Harold the Fire Breathing Mouse
By Michael Zilinek
Copyright
2011 Michael Zilinek
Smashwords Edition
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Once, in a farmhouse that belonged to Farmer and Mrs. Wigglesmith, there lived a mouse named Harold. Harold was a small and average mouse, gray in color and long in whisker. He would live in the hidden corners of the farmhouse: the hole in the bedroom wall, the crevice in the wood beneath the stairs, and his FAVORITE place, under the kitchen floorboards. There he would enjoy his meals, joyfully catching all the crumbs that dropped through the cracks at suppertime. Each evening he would happily lean back on his cushion of yarn scraps that he had collected from Mrs. Wigglesmith’s knitting basket. He would sigh to himself and say, “Thank you, Mrs. Wigglesmith, for a fine meal. I believe that was the best one yet!”
Mrs. Wigglesmith, however, did not approve of Harold’s presence at all. She would scream loudly any time she spotted Harold scurrying by, and run for her broom so that she could swat at him should she spot him again. But Harold was fast, and he would be safe in no time. Harold was a kindly mouse, and was grateful for the chase.
“With all those fine meals you make, Mrs. Wigglesmith, I’d be a chubby mouse indeed if you didn’t make me run on occasion!” He panted.
But Mrs. Wigglesmith was not as grateful.
“Farmer Wigglesmith!” she called. “I want this pesky mouse OUT of my house!”
Farmer Wigglesmith puffed on his pipe and was quiet for a time. “Well,” said he finally, “I believe it’s time to get a cat.”
The very next day Farmer Wigglesmith drove into town. That night he returned with Tom.
Tom was big and furry, with long claws and pointy teeth. He had deep green eyes that glowed silver in the dark, and his rough fur was streaked with orange and white. Farmer Wigglesmith was very clear in his instruction.
“Now Tom,” said Farmer Wigglesmith, “This is a working farm, and you’re here to earn your supper. I want you to GET THAT MOUSE!”
Tom was only too happy to comply. For the first time in his life, Harold knew fear. Every time he tried to leave his mouse hole, Tom would be there to pounce. Each time that Harold had a narrow escape and slipped through a crack, Tom’s heavy, clawed paw would be darting through the hole after him. One day a claw even scratched his tail!
“Ouch!” cried Harold. “This will never do! I will be a ghostly mouse in no time with this cat around.”
Sadly, Harold knew what he had to do. It was time to leave his beloved farmhouse and Mrs. Wigglesmith’s fine meals. Harold packed his things, and with a tear in his eye he made his way through a narrow tunnel that led to the outside of the farmhouse. But even as he did so, Harold was not bitter or angry at the Wigglesmith’s.
“Farewell, Farmer and Mrs. Wigglesmith!” called Harold. “May the sun always shine upon your farmhouse, and may you always enjoy fine meals!”
That evening, as Harold stopped to rest in his journey for a new place to live, he saw a strange thing. Across the deep blue night sky he saw a shooting star flash and fall to the ground.
“Heavens!” thought Harold. “Whatever was that?”
Harold twitched his whiskers and felt his curiosity grow strong.
“I believe,” said Harold as he twitched his whiskers in excitement, “that I will go to see what has happened. Imagine…an object falling from the sky! What an adventure this will be!”
Though he had been tired, Harold felt a renewed sense of vigor. He trotted eagerly toward the place where he saw the bright object land, and it was well into the night before he came upon the exact spot. He was growing tired again, and he had started to think that he had made a very foolish decision after all. Suddenly, he spotted a radiant glow in the distance.
“There it is! I’ve found it!” he cried, and ran toward the glow in the earth.
Soon he was at the crater’s edge. He climbed up over the dirt mound, and once on top he gazed down into the hole where the glow came from. Harold twitched his whiskers, rubbed his eyes, and looked again. He could not believe what he saw.
“Its cheese!” he said, very surprised. “It’s green, and it’s glowing, and it’s very much a piece of CHEESE!”
Suddenly Harold realized just how hungry he was. He hadn’t eaten anything since he left the farmhouse, and he was starving! He quickly slid down into the deep hole and began to munch on the green cheese.
“Why, this is marvelous!” He exclaimed. “This is the best cheese I have ever eaten!”
After filling his belly fully he leaned back against the warm earth and fell into a deep, much needed sleep. He snored and twitched as he dreamed strange dreams, and when the sun was well overhead he finally awoke.
“What silly dreams,” Harold yawned.
He stretched himself out, even his long tail, and took a look at the cheese. The cheese! Again Harold rubbed his eyes in disbelief. The cheese had vanished!
“Surely, I didn’t eat the WHOLE thing!” thought Harold.
But the cheese was gone, without explanation. Harold twitched his whiskers and shrugged. Well, it was at least a wonderful meal while it lasted. It was time to be moving on in search of a new place to live.
Harold began to dig his way to the top of the hole. It was a hard climb…he didn’t realize that the crater was as deep as it was last night. He slipped many times, but finally he saw the top of the ledge. Just as Harold was about to climb completely out, however, a pebble slipped out from beneath him. As he started to fall backwards, he opened his mouth to cry out and instead got….smoke? He caught himself by grabbing a twig that hung out from the side of the hole. Smoke? Harold, in amazement, opened his mouth again. No, there was no smoke this time.
“Silly Mouse!” Harold said to himself. “You must have had strange dreams to be imagining smoke from your mouth!”
Harold once more reached the ledge, and this time he was successful at getting out of the hole. As he hopped out, the cloud of dirt in the air tickled his nose. Suddenly Harold had to sneeze, and he let out a big “Hechooo!” Flames flew out of his mouth, nearly burning his tiny mouse lips. The twigs on the ground in front of him were on fire. Harold became very frightened.
“D-d-did I d-d-do th-that?” he asked quietly.
For the remainder of the day, Harold stayed by the crater and experimented. Any time that he coughed or exhaled forcibly, he was able to create a stream of fire from his mouth.
“Goodness!” he thought. “I shall need to be careful with this new-found talent. I wouldn’t want to set my new home on fire just by sneezing!”
Harold slept by the crater that evening, kept warm by a nice roaring fire that crackled as he slept. In the morning he awoke, and began his journey to find a new home. In a few days he had found it. It was a little burrow at the foot of a great tree, and not far away was a beautiful pond with plenty of water to drink and bathe with. Harold spent his days roaming the countryside, and spent the nights by a warm fire. With the exception of missing Mrs. Wigglesmith’s cooking, as well as being a little lonely, Harold was truly happy here.
Many months went by, and winter snows began to blanket the ground. With his fire, Harold had not a care in the world. His home was always toasty, and the earth around the tree had many acorns around it. As long as he dug through the snow he always found something to eat. Acorn soup was so yummy! Even in winter, Harold was a fat and happy little mouse.
One day Harold heard a big cry for help out on the frozen pond.
“I say,” said Harold with a start, “I thought I was all alone here. Who could that be?”
Harold darted through the snow to the pond’s frozen edge. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and looked again. It was Tom! What was Tom the Cat doing here? And Tom was in trouble. Somehow, Tom was in the snowdrift by the side of the pond. He was covered in snow, and shivering badly. Harold went over to him to help.
“Tom? Tom, is that you?” Harold couldn’t believe his eyes. Tom had gotten so skinny!
“Oh, help-p-p. I’m s-so c-cold-d.” whispered Tom.
Harold had to act quickly. With all the compassion that he had in his tiny body, Harold created a fire big enough to melt all the snow around him and Tom, and even some of the lake, too. He breathed out flame until Tom was warm again, and then he ran to get enough acorns to make a big batch of acorn soup for Tom. When Tom was warm and fed, he looked at Harold with complete admiration.
“Why did you save me? I was the one who ran you out of the farmhouse. I would have eaten you if I could have. Why did you do it?” asked Tom.
“Oh, shucks, Old Friend. What kind of a mouse would I be to just let you freeze!” laughed Harold. “You were just doing what you were told to do. I can’t hold that against you! Now, tell me…what brings you to my pond in such shape? Why would you leave the comfort of the Wigglesmith’s?”
“Well,” said Tom, “hard times have fallen upon the farm. The winter came in fast, and the Wigglesmith’s didn’t have enough matches to light the fire for warmth and food! The early winter snowed them in, and they can’t get into town for more! I was a cold, hungry kitty, and needed to go elsewhere to find food and warmth. I ended up on the pond, and slid across the ice until I crashed into the snow bank. That’s when you found me. And I thank goodness that you did!”
“I say, Tom!” exclaimed Harold, “We must help the Wigglesmith’s! I can light their fire and help them get into town!”
Tom perked up instantly.
“Yes!” said Tom. “Let’s be off!”
Tom and Harold hurried back to the farm. In some places, the snow was so deep that Tom let Harold ride on his back. They had to stop for the night, but when the sun was high the next day they were back at the farm. Tom and Harold burst through the front door. Farmer and Mrs. Wigglesmith were huddled together on the couch under a heavy blanket. They were thin and cold.
Mrs. Wigglesmith saw Harold and began to shriek. She had forgotten how cold and hungry she was at the sight of Harold.
“Eeekk!” she screamed. “That mouse is back! Tom, GET HIM!”
Tom stood his ground. Mrs. Wigglesmith grabbed her broom and went to swat Harold, but Tom got in her way and ran around her legs so that she couldn’t go after him.
“You crazy cat!” Mrs. Wigglesmith had to work hard at not tripping. “Not me! The mouse!!!”
As Tom occupied Mrs. Wigglesmith, Farmer Wigglesmith sat back and watched as Harold ran to the stove. Once he was there, Harold took a deep breath and within seconds had the kindling lit with a warm, happy fire.
“I’ll be hornswaggled,” said a surprised Farmer Wigglesmith. “Ma, quit your fussing and look at what your little mouse has done! I believe you own him and Tom an apology.”
Mrs. Wigglesmith stopped her screaming and stared in amazement at the little gray mouse that stood beside her lit stove. Tom leapt from her side and sat down next to Harold. The two were quite a proud pair!
“Well, Farmer Wigglesmith, I believe you’re right. As a matter of fact, I believe I owe them both a home cooked meal, as well!”
Harold and Tom cheered with joy! After a fine meal, Harold helped Farmer Wigglesmith clear a path so that he could go into town for supplies, and Mrs. Wigglesmith decided that Harold was okay after all.
“Now, you can stay here at the farm,” she said to him as she smiled, “but no more sneaking up on me! You give me such a scare, sometimes!”
And so, as the winter turned to spring, and as the seasons continued to go by, Tom was always sleeping happily by a warm fire. And Harold never missed a meal under the kitchen floorboards.
“Mrs. Wigglesmith,” he would say each night as he leaned back against his comfy pile of yarn, “I believe that was the BEST supper yet!”
THE END