The doorbell jingled. It was salvaged from an old cat toy and attached to a
system of strings and spools. Before her husband had met his untimely end, he
had been quite the engineer.
She wrung her hands in nervousness, then with a deep breath she straightened her shoulders, held her tail high, did a quick wash of her whiskers, and opened the door with a curtsey.
“Ms. Flora Acres.” The greeting was formal. Flora nearly shivered with thrill. She had dreamed of hosting council parties in her home and here was the first time any of the members had stepped foot inside. First impressions were everything.
A gray mouse in a fancy woolen coat with her nose held high stood primly on the stoop. She stepped inside. Ms. Acres took her woolen coat from her shoulders as deftly as the elder councilwoman unbuttoned it. Her nose remained high as she inspected the home.
The marble floors were polished to a high sheen, fresh evergreen sprigs were placed in all the corners and the tiny stuffed furniture had been dusted, but remained patched of multiple types of fabric. This was the best the family could do in the absence of their patriarch.
“Do sit down,” Ms. Acres invited. Melma Bristle, third in command of the High Council of Mousekind, found herself settling comfortably into the stuffed chair. Despite its crude appearance, it was quite delightful. She began to see Ms. Acres in a softer light. She only wanted what was best for her family. Surely, this could be exploited to the Council’s advantage.
She wrung her hands in nervousness, then with a deep breath she straightened her shoulders, held her tail high, did a quick wash of her whiskers, and opened the door with a curtsey.
“Ms. Flora Acres.” The greeting was formal. Flora nearly shivered with thrill. She had dreamed of hosting council parties in her home and here was the first time any of the members had stepped foot inside. First impressions were everything.
A gray mouse in a fancy woolen coat with her nose held high stood primly on the stoop. She stepped inside. Ms. Acres took her woolen coat from her shoulders as deftly as the elder councilwoman unbuttoned it. Her nose remained high as she inspected the home.
The marble floors were polished to a high sheen, fresh evergreen sprigs were placed in all the corners and the tiny stuffed furniture had been dusted, but remained patched of multiple types of fabric. This was the best the family could do in the absence of their patriarch.
“Do sit down,” Ms. Acres invited. Melma Bristle, third in command of the High Council of Mousekind, found herself settling comfortably into the stuffed chair. Despite its crude appearance, it was quite delightful. She began to see Ms. Acres in a softer light. She only wanted what was best for her family. Surely, this could be exploited to the Council’s advantage.
No comments:
Post a Comment