affame_le_geant_potentilla fyn gula "hello, i'm very sorry for the early hour," the lost boy said as quietly as possible, for waking the sleeping royalty prematurely was very possible with this unplanned phone conversation to the mouse. "it's quite alright," potentilla said from her mousehole in the pantry. she was a bit out of breath from gathering filo dough scraps and crumbs. she loved when the pastry chefs made baclava, so much mess on the floors! "are you unaware that mice are awake in the wee hours and sleep in the afternoon?" if you didn't know she was a mouse, by her voice you would swear she was brenda blethyn. "now that you mention it, i must say i knew that, probably learned it in british primary school," the lost boy replied. "and it's a good thing for perhaps yo will be more willing and enegetic to help me. i think i may be in trouble." "help you? potentilla questioned. her voice squeaked. "with what?" "waking the king," the lost boy said with resolution. there was a pause. "but isn't that meeterskeeter's job?" potentilla asked, yet it was more like a matter of fact statement of purpose. besides mice are deeply respectful of a cat's presence and place in the world. i think the reason is obvious and i need not explain. but still, potentilla couldn't help to evaluate the loftiness of meeterskeeter's valuable profession and somehow envy it. "everyone in the kingdom would love to sit on that fluffy pillow, sing for a few moments and then have the rest of the day off free." the lost boy checked his watch. he gasped. it was 35oam! "fuck!" he said, and perhaps a little too loud for king mal stirred as if the word pierced his dream like a pin in some child's balloon. "yes, it is a fine job for him," the lost boy said whispering again and happy with relief that his outburst didn't wake the king, "that is until a few moments ago," and he looked over at meeterskeeter with disdain. "he up and quit because he's tired of having his tail pulled, but he suggested you as a suitable replacement, said if i squeeze your belly right you'll sing like doris day." "well, bless his white boots," potentilla remarked. "and not just the belly. squeeze my right paw and it's billie hoiliday, the left and it's marilyn monroe, squeeze the back right and you'll get judy garland, and the back left is julie andrews." "quite remakable," the lost boy said, and he was genuinely amazed and relieved. the visions he had of himself rotting away in the lonely dungeon were rapidly diminishing. "absolutely," potentilla said. "when do i start?" the lost boy checked his watch again. it was 355am. "right now!" "i'll be there in two yanks of a cat's tail," she giggled and hung up. the lost boy was stunned. the cut on his hand was throbbing. "what did she say?" meeterskeeter asked, licking his paw. "she'll be right over." 011119 what's it to you? who go blather from