Here is the promised sneak peek!
A Dangerous Mission: The Mantel Recon
“Are you sure this idea of yours is entirely safe?” I asked, looking nervously down at the living room floor from atop the lofty fireplace man
tel. “What if they come back early, Fred? What if we don’t find the right hiding spot? Fiddlesticks warned us—”
“Of course we’re safe, my dear mouse,” Fred interrupted. “I’m sure they won’t be back for a while yet. We’ll blend into these incredible works of art, these...what are they called again?”
“They’re mouse Hummels: little statues or figurines,” I replied, inching carefully between two of the delicate figures.
“Well, this new owner has excellent taste, that’s fer sure. Very lifelike they are. Shame we have to knock some sense into this poor chap.” He extended a curious paw to examine a figurine’s tail when suddenly it turned and knocked his paw aside, exclaim- ing, “Excusez moi, s’il vous plaît!”
Fred squeaked and leapt aside in a manner most unbecoming for a hero of Super Squirrel’s reputation. He jumped a little too far, though, because he alighted on the mantel’s edge, teetering there for a moment before he regained his footing. A real mouse had been hiding right beside us, atop the somewhat crowded mantel.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The newcomer glared at Fred and straightened his black wool beret. With a sidelong glance at Fred, he answered, “Je suis—”
He paused. “Sorry, I forget I am not back in Paris, Texas. I am Pierre, the famous barber and member of the Lonestar Barber- shop Quartet. Why, may I inquire, is your companion dressed up like a spoiled cat on Christmas morning?”
“I resent that!” declared an exasperated Fred. “We’re spying on the new owner and his feline partner. The mantel was my idea, my plan! Ian and I need a way to disguise ourselves so we can get around whenever the need arises. We want to spend less time sneaking around mantels and more time singin’ and dancin’ at talent shows. Anyway, Mister Pet Store Mouse, I can’t be seen by anyone except Ian, because my magic cape creates a shield of invisibility.”
“But I see you!” Pierre pointed out. “You are right there,” he said, tweaking Fred’s nose for emphasis.
Fred turned pale, his eyes glazed over, and he began nibbling on his cape before he caught himself. “Quick,” he blurted, “Ian’s idea is no good. Get off the mantel!”
Pre-order your copy of Toupee Mice today!
“Of course we’re safe, my dear mouse,” Fred interrupted. “I’m sure they won’t be back for a while yet. We’ll blend into these incredible works of art, these...what are they called again?”
“They’re mouse Hummels: little statues or figurines,” I replied, inching carefully between two of the delicate figures.
“Well, this new owner has excellent taste, that’s fer sure. Very lifelike they are. Shame we have to knock some sense into this poor chap.” He extended a curious paw to examine a figurine’s tail when suddenly it turned and knocked his paw aside, exclaim- ing, “Excusez moi, s’il vous plaît!”
Fred squeaked and leapt aside in a manner most unbecoming for a hero of Super Squirrel’s reputation. He jumped a little too far, though, because he alighted on the mantel’s edge, teetering there for a moment before he regained his footing. A real mouse had been hiding right beside us, atop the somewhat crowded mantel.
“Who are you?” I asked.
The newcomer glared at Fred and straightened his black wool beret. With a sidelong glance at Fred, he answered, “Je suis—”
He paused. “Sorry, I forget I am not back in Paris, Texas. I am Pierre, the famous barber and member of the Lonestar Barber- shop Quartet. Why, may I inquire, is your companion dressed up like a spoiled cat on Christmas morning?”
“I resent that!” declared an exasperated Fred. “We’re spying on the new owner and his feline partner. The mantel was my idea, my plan! Ian and I need a way to disguise ourselves so we can get around whenever the need arises. We want to spend less time sneaking around mantels and more time singin’ and dancin’ at talent shows. Anyway, Mister Pet Store Mouse, I can’t be seen by anyone except Ian, because my magic cape creates a shield of invisibility.”
“But I see you!” Pierre pointed out. “You are right there,” he said, tweaking Fred’s nose for emphasis.
Fred turned pale, his eyes glazed over, and he began nibbling on his cape before he caught himself. “Quick,” he blurted, “Ian’s idea is no good. Get off the mantel!”
Pre-order your copy of Toupee Mice today!
No comments:
Post a Comment