Author:
Mareth Baskethead, AA
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Date Posted: 23:01:13 12/26/05 Mon
Kerble Baskethead squinted infuriately at his son.
“Mareth?”
“Yeth?”
“Mama's been looking for her sugar bowl.”
“Hath she now? Well, ithen't dat orful? I sure hope she findth it thoon.” The small mouse was about to stroll off when his father grabbed him by the scruff of his smock.
“MARETH! Do you know anything about the sugar bowl?”
“Now, why d'you fink I'd know thumfing about dat?”
“Because you're twitching, you're so hyper. And we all know what makes you hyper!”
“Athparaguth?”
“SUGAR!”
“Oh yeah, sugar. Well.. uh.. bye-bye now!” Mareth was about to stroll off again, obviously hiding something behind his back. His father, Kerble, reached around him and grabbed what Mareth was hiding triumphantly.
“And what do we have here?” Mr. Baskethead shook a yellow sugar bowl at his son. Kerble Baskethead shouted for his wife. “Fermel! Mareth had the sugar! And,” he said, peering inside, “it appears he’s nearly ate all of it!”
Fermel Baskethead, a pleasantly plump, rather attractive middle-aged mousewife, scurried over and looked in the sugar bowl.
“Mareth! Go to the bedroom immediately!”
Kerble and Fermel’s five-season-old son stumped over to the room, muttering under his breath, when a huge tremor shook the mice’s lopsided home.
“Wh-wh-what wath d-d-at?” stuttered Mareth (who stutters when agitated).
“I dunno!” exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Baskethead simultaneously.
“Out! Out everybeast! Fermel! Mareth! C’mon!” The whole Baskethead family ran out, snatching things they couldn’t bear to lose. The ground shook madly under them, like something was trying to get out.
“Run! It’s still shaking!” Fermel grabbed her son (who was never exactly a sprinter) and followed after her husband. After five more minutes, though it seemed more like five years, the earthquake (for that is what it was) subsided and all three Basketheads stopped, panting.
“What WAS that?” said Fermel, after everymouse had caught their breath.
“Whatever it was, I guess it’s over now. Why don’t we go back to the house and see how bad the damage is?” declared her husband.
The damage was bad. The Baskethead home had been reduced to a pile of rubble. A tear ran down Kerble’s face as he surveyed his hard labor completely destroyed. Fermel sniffed as she thought of the lovely things she’d made that were all reduced to shreds. And Mareth wailed, because he knew there was no more home anymore.
Four days later, the Basketheads had salvaged nearly everything they could from the wreckage. Kerble knew very well that if he was to repair his house, he’d need to find fresh stone, something there was none of anywhere around his neck of the woods. He had to find a fort or something to house himself and his family in, as they couldn’t survive much longer in the messy camp they’d made. Kerble decided he’d head south and take his chances.
Three seasons later, the Basketheads were commemorating the day of the earthquake for the third time- at Redwall Abbey.
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