WELCOME TO AMPERVILLE!
A CLEAN, DECENT PLACE TO LIVE AND WORK
For the first time he saw humans clearly. He was shocked by their size, by how little fur they had, how each one was covered by a different mix of colors. He also spotted what looked like little trains. They were boxlike metallic things, brightly colored, each with a human inside and two bright lights in front. There were many of them and they moved very fast.
Heart beating fast with anticipation, Ragweed edged closer to the doorway, stuck his nose over the threshold, and peered down. It was a long way. Nonetheless he prepared himself to leap.
But the train did not stop. It continued to roll with just enough speed to make a premature departure dangerous.
Other human nests passed by. Soon, however, they grew fewer in number. And those that Ragweed saw seemed run-down, wrecked. Here and there, he saw more of those metallic boxes. They were not moving. Instead, they appeared to have been discarded, torn apart. One or two were even upside down, with wheels to the sky like a dead creature, their bright colors turned to a uniform dark brown.
The train slowed to a crawl. A series of bumps and thumps followed until it came to a complete halt. The whistle sounded a long, low, mournful shriek, as if to say goodbye.
Not far from the train Ragweed spied a number of dilapidated human nests. They looked abandoned. Among scrawny bushes there were more of those broken, twisted metallic boxes.
Closer by was a heap of objects containing food bits, bottles, cans, boxes, paper—the sorts of things that sometimes mysteriously found their way to the Brook—plus lots of other things Ragweed could not identify. Nearby was another pile, this one made of what looked like chunks of white clay. The whole scene appeared grim and lifeless.
Then he glanced down at the ground right beneath him. Sitting amid the gravel, long fluffy tail waving menacingly, was a large, furry white beast.
In all his life Ragweed had never actually seen a cat. Like all mice, however, he knew a great deal about them by way of countless scary stories. So it was that Ragweed needed only to see Silversides to know that here was a cat, and she was his enemy.
Sure enough, the cat called out in a shrill, angry voice, “If I were you, mouse, I’d keep going. Amperville doesn’t like strangers. Certainly not strangers who are mice. This is a clean, decent place.” To make her point, she opened her mouth wide, revealing a pink tongue, a deep dark gullet, and many sharp white teeth.
Ragweed was too horrified to say or do anything.
Not so the cat. She hissed, then spat, spewing upon Ragweed. The next moment, though she had been sitting, she leaped into the boxcar. She would have landed right on Ragweed if the frightened mouse had not lost his footing and tumbled.
Landing on the gravel by the side of the train tracks, a frantic Ragweed twisted around and looked up. The white cat glared angrily down at him from the boxcar. “If you’re looking for a fight, mouse, you’ve come to the right town!” she said. Tensing her muscles, she prepared to jump again.
Ragweed did not wait. He bolted up and began to run as fast as he could. A thud sounded behind. Without looking, he knew the cat was after him. “Outsider!” Silversides screeched. “Stranger!”
Searching desperately for a place of safety, Ragweed dashed on. He stole a glance over his shoulder. The cat was loping along behind him, a horrid grin upon her face. She was enjoying the chase. “Get out of town, mouse!” she screeched. “Felines First! F.E.A.R. rules! Leave on your own before you’re dragged out by your tail!”
Desperate, Ragweed dove into the jumble of junk he’d observed from the boxcar and crawled into a can, only to find himself knee-deep in gooey red sauce. Almost faint from the fumes, he shot out of the can and became momentarily entangled in a twist of wires. Pulling free, he paused to listen. The cat was right behind him.
From the wires Ragweed squeezed under moldy pages full of words, worked his way around some collapsed boxes—the words “Corn Flakes” were on one of them—then crawled over old pickles and reeking tubs of decaying food. That brought him to the other side of the pile.
He looked out. Fifteen yards in front of him were some run-down human nests. But before them sat one of those large metallic boxes, of a rusty brown color. Not only did the box appear to be broken, but its wheels were hard to see, sunk deep into the earth. On the side of the one nearest Ragweed was a small hole at ground level. He was sure that if he could get through that hole, he would be safe from the cat.
Crouching, he listened intently for some hint as to the cat’s location. What he heard was more pushing and pulling suggesting the cat was still behind him, but getting closer. Ragweed was sure he had no choice. To stay meant certain death. He had to bolt. “Farewell, Mom,” he whispered. “Farewell, Dad!”
With that he galloped out from beneath the pile. Almost instantly there was a hideous yowl behind him. Without looking Ragweed knew the cat was on his tail. This time she was not holding back.
The mouse ran as he’d never run in his life, great bounding, stiff-tailed leaps that took him closer and closer to the metal box. But when he reached it he discovered to his horror that the hole was blocked from the inside by a piece of wood.
Desperate, he clawed at the wood. It did not budge. He looked back. The cat was crouching, barely a yard away, belly low to the ground, yellow eyes fixed on him like daggers. Sequins flashing, claws flexed, tail waving, rump wiggling, the cat was preparing her
