affame_le_geant_ballo'grass fyn gula the ballofgrass mousehole, as previously stated, was located in the royal pantry, directly behind the main castle kitchen, serving as a stockroom for a bevy of staples, victuals, and a vast array of incredible edibles. the well crafted opening in the stucco wall and inconspicuous location behind the oak barrels of black toscana olives was a premium piece of rodent real estate secured by generations of ballo'grasses. (as it was spelled a century go, the "f" to "of" being added by whyska ballofgrass during the revolution of love in 1969.) it was an ideal place to pilfer unnoticed at all hours of the day and night, unless of course idgbidget of the mouser batallion and his cronies dukebox and furball were on the hunt, pressured by the top to perform and produce. it was rare to see them for they were usually doing catnip and subsequently chasing butterflies that weren't always there. so this cozy home, on the whole was safe and its inhabitants were free to roam and live a "normal" life. they chewed holes in bags of grain, sliced open boxes of seeds, and gnawed the threads from burlap sacks of nuts. once in a great while, a wedge of cheese would be left out by a fearful kitchen apprentice in a rush to meet a royal dictation and suddenly a mouse holiday would be created and declared with much celebration following. that's when the wine, meticulously collected from carefully turning over empty bottles and draining the dregs into used spice jars would be uncorked. such merriment ensued and with it, women, and of course, song... "we are excited, we are so pleased, this is the heralded day that we have found cheese. we love birds, flowers, and trees, but nothing we love more than our cheese. be it pecorino, parmesano or grated romano, we'll be non=plussed. from paws to jaws it's like heaven to us." actually, mrs. ballofgrass had been using her q-tip mop to swab the floor after the impromtu party thrown for potentilla's sudden fame at being selected alarmgirl for the king when saumboo called with the bad news. so, when he arrived at the pantry hole, having said his good mornings to the chefs and kitchen help and put in the royal breakfast order, he immediately smelled pine-sol. bending down on hands and knees and peering in, he observed the clean floor and tiny bags of discarded festivity. "mrs. ballofgrass!" saumboo called out. he had the bad news no one wants to hear and no one wants to give, but there are things that must be done, like breathing the first air after the cord is cut and dying like a light going out. 011201 what's it to you? who go blather from