Monty Mouse's Adventure
A story for children aged 3 - 7
by
George Berry

Monty Mouse was not an ordinary, furry mouse, with a tail, ears and whiskers. He was smooth and shiny and ran about a desk top, never going far from his mother. He didn’t make noises like an ordinary mouse but went click. And when he went click something changed in the big shining eye of his mother.

His mother told him, “You can run anywhere you like on the desk top. But don’t, what ever you do, go near the edge.”

“Why not?” piped Monty.

“Because it is dangerous and you might fall off.”

“No, I won’t,” thought Monty. “I wonder what’s there? I wonder what there is over the edge of the table?”

So one day, when his mother was having a nap he slid over to the edge of the table, and looked. He couldn’t see very much as it was a bit dim and dark down there. So, he leaned a little further and a little further and a little further. Then he lost his balance and toppled, down, down, down.

He landed with a soft bump on a thick carpet. He was shaken but not hurt. Looking around he could see in among the tufts of the carpet minute creatures feeding on even more minute flecks caught in the carpet.

Then he heard a loud, “Meow!” He turned and saw a fearsome creature bounding towards him, with its eyes and mouth wide open. Monty scuttled away as fast as he could over the soft surface and found in the skirting board a small hole which he squeezed into. There he was safe from the cat, though he could hear it still scrabbling outside.

Turning round and getting used to the dark he came face to face with a small pointy nose and a pair of eyes.

“Who are you?” said Monty Mouse.

“Oh, I’m Mrs Mary Mouse. I live here with my family. You seem to have had a narrow escape. We’re just about to have dinner. Would you like to join us?”

A most delicious aroma was wafting through the air. It smelt like... like...

“You’re not having stew, dumplings and boiled potatoes are you?” asked Monty excitedly.

“Yes, we are!” replied Mrs Mouse.

“My favourite dinner,” said Monty. “Mother only gives me chips. We never have boiled potatoes. Its chips, chips, chips all the time. I think I’m going to like it here.”

And so he did.

The end.

George Berry © 2006

More Stories / Rhymes

Category: Children's Stories