[Noinkling]

'Notch' in his hidey-hole


‘Notch’ the others in the stable called him now, after an unfortunate encounter with the kitchen cat. Ghastly old tabby had managed to heave her bulk at him, pinning his tail with one clawed paw and nipping unmercifully at his poor ear. Bled all over, now, didn’t it just! Cat got what was coming to her, he remembered with glee. He’d flipped around, tearing his ear from her teeth in the process, and bit the foul feline hard on the nose.

He was a mouse . . . a brown, rather ordinary mouse who lived in a snug little burrow at the base of the common room’s raised hearth. He too had started out as a mouse among many in the stable-loft straw. Helping himself to the leavings from the horses’ feed – a bit of oats here, some stray kernels of corn, the odd old apple fallen from the covered bins. At night, though, he’d huddle under a skiff of straw and gaze out the bale-door toward the Inn.

He’d heard stories about the wonders and delights of that brightly lit place. It was warm, and cozy, and there was plenty of food for the taking from the floors where the two-foots dropped enough crumbs and, best of all, he'd come to learn, there was ale.

Notch had developed a fondness for the foamy brew and it was after an evening of indulging himself in spills and half-filled mugs left on the tables that he had had his first and last encounter with the kitchen cat. He’d learned after that to pace himself -- keep a sharp eye, ear, and nose out for nosy tabbies. He chuckled quietly to himself. Since he’d bit the Inn cat on the nose, though, the old, flea-bitten thing hadn’t ventured out of the kitchen much at nights any more.

He crossed his little front legs in front of him and laid his head down on his paws. It was a busy day in the Inn. A great number of visitors stomped in and out, ordering food and drink. All about the floor were scattered bits of bacon and toast and biscuits and eggs soon to be followed he knew by whatever delicious repast the Cook and her helpers would offer for lunch. And then of course there were the afternoon snacks and the hearty dinners that were the hallmark of The Dragon – at least in his opinion.

For now he was content to lie in the shadows of his burrow and gaze out at the big feet of those who passed by, thinking fondly of the feast the night would bring.