Manxmouse

‘Oh, yes, undoubtedly. Anyone with half an eye, or even with no eyes like myself can see that. Well, my advice is Beware the Manx Cat.’ And with that he flew off into the night with his ‘Grrrrs’ and ‘Booos’ and ‘Arrghs’ growing fainter and finally dying out altogether.

Manxmouse wondered what it was the Clutterbumph had meant, but he was growing tired and so he went on in the direction of the country smells until he came to the edge of Buntingdowndale where the pavement ended.

He walked on for a little while longer, enjoying the feel of grass and leaves and earth and twigs beneath his feet. Just as the moon was beginning to set and the stars to pale, Manxmouse found a soft spot under a hedge, curled up and went to sleep.

When he awoke it was broad daylight. The sun had been shining long enough to dry the dew from the grass and the flowers. It was warm and comfortable. As Manxmouse emerged from under his hedge, he saw that he was at a road junction with an old signpost leaning slightly askew. One fingerboard pointing to the right was marked LITTLE GREAT MUNDEN, and the other pointing to the left was lettered, NASTY. A Billibird perched on top of the signpost, manicuring its fingernails.

A Billibird carries a tail light, can fly backwards as well as forwards and sideways, and knows a great deal about a lot of things, but not everything.

The Billibird stopped doing its nails and said, ‘Hello, a Manx Mouse! Or am I dreaming?’

It was strange, Manxmouse thought, how everyone he encountered seemed to know what he was, when he was not at all sure himself. He knew that he was a mouse, but not that kind of a one. For it must be remembered that as yet he had not seen himself.

‘I was just wondering which way to go,’ Manxmouse said.

‘Well,’ said the Billibird, ‘you have a choice of one or the other. And you needn’t worry, there’s no Manx Cat either way. Little Great Munden has five houses in the Little part and six in the Great part, and its own post office. Nasty has only four houses and the post office is in the kitchen of the last one.’

‘Is there really a place called Nasty?’ asked Manxmouse.

‘Well, it says so, doesn’t it?’ replied the Billibird, indicating the signboard. ‘So I suppose there must be. I know some villages with even funnier names. There’s one called Pity Me and another Come-to-Good. And then there’s the one you ought to know about. It’s called Mousehole, although they pronounce it Mouzle. The villagers try to pronounce Nasty as Naystie, but it’s Nasty all right, and there’s nothing they can do about it.’

‘It must be horrid, then,’ Manxmouse suggested.

‘Oh, no, on the contrary, it’s delightful – timbered houses with thatched roofs, early Elizabethan style, I take it; the most charming gardens and a pretty little pond. Nice people, too. I often go there myself.’

‘Then however did it get that name?’ inquired Manxmouse.

‘Now that is one of the things I don’t know,’ replied the Billibird, ‘and there aren’t many. Someone just called it that, and there it is.’

Manxmouse made up his mind. ‘Then that, I think, is where I shall go for I’m getting hungry.’

‘Mind,’ said the Billibird, ‘there’ll be cats. But they’re well fed and oughtn’t to bother you, except maybe old One-Eye or Street Cat. But of course it’s really Manx Cat you want to watch out for.’

The Billibird resumed its manicuring and as Manxmouse thanked it and went off down the road in the direction of Nasty, he heard it say, ‘I’m not dreaming. I know I’m not. It actually is a Manx Mouse. Poor thing!’

Manxmouse wondered why, ‘Poor thing’? For he was quite happy.

Chapter Three (#ulink_eaa098a8-d159-5534-874b-ca4977c4f16a)

THE STORY OF THE HAPPENINGS IN NASTY (#ulink_eaa098a8-d159-5534-874b-ca4977c4f16a)

Nasty was really exactly as the Billibird had described it: four charming cottages, the dark timbers showing bravely against the white plaster, and the eaves of the roofing thatches descending almost to the windows. The flowers in the gardens were just starting to bud.

The houses stood in a line on one side of the road and the pond the Billibird had mentioned was on the other, a blue patch of water with lily pads and rushes.

It was still early in the morning and no one was about. But the people of Nasty seemed to be the trusting kind, for two of the front doors were open and Manxmouse slipped into the first.

Following the good news told him by the odour in his nostrils, he had no difficulty in finding his way to the kitchen, or in climbing up the leg of the table where he found the remnants of a supper of bread and cheese, and a dish of rice pudding.

Manxmouse was sure nobody would mind, since he was so small that he would not be able to eat a great deal, just sufficient to satisfy his hunger. So he had some of each and it was all delicious.

He was sorry he had no pencil and paper to leave a thank-you note, but he ate very tidily and cleared up the crumbs before he left. Then he slipped down the table leg and was just about to go by the way he had come, when he felt a sudden rush of air and then something soft and furry landed upon him. Two little paws with needle claws gripped him and the next thing he knew, he was held in the tiny but sharp teeth of a kitten and was being carried, still quite unharmed, into the neighbouring ironing room, where House Cat Mother with three more kittens was lying in a basket.

The kitten set Manxmouse down on the floor, put a paw on him and cried with enormous pride, ‘Look, everyone! I’ve caught my first mouse, all alone, by myself! There I was in the kitchen, looking for my ping-pong ball that had rolled under the fridge, when this mouse stepped out from behind the stove and threatened me. But I wasn’t frightened or intimidated, even though there was nobody there to help me. Keeping my head, I gathered myself together, gave two waggles and avoiding the blow he aimed at me, made a tremendous spring, pounced and caught him. He put up a great fight, but I was too much for him. And now I’m going to eat him all by myself.’

Manxmouse was too surprised to protest the exaggeration.

By this time House Cat Mother was up and out of her basket saying, ‘You’ll do nothing of the kind! What on earth have you got there?’

The kitten pressed its paw down harder on Manxmouse’s back. ‘My mouse!’

House Cat Mother came over and said, ‘Why, it’s blue! Can’t you see it’s poisonous! Get away from it, you stupid child!’

‘But he’s mine! I caught him and I want to eat him!’

At this House Cat Mother grew very angry and cuffed the kitten with her paw, knocking it head-over-heels. It gave Manxmouse the opportunity to arise from his undignified position and catch his breath again, for he had been quite squashed.

‘Eat him, you shan’t!’ the mother scolded. ‘How many times have I told you never to touch anything that isn’t the right colour, taste or smell, or all three? Whoever heard of a blue mouse? Can’t you see that this one would make you sick? Honestly, everything I say or try to teach you seems to go in one ear and out the other.’

‘But I’m not poisonous!’ Manxmouse protested. ‘Really I’m not. Please, I promise you, you can eat me with the utmost safety. I didn’t know I was blue, but if I am, I can’t help my colour. It’s quite harmless.’

House Cat Mother drew back from him and said indignantly, ‘Well, I never heard of such a thing. A mouse actually asking to be eaten! That just proves he’s bad and is trying to trap us. Come away at once, children!’ And, herding them together, she rushed them out of the room, leaving Manxmouse rather forlorn.

Was there really something the matter with him? And was it true that he was blue? And if so, what was wrong with that?

He remembered the pond across the road and thought that the thing to do was to go there and have a look at his reflection in it. He had hardly left the door of the cottage and proceeded to the side of the road, when once more there was a rush of air and a pounce, and he was caught up in a pair of powerful jaws.

And this time it wasn’t a kitten but a ginger cat with but a single eye, the one Billibird had called Street Cat, or old One-Eye.

‘Ha! Gotcha!’ growled One-Eye. ‘Thought I’d be sleeping, didn’t you? They all fall for that one. Well, that’s your tough luck. Goodbye, mouse! Some cats start eating at the head of the mouse, but I don’t. I like to start with their tails as an appetizer and work on up, leaving the best part to the last.

And with this he put one great paw on Manxmouse’s head, when he suddenly leaped back with a cry of, ‘What’s this? Why, you haven’t got a tail!’

‘Haven’t I?’ said Manxmouse. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’

Old One-Eye was upset. ‘You’re a Manx Mouse,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you say so? You should have told me immediately! Supposing I’d eaten you? You belong to Manx Cat, and Manx Cat would have been furious with me if I’d eaten his mouse.’

Manxmouse said, ‘But I don’t understand! It’s all so confusing! Who and what and where is Manx Cat? And where will I find him?’

Old One-Eye backed away still further, his fur standing up and his tail twitching. ‘Phew!’ he said. ‘That was a narrow escape for me.’ And then, ‘Never you mind. You’ll soon know the answer when you come across him. One thing I can tell you, you’ll never get away from him. Manx Mice are meant to be eaten by Manx Cats. Enjoy yourself while you can.’ And with that old One-Eye slouched off into the gardens behind the houses.

The pond across the street beckoned Manxmouse and he went over to see what he was really like.

It all seemed to be true. The breeze had died away and the surface of the pond was like a mirror as Manxmouse crept down to the edge between two tall rushes and looked in. He was blue and, indeed, had no tail. He turned this way and that to make sure of the latter – there was no mistake about the blue part – and even got himself afloat on a lily pad to be able to see better behind himself. He had just caught a glimpse of the little button where his tail should have been, when a deep voice rumbled, ‘There’s no use in your looking further, youngster, there isn’t one,’ and then it added, ‘Burrp!’

Manxmouse looked around and saw a huge grey-green frog with popping eyes squatting on the bank watching him.

‘That,’ said Manxmouse, now prepared to make the best of things, ‘is because I’m a Manx Mouse.’ For it was clear to him at last that that was what and who he must be, since everyone had been calling him by this name. It had not come as too much of a shock to him. For he thought that the world must be full of Manx Mice like himself and had no idea that he was the only one in existence.