Ragweed Page 8

  “Maybe I am,” Ragweed replied with a grin. “But, dude, a mouse has to do what a mouse has to do.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Silversides

  “THAT WAS YOUR GOLDEN mouse again, wasn’t it?” Graybar asked a seething Silversides. The two cats were still sitting beside Clutch’s old Ford.

  “Yes,” Silversides answered curtly. She was trembling with fury.

  “And it’s about the third time he’s interfered with you, isn’t it?” Graybar prodded.

  “Yes.”

  “Hey, maybe you’re getting too old for this,” Graybar said.

  “I’ll never be too old to kill a mouse,” Silversides snapped.

  The cat continued to stare at Clutch’s entryway in silence.

  “I know whose place this is,” Graybar said.

  Silversides looked around.

  “A mouse named Clutch. Sassy as they come. She skateboards. And she dyes her head different colors.”

  Silversides turned quickly. “Green?”

  “I think so. I’ll bet she’s the one who got in your face at the club.”

  Silversides, who was sure of it, said nothing.

  Graybar said, “Hey, speaking of colors, was that a white mouse I saw?”

  Silversides grunted.

  “Know anything about him?” Graybar asked.

  “No,” Silversides answered.

  “Suit yourself,” Graybar said.

  Silversides started off. Graybar limped along by her side. “That golden mouse,” he said with something of a sneer, “he’s the one who keeps tugging your tail, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know,” Silversides admitted. “I’ll think of something.”

  “We could have staked out Clutch’s place,” Graybar suggested. “Except there’s bound to be more than one way out of that old car. Mice are tricky that way. You can’t ever trust them to do what they should do.”

  Silversides grunted again.

  “Hey, you want some dinner?” Graybar asked. “Got a couple of fish heads no more than three days old. A good meal will cheer you up.”

  “No, thank you,” Silversides said. “I’m going home.” Even as she spoke she remembered that the girl had said she could not return home until she brought Blinker back—dead or alive. Her teeth chattered with frustration.

  “What’s the matter now?” Graybar asked.

  “Nothing,” Silversides insisted. “I’ll see you later,” she said and stalked away.

  Exasperated and angry, feeling that the whole world was against her, Silversides roamed the city. Even so, she soon found herself standing in front of her own house. She supposed she could sneak in through her flap and the girl would never notice. She was probably in school anyway.

  Eager to get back to her sheepskin and get some sleep, Silversides went to the back of the house and butted her head against her cat door. To her astonishment it opened only an inch, a space much too small for her to pass through. She banged at it again, but it refused to budge. Suddenly Silversides understood: The girl must have latched the door from inside. The small opening was meant to allow Blinker to get in, not Silversides.

  Completely losing her temper, Silversides smashed her head on the door. All she gained was a headache.

  Suddenly her rage faded. In its place appeared misery and grief. She saw it all: The three mice she hated most had banded together. She had been locked out of her home, kept from her bed of seven years, for something she had never done. Her own children, her grandchildren, had abandoned her. Did they ever think about her, ever come by for a visit? Ever get in touch with her? Never! No one loved or cared for her. She was alone! It was all the fault of mice! It was a conspiracy!

  Sobs grew within her chest. Tears came to her eyes, then rolled down her round, furry cheeks and fell to the earth. Miserable and forlorn, Silversides lifted her head and cried out a long, loud yowl of woe. “Nobody cares for me,” she wailed. “Nobody!”

  A window in the house flew open. The girl looked out. “Go away, you nasty cat!” she shouted. “Find Blinker!”

  As Silversides gazed at the girl, the cat’s mood shifted again. Her anger rekindled, she told herself she must put aside all weak emotions. To do otherwise was cowardly. Mouse-like. If there was one thing worth living for, it was to revenge herself upon those three mice: the golden one, the white one, and the green-headed one. Once she found a way to deal with them, she would leave Amperville forever.

  So resolved, Silversides tore the Amperville cat license from around her neck, dropped it at the back door of the girl’s house, and marched away with her tail high.

  CHAPTER 18

  Ragweed’s Plan

  THE THREE MICE—RAGWEED, Clutch, and Blinker—were sitting around Clutch’s nest, snacking on bread crumbs. Clutch was making a new skateboard from a Popsicle stick, shaping it with her teeth. Ragweed was doing most of the talking. A wide-eyed Blinker was listening intently.

  “You see,” Ragweed said, “like, what we need to do is show those cats that they can’t go on terrorizing you guys. You have a right to live your own lives. Know what I’m saying?”

  “Sure,” Clutch said, spitting out a few wood bits.

  “Okay,” Ragweed continued. “So you have to stand up for yourselves. Like, from now on I’m making it a personal rule: No one is going to tell me what I can or can’t do. No one. Ever. Like, period.”

  Blinker darted a look to Clutch to see what she thought before saying, “That’s a . . . a fine idea,” he said timidly. “But how could a mouse ever do such a thing? Aren’t we—as Clutch said—too small?”

  “Hey, dude,” Ragweed returned boldly, “we may be little, but, like, there are lots of us.”

  Clutch grinned. “Listen to this dude,” she said to Blinker. “Like, he’s a talking ice cream.” She laughed.

  “Clutch,” Ragweed pressed, “are you going to keep running, hiding, losing forever? Don’t you want to be free to, like, play your own music?”

  “You better believe it.”

  “Okay. Then I say it’s time to do what you want to do.”

  Clutch laughed. “You’re beginning to sound like my old mouse.”

  “No offense,” Ragweed replied. “It’s not that Windy is wrong. It’s that he does nothing but talk and paint.”

  “Look here, Ragweed,” Clutch said as she reached lazily for another crumb, popped it into her mouth, and chewed thoughtfully. “You aren’t so off the mark, but just a while ago, duh, you were heading out of town on the first train. What’s changed?”

  Ragweed bristled. “I’d just like to show you what’s possible, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, right,” Clutch said. “Show-and-tell time. But, hey, like, what are you going to do?”

  Ragweed looked from Clutch to Blinker, then back at Clutch. Then he leaned forward. “It’s called a new club.”

  Clutch put down her skateboard. “You serious, dude?”

  “Check it out. A new club will be the best way to show those cats that you can’t be put down. A new club will cheer you city dudes up. Give you courage. It’ll be a place to chill out. To find your strength. Get all that working, and it’ll be like, fighting back. But it has to be big—big enough to hold enough mice to fight back if attacked.”

  “Way cool,” Clutch agreed. “Can the Be-Flat Tires play there?”

  “That’s the whole point.”

  “I mean, like, are you really serious?” Clutch demanded. “Not just sucking crumbs?”

  “Clutch,” Ragweed said earnestly, “in my whole life I’ve never been more serious. I mean, we’ll get your father to paint some pictures on the wall. Your mother can read from her epic. Be-Flat Tires can play. Know what I’m saying? It’ll be your club, dude.”

  Clutch gazed at Ragweed with laughing eyes. “Mouse, you got the lingo down perfecto sweet.” Then she exclaimed, “But hey, mouse, killer idea! I love it. Put it there!” She
held out a paw. Ragweed slapped it.

  Blinker, though he wasn’t sure what was happening, grinned.

  “Now, what we need to do,” Ragweed continued after the initial excitement had died down, “is find a place for the new club. That’s where you come in,” he said to Clutch.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hey, like you said, I’m the new dude here. I wouldn’t even know where to start looking.”

  “Oh, okay,” Clutch agreed.

  “Got to be different from the Cheese Squeeze Club,” Ragweed went on. “A place cats can’t get into easily or break down. But big. That’s like, crucial. So there can be a lot of us. Know what I’m saying?”

  “I hear you,” Clutch said. She thought hard. “Hey, I know a place. It might work. In the humans’ old downtown. You know, everything is deserted there. Including an abandoned bookstore. Used to have great-tasting books. But it has lots of space. Might work.”

  “Can we go check it out?” Ragweed asked.

  “Sure thing, dude. But we’ll bus out through the exhaust pipe just in case F.E.A.R. is still hanging around.”

  New skateboard in paw, Clutch led her friends out of her car nest through a long, narrow tube. Outside it was already dark. The moon was low. Only a few stars were out.

  After a careful check to make sure the way was safe, Clutch dropped her board and pushed off.

  “What is that?” Blinker cried, running along by Clutch’s side.

  “My wheels, dude. A skateboard.”

  “It looks very exciting,” the white mouse said. “Do . . . do you think you could teach me to do that?”

  “Nothing to it, dude,” Clutch said.

  “I would like that,” Blinker murmured.

  Though Ragweed said nothing, he wished he had thought of asking Clutch for lessons.

  The three mice zigzagged across town. The streets and alleys had no sign of cats, humans, or even other mice. The only sound was the occasional crumpled aluminum can, caught in a wisp of wind, grating across the pavement like a broken rattle.

  After some fifteen minutes of hard scampering and skateboarding, Clutch said, “Here we are.”

  They had entered a narrow alley. The only light came from a few flickering street lamps. A rusty garbage can overflowing with old, torn books dominated the way. On the back of the building was a window with a screen shielding cracked glass. A large, rusty padlock held a steel door shut.

  “How do we get in?” Ragweed asked.

  Clutch said, “There used to be a hole by this door.”

  After poking about the door frame, she called, “Sweet! It’s still here.” She propped her skateboard against the outside wall and dove into the hole. Blinker and Ragweed followed.

  The three mice found themselves in a gloomy hallway littered with paper and heaps of broken-backed books. The floor was filthy. The walls were covered with tattered posters. Mounted low on the wall was a large wheel. Hanging beneath the wheel was a massive coil that to Ragweed’s eyes looked like a snake. He froze.

  “What’s that?” he asked Clutch nervously.

  “Not sure,” she replied.

  Blinker considered it. “I saw one of them in a book,” he said. “It’s called a hose, and it shoots water. Humans use it for putting out fires.”

  “Hey, this dude knows sweet stuff,” Clutch said.

  Blinker grinned shyly.

  The mice moved forward and stood upon the threshold of a large room. On three walls were shelves, some of which contained a few books. More volumes were on the floor. Virtually all were broken. The whole area was littered with paper and broken boxes. The wooden floor was filthy.

  Clutch gazed around. “Like, what a mess,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Ragweed said, “but if we can clean it up, do you think it’s usable?”

  Clutch gazed about. “Never heard of a club this large. You could fit the whole town’s mouse population in here. But, the main thing is, we’d have to work it so cats can’t get in. Ever. Know what I’m saying? It’s either the best or worst ever.”

  “There were screens on that back window,” Ragweed pointed out. “That entry hole was too small for them, and the back door is locked.”

  Clutch made her way to the front of the store and examined the main door. It was shut tight. “There’s another hole up here,” she called. “Too small for cats. Just right for mice.”

  The front wall of the store was mostly taken up by a large plate-glass window. Though it too was cracked, it had no holes.

  On the glass were painted letters. Ragweed read them out loud.

  “What’s that mean?” he asked, unable to make sense of it.

  Blinker stared hard at the letters.

  Clutch, more interested in the room, turned back to examine the space.

  “Well, what do you think, dude?” Ragweed asked her.

  “Be different,” Clutch said, taking in the huge space with her eyes. “Needs an awesome amount of work. But it’s cool. Just better be as tight as your tail is to your bod.”

  “Could we get other mice to help?” Ragweed asked.

  “No problem,” Clutch said. “I got zillions of pals. They’ll help. Hey, what are we going to call this place?”

  “Beats me,” Ragweed said.

  “I’ve figured out what those letters on the front window mean,” Blinker announced. “We are looking at it backwards. It says, ‘The Last Independent Bookstore.’”

  “Decent,” Ragweed said. “Maybe we should call this the Independent Club.”

  “Cool,” Clutch said.

  “In books,” Blinker said shyly, “the sophisticated would call it Café Independent.”

  “I’m amped,” Clutch exclaimed. “I mean, killer cool!”

  “Then Café Independent it is,” Ragweed said, seeing Clutch’s enthusiasm. All three mice slapped their paws in agreement.

  CHAPTER 19

  A Coming Together

  LEAVING RAGWEED AND BLINKER to begin the cleanup, Clutch tore off on her skateboard to spread the news about the club. To each mouse she met her message was clear: “We’re like, making a cool new club. Really sweet. Know what I’m saying? But we need some dudes to set it straight. Or whatever.”

  Lugnut and Dipstick were the first mice she informed. The two musicians reacted with great enthusiasm and promised to go to the abandoned bookstore immediately.

  “Keep your eyes waxed for cats, dudes!” Clutch cried after them.

  Clutch next informed her parents about the plan. Windshield, who was still working on the painting he’d intended for Ragweed, was particularly excited.

  “Starting this new club,” he enthused, “suggests that we mice have reached a new level of major turning points. It means mice are beginning to see themselves as a community. What has happened will affect many mice. These mice will affect still more mice. The movement will spread! The whole world of mice is about to change!”

  “Way to go, Windy,” Clutch said, trying to suppress a smile. “And hey, dude, Ragweed wants you to paint a mural on one of the walls.”

  “This is extraordinary!” Windshield cried, all but swooning with excitement. “This is spectacular! The ultimate turning point! Mice in the service of art. Art in the service of mice! It’s . . . the revolution!” With that he rushed off to gather his painting supplies.

  “And, Ma,” Clutch said to Foglight, “Ragweed particularly mentioned you. Like, he was hoping you would do a reading of your work at our opening.”

  “From my . . . Cheese of Grass?”

  “Hey, whatever.”

  “Clutch,” Foglight said somberly, “you do understand it’s a very serious work.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Do you think your friends can . . . appreciate it?”

  “’Course they can.”

  Foglight blushed with pleasure. “When will the opening take place?”

  “If we can scrub the place up, like, in a few days.”

  “I would be . . . honored,” Fogl
ight said with great dignity. “But I do need to make some revisions.” She hurried away to fetch her work.

  Even as Clutch continued to spread the news, Silversides, having left the girl’s house behind her, was moving toward Mouse Town. She had no particular plan of action in mind. Rather, she felt a random search might be productive. Maybe she would be lucky for once. The world owed her some good fortune.

  For hours she slunk about Amperville, slipping silently from street to street, sliding around corners and by forsaken buildings. A cloud-shrouded moon made the world seem more full of shadows than substance.

  Padding along silently, Silversides paused occasionally to sniff the wind or to peer into a particularly dark place. Suddenly she caught a distinct whiff of fur, crumbs, cheese, and little paws. Mice! Their smell never failed to arouse her disgust and anger.

  Trying to locate exactly where the odor was coming from, the cat moved to the left, then to the right, then to the left again. All the while she listened intently, ears swiveling, trying to pick up the slightest clue.

  She padded silently forward. As the smell grew stronger, Silversides paused and scrutinized the area. The street she’d come to had once been a thriving business strip. Now it was abandoned. There was an empty grocery store. A stationery and toy shop. A restaurant. A bookstore. A pharmacy. All were in varying stages of decay. Not one revealed the slightest sign of life. Some had their front glass broken or cracked. A few lacked doors.

  Silversides inhaled deeply. The smell of mouse was so strong, she was certain it was coming from more than one mouse. She sniffed again. Yes, there were two, perhaps three mice. Perhaps she had uncovered a major mouse nest.

  She examined the street in all directions but still saw nothing suspicious. Leaping upon a high windowsill, she achieved an excellent view of the entire street. There she crouched and waited.

  Half an hour later her patience was rewarded. Along the far side of the street, against one of the deserted buildings she detected movement. Something was creeping along close to the building. Silversides opened her eyes very wide and watched.

  She saw two mice moving along by starts and stops.