Musculus Rex

   Below in the dungeons of a great and majestic castle, lived a mouse withered and ancient. Round blue eyes gazed, but did not see, blinded by old age. A crown of tinfoil, perched precariously atop his grey head. Threadbare, purple robes encircled careworn shoulders. An age had come and passed, still here he sat, upon a spool throne; his weary head resting upon his paw.

  A mouse with a feathered cap and tufts of hair sticking out of his ears ran into the throne room. Excitedly stumbling and tumbling over his feet, skidding to halt in front of the throne, the feather in his cap bobbing madly. “Musculus Rex! Musculus Rex!” He squeaked exuberantly, the sound echoing off the chamber walls.

 Slowly raising his head, Musculus squinted. He jammed a gnarled finger into his ear, and in a slow wizened voice said “Who’s there?”

 “Pusillus sir,” said the small mouse “The tournament is about to begin,” he said rubbing his paws anxiously.

  “What’s that?” Musculus asked gruffly.

  “Oh, oh, the tournament sir, the tournament!” Pusillus exclaimed.

  Musculus hummed and hawed “Yes, yes, quite right,” and he paused. When nothing occurred, he waved his paw and boomed “Well then get on with it!”

 “Yes sir!” piped Pusillus and he gestured to two mice standing nearby to pick up the throne, which they hurriedly did.

  Then the troupe speedily left the throne room, led by Pusillius, running up and down corridors at a dizzy pace. They did not stop was courtiers bowed to Musculus Rex as he passed by. Huffing and puffing, finally they arrived at their destination. Before them lay an enormous wooden arena. The crowd was cheering and the smell of fried cheese filled the air.

  In one corner of the arena, cats paced angrily in their cages, taking the occasional swipe at any mouse that got too close. Puscillius helped Musculus to his seat. The crowd suddenly stood up and roared. Entering the ring were two large feral cats, eying the crowd venomously. Astride both of the cats, sat a mouse. Each mouse  wore a thimble helmet, shiny tin armor, and carried toothpicks.


 The “Rut tut tut”, of a horn sounded and the crowd quieted. Each of the knights took their places at either end of the pitch. Lowering their visors they waited. Then with a great big yowl from one of the cats, the joust began.

 

 

 

 

(This is a project that I am going to be working on. Also it is my Christmas gift to a very special little boy who goes where even angels fear to tread. Toccoa this one is for you!)