The City Mouse and the Country Mouse Story
Once upon a time a country mouse named Oliver lived in a hole under the root of a big old oak tree. Oliver loved the sound of squirrels chattering during the day and crickets chirping at night. He loved the smell of rich dirt and hearty grass all around him.
One day Oliver invited his city cousin, Alistair, for a visit. Before Alistair arrived, Oliver tidied up his hole. He straightened his oak leaf bed. He spread fresh pine needles on the floor. He scrubbed the tuna can table and polished the bottle cap plates.
Then Oliver sat by the entrance to his hole, gazed out at the stars, and waited for his cousin Alistair to arrive.
When Alistair arrived, he set his fine leather suitcase on the pine needles. “I say, cousin, is this your cellar?” he asked Oliver.
“No,” said Oliver, “it’s my home.”
Oliver showed Alistair the back of the hole, where he stored his grain. He led Alistair up onto the nob of the old oak root, where he sometimes sat to watch the sunset.
Then he sat Alistair down at the tuna can table and served him a dinner of barleycorn and wheat germ.
Alistair nibbled his meal politely. “This certainly tastes as though it’s good for me.” He coughed and swallowed. “A bit dry, perhaps. Could I bother you for a cup of tea?” Oliver brewed up a thimble of dandelion tea for them both. “Here’s to my cousin Alistair! Thanks for visiting,” toasted Oliver.
When the thimbles were empty, Oliver changed into his long johns, Alistair changed into his silk pajamas, and the mice settled into their oak leaves for the night. After Alistair rustled around in his oak leaves for a while, he finally drifted off to sleep.
Oliver awoke early the next morning, as usual. A robin family twittered in the old oak tree. A rooster crowed at a nearby farm.
Alistair squeezed his pillow over his ears. “Oh, dear. What is that confounded racket?” he mumbled.”That’s the sound of morning in the country,” said Oliver. “It’s the wonderful music that makes me want to start the new day.”
Alistair pulled the pillow from his face and opened one eye. “You start your day in the morning?” he asked.
“Here in the country we rise at dawn,” Oliver said, buttoning his overalls. He pulled on his sturdy work boots and pushed his wheelbarrow out into the morning sun.
Alistair rolled to the edge of his oak leaf bed. He wiped the sleep from his eyes. He slid his feet into his shiny black dress shoes and followed his cousin outside. Oliver gathered acorns and stacked them near his hole. Then he shucked the seeds from the tall rye grass and carried them into the hole. Then he went to the cornfield to find fallen corn.
While Oliver was hard at work, Alistair yawned and leaned against the root of the old oak tree. Then he wiped the dust from his shoes with his silk handkerchief.
When Oliver returned with some corn, he piled it neatly.
“Thank goodness you’re done.” Alistair collapsed into the wheelbarrow. “Now I’d say it’s time for a snack and a nap.”
Oliver giggled. “The work isn’t finished. We still have lots to do before we can rest.”
Alistair sighed. “I’m simply not cut out for the country life,” he said. “A mouse could starve to death here. Come home with me for a while. I’ll show you the good life.”
Alistair packed his silk pajamas into his fine leather suitcase. Oliver packed his long johns into his beat-up carpet bag. The two mice set out for Alistair’s home in the city.
Oliver followed Alistair over fields and valleys, into dark, noisy subway tunnels, and through crowded city streets until they reached the luxury hotel where Alistair lived.
Alistair stopped in front of the door. “Polished marble floors and shiny brass knobs,” he said. “Now, this is how mice like us are supposed to live.”
Oliver stared up at the revolving glass door. “H-h-how do we get inside, Alistair?”
“Wait till the opening comes around, then run through,” Alistair replied. The door swung around, and Alistair disappeared inside.It took a few more spins before Oliver gave it a try. Oliver whirled around and around in the revolving door until Alistair tugged Oliver’s carpet bag and dragged him inside.
Oliver followed Alistair across the lobby and through a small crack in the wall hidden by velvet draperies.
“My apartment,” Alistair said when they were inside.
Oliver looked around in amazement. Alistair’s home was filled with gold candlesticks, crystal goblets, and linen napkins.We’re under the bandstand.” Alistair pointed out the hole that was his front door. “An orchestra plays, and ladies and gentlemen dance every night until dawn.”
“How can you sleep with all the noise?” asked Oliver.
“Sleep?” said Alistair. “I can sleep during the day. We do things a little differently here. Dinner, for example, was different in the city than in the country. “At a five-star hotel, dinner begins with hors d’oeuvres,” Alistair explained.
Alistair led Oliver through the dining room. They hid behind potted plants and raced under tablecloths. They waited until the chef went to check something in the dining room, then they scampered across the kitchen and into the dark pantry where Oliver stumbled over something.
“Do be careful,” said Alistair.
Oliver saw what he’d stumbled over. “It’s a-a-a . . .”
“A mousetrap.” Alistair scooted it under a shelf with his paw. “You’ll learn to stay away from them.”
Alistair led Oliver up the shelves to the hors d’oeuvres. Alistair gobbled fancy crackers, nibbled pasta, and even managed to chew a hole in a tin of smoked salmon.
“Now this,” said Alistair, patting his tummy, “is fine dining.”
Oliver was still so frightened, that he barely ate a crumb.
“Tonight the chef is preparing roast duck with herbed potatoes in a delicate cream sauce.” Alistair’s mouth watered. His whiskers twitched. “One taste and you’ll never go back to the country.”
The mice crept out of the pantry. The kitchen seemed empty. Alistair darted about, gathering up bits of duckling and potatoes. He didn’t notice the chef marching back into the kitchen.
But the chef noticed Alistair. “You again!” shouted the chef. The chef chased the mice around the kitchen with a broom.
Alistair and Oliver escaped through a hole under the sink.
“No main course tonight, I’m afraid,” said Alistair. “But don’t worry, cousin. We’ll make up for it with dessert.”
Alistair showed Oliver the tarts and turnovers and cheesecakes. Oliver timidly nibbled the edge of a flaky cream puff. It was so delicious! He leaned forward to get a bigger bite — and splat! The cart lurched forward. Oliver had landed face down in the cream puff.
Alistair grabbed the edge of a lacy napkin and hung on tight as a waiter wheeled the cart across the dining room.
Oliver wobbled off the cart. “I’m not cut out for life in the city,” he said. “You take too many risks for your dinner. A mouse could starve to death here, too. I’m going home to the good life.”
So Oliver dragged his carpet bag back through crowded city streets, over fields and valleys until he reached his hole under the root of the big old oak tree.He ate a late supper of acorns and wheat kernels, then curled up in his oak leaf bed. He could hear the crickets chirping.
Back at his hotel, Alistair curled up in his linen napkin and listened to the orchestra play.
Both mice sighed. “I love being home,” they said.