the most perilous task was behind them, the rambunctious rodents found manoeuvring the cake under the house to be no mean feat; involving a makeshift ramp, several broken wheels and, at one point, a terribly uncomfortable living conveyor belt. But in the end, they found themselves once again in Harry’s office.

Shaken, exhausted, and on more than one count rather bruised (in all cases except for Harry, who was of course extremely well rested), our heroes at last raised aloft four mouse-sized slices (and one rat-sized slice) of chocolate cake, and savoured the taste of victory.

This story was brought to life with illustrations by my dear friend Mr Howl. Please show him some love:

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