Bluster County: Escape from Hicklebirkle Manor
"Our houses are such unwieldy property that we are often imprisoned rather than housed by them." -Henry David Thoreau
Where in Bluster County is Hicklebirkle Manor? You know that old, big house, the one where no one lives with the porch light out? Look over the fence, and in the yard. You might see the footprints of a turtle, a cat and rat.
Edgar, the porcine rat, delivered a throaty call, "My cat, my cat, why have you done such a wicked, wicked thing?"
Chucky, the once ever-gracious gray Persian cat, had sinned. He had broken the commandment of the house. All who lived within it must abide it. There was only one commandment: the Declaration of Solidarity, and that was this, "Thou shalt live as if every life is your own."
In this case, Chucky had eaten Edgar's beloved rat-wife Veronica.
Any animal, plant or mineral outside of the 1416 Hicklebirkle Street community was fair game, but Chucky not only broke the D of S, but he broke it against his best friend, Edgar.
"Chucky! Chucky! You son of a rat's-oh-no-no-no-you lousy-you-Chucky? How could you? My Veronica, my love, my wondrous, beautiful, gentle Veronica." Edgar paced back and forth on the drying, browning moss underneath an old oak. It was more than the hot summer which sapped his strength and increased his frustration.
Chucky held his guilty head low. No apology could birth again the life named Veronica. And no remorse would release him from the guilt that it was he who stole from Hicklebirkle Manor the queen of the kitchen -- and from Edgar, he stole his precious mate, all for a simple meal.
Times were tough since Old Man died. He had lived there a long time, dozens of years, said Mason, an old Eastern Box Turtle. Mason would know. Old Man had lived there even before Mason had wandered into the yard and got caught inside when the fence was built.
But Old Man was dead and no food could be found. The animals of Hicklebirkle had seen periods of hunger before, like when Old Man went to Africa for two months. No time was bad as this. Old Man died, leaving no portion of his great will to the rats, the turtle, the cat -- not to mention numerous birds and mice and what had to be millions of woolly-caterpillars and centipedes and other animals which never talked at all.
Things were dreary and stomachs grew smaller each day. No food could be found, not in the cupboard, not in the fridge (which Chucky had learned to open) -- not in the teeny-tiniest of cracks. Every bread crumb was eaten and things were grim.
Chucky stood silent. His belly bulged pleasantly from his dinner, but his guilt broadly cried out from his eyes. Edgar has always been with him, and now, he had betrayed him. He knew it was wrong to eat his friends, but at the same time, what could he do? Fur hung from his limbs where flesh once sleekly covered. Starvation had set in. Edgar cried and cried, but he also knew the obvious. Chucky killed and would kill again unless a) he killed him first; or b) they found food together. And if Chucky killed, Edgar would be next. It was only natural.
"Chucky, now listen -- it happened, but we've got to work together to get ourselves out of this desert," Edgar leaned toward Chucky who was lapsing into a nap.
"Yeah. I agree, but there's nothing here and no way out," said Chucky.
"No way out," Mason chimed in, "No way out." Mason didn't care. He ate worms and little weird bugs. The yard was full of them and neither the rat nor the cat could eat a turtle.
"Look," said Edgar, trying to develop a strategy even though he had none, "I've got a plan."
He wandered in and out of a ridiculously impossible plan which concerned starting the house on fire until fire trucks came and then rushing the gate. Neither had opposable thumbs (necessary for lighting a match or lighter), so the fact was that it couldn't happen.
"No way out, no way out," Mason mimicked his own phrase like a metronome, each repetition sounding more and more like the previous.
As much as Chucky knew he had at least one more meal coming, he also knew Edgar, in his heart of hearts, was his friend and eating him would not be very nice for all the times Edgar had gotten him out of trouble. To the day Old Man died, Chucky would generate some bit of chaos and Old Man would rush out to see the cause. Always alert, Edgar would squeal and squeak and run in a flurried hurry across the floor. Old Man thought his place was infested with rats (when there was really only Veronica and Edgar) and he figured if you've got rats, you need a cat. For Edgar and Chucky it was symbiosis: You watch my back, I'll watch yours.
All history aside, they were in a spot. No food, no apparent way out and a hungry cat which was bigger than a rat.
"The car!" the animals sang in unison. Old Man's Honda Accord was still in the driveway. His family left it there while his estate was being settled. He had a 1947 Buick Roadmaster in the garage just for show, but he had this one ready to go, the one he called his, "driving to the store' car." Chucky had ridden in it a lot during Old Man's heyday.
"If we could get into the car and put it into neutral, we could crash the gate and get out," said Chucky.
"Oh right," blubbed Mason, "How will we ever do that? No way out."
"With his key," explained Edgar, realizing the solution must accommodate for that lack of opposable thumbs problem. "His key has an automatic door opener." "But who has a key? If we had a key, we could drive it away. It has that automatic start thing on the chain. Old Man used to impress guests by starting it up while they all sat in the kitchen."
"I have a key. He dropped it; I found it. It is hidden in my hole-in-the-wall chateau where Veronica and I honeymooned," reminded Edgar, except no one else ever knew it the first time.
So that is more or less how they all escaped Hicklebirkle Manor: by opening the car and climbing onto Chucky (even Mason, the ever-moaning turtle who no reason to stay with no one to complain to).
They pressed the little start button on the key chain and popped Old Man's car into drive. One crashed gate later and they were out onto fresh green moss.
Now, they live as they did before. Mason found nothing to do, which made him happy. He rests mostly a rock in garden, eating caterpillars. Edgar remarried -- this time to a spinster rat named Becky who lived in the garage across the street. Chucky chased birds unsuccessfully for a few days until Old Man's next door neighbor decided to adopt him.
They all get together every so often telling the tale of their escape to each other over a good meal of worms, cat food and whatever Edgar found in the gabage.
These are the days in Bluster County which cause me to smile, and I would live nowhere else. The sun rises an inch higher here than anywhere else in the world, making every day brighter. Click here to read my other tales, and here to contact me. I would love to tell these strange tales to your group.
