The Thanksgiving Mouse

Ms. Fizz stood before the counter chopping up carrots and celery. Her knife moved fast over the cutting board as tiny pieces of veggies flew out around her. She blew a long gray curl from her face as she heard the faintest pitter-patter in the distance. She paused, tilted her head to be sure, then continued preparing her Thanksgiving meal.

           Ms. Fizz dragged the large cutting knife against the cutting board, brushing all of the beautiful vibrant colors into a pan and placed it on the stove top. The pattering of little tiny feet grew closer and closer, until she knew that he was right behind her. Knife still in hand the old woman leaped around in a circle displaying the craziest eyes she could fathom, scaring off the intruder.
          A muffled squeak blurted from the small mouse as it darted from the kitchen and into its mouse hole near the dining room table. Ms. Fizz smiled at her accomplishment and returned to the stove. She placed the knife on the counter as she took up an oven mitt and opened the oven to baste the turkey once again. The smell of the delicious plump turkey wafted through the house as the heat of the oven warmed her cheeks.
          Then came the tiny feet once again, pattering softly against the wooden floors.
          Ms. Fizz sighed deeply, hovering over the opened oven, waiting. She listened as the mouse moved closer and closer, until he was once again directly behind her, hoping to get some scraps. Ms. Fizz grinned the scariest grin she could imagine and slammed the oven door closed as she twirled around waving her hands out the side of her face like tentacles.
          The mouse squeaked louder than before and dashed off to the safety of his mouse hole.
          Ms. Fizz continued to cook. She glazed her carrots and baked some rolls. As she was mashing her potatoes she heard the mouse for the third time, sneaking his way back into the kitchen. She was sure he was going to try to steal some food this time! So, Ms. Fizz dipped her finger into the mashed potatoes and lathered it across her mouth and down her chin. She half closed her eyes and swirled around chanting “brains” to appear as though she had turned into a zombie.
          Ms. Fizz giggled a deep belly giggle as the mouse squealed several times and darted out of the kitchen to hide in his mouse hole. She was sure he didn’t want to become a zombie.
          Once all of Ms. Fizz’s Thanksgiving fixings were complete, she removed two plates from her cupboard. She piled potatoes and gravy as high as the plates would hold and nestled glazed carrots and celery right beside. She placed large slices of turkey on the plates, followed by several warm and buttered rolls. Ms. Fizz then carried one of the plates carefully to her dining room table and placed it on the end. She could see two tiny eyeballs watching her from within the dark mouse hole. She pretended not to notice and refrained from smiling at the persistent little mouse.
          Ms. Fizz returned to the kitchen and grabbed the second plate filled with delicious food and carried it back into the dining room. The mouse watched her carefully, afraid to be startled by her again. Ms. Fizz took the plate directly to the mouse hole and placed it on the floor for her guest.
          Once in her seat, Ms. Fizz began to enjoy the fruits of her labor as the tiny timid mouse came out of his mouse hole to feast upon a meal he had only dreamed of.

By K, Copyright 2013