I firmly believed in the idea of Fidget reforming, I didn't want it to come out sappy and unrealistic. Although I re-wrote Fidget's biography with more details, I still felt something was missing. Then I took my last undergraduate course at New Mexico State University, called "Multicultural Education." We read an article by bell hooks on Transformative Education. One of the things I clearly remember was how hooks talked about change being painful, particularly when her students complained that her teaching methods made them "not enjoy life anymore." Although I didn't like the class, it made me re-examin Fidget through new lenses. What you're about to read is Fidget's painful reforming process, as told in the perspective of his new guardian, Anna Collins. Fidget, Queen Mousetoria, Ratigan, and Albert & Anna Collins belong to Walt Disney. Father Richards and Deniece la Chauve-souris belong to me.

The Eve I Gained a Son

I never forgot that horrid night at Buckingham Palace. Professor Ratigan announced that a heavy tax would be levied against the elderly. My husband and I clung to each other in horror. And the queen was letting him utter such blasphemy! My throat was tied in a knot. Did our majesty betray us?! But then the queen bit Ratigan's nose. Her neck was unusually long. There was complete absence of flesh. It wasn't the queen! That's when Basil of Baker Street arrived--with the real Queen. The crowd gathered to fight that evil tyrant. Albert and I squeezed through to make our way out. We stopped short when a whistle came from the balcony. We looked up and saw a bat, holding a girl mouse-ling in front of him like a trophy. Then Professor Ratigan swung on rope in his direction. That bat must've been Ratigan's partner in crime. We wasted no more time in our escape from all this madness. We were able to make it back home. A few days later, the papers read that Ratigan was dead. I was so relieved that I nearly fainted. That horrible tyrant was dead. No more memories of that night. Or so we thought …

One evening, as I was working on my needle-point a knock came at the door. I dropped my work in exasperation. I detested being interrupted in my needlepoint. But I maintained a disciplined composure and answered the door. It was Father Richards.

"Good evening, Father," I uttered in surprise. "We weren't expecting you."

"Good evening, Mrs. Collins," Father replied.

I allowed him to come inside and hung his hat and coat. I had Albert fetch some tea as I escorted Father into the dining room. It was customary for Father Richards to visit us at least once a week, usually on a Wednesday (although today was Tuesday). He was like family.

"It's so good of you to visit us, Father," I graciously told him as I poured tea into his cup. "Your company warms us."

"Thank you, Mrs. Collins," Father replied with a slight bow of the head. "But I'm afraid I didn't come to visit."

I nearly spilt some tea on the tablecloth. I noticed a hint of seriousness in his eyes when I looked back at him. He contently motioned with his hand for Albert and I to sit down.

"You once told me that you wanted a child of your own," he pointed out.

Albert and I nodded. It was true. We never had any children. I couldn't have any. I was barren. It was the subject of scorn and mockery by all the women in mousedom. Young ladies wickedly grinned at me as they caressed their swollen stomachs. My students at Oxford brought up the matter whenever I lectured about Lady Macbeth or Medea. How infuriating! Then at thirty, I was swollen of stomach. But God in all his cruelty took that child away from me. I wept in anger. I wanted a child! I wanted to be a mother! Why couldn't I have that!? Why, why, why!!?

Father Richards re-adjusted his spectacles, as was his usual way when he talked about something important. "It just so happens that I met someone who has no family."

Albert and I looked at each other in wonder. When we realized what Father was implying, our jaws dropped.

"You mean you found us a child!?" exclaimed Albert.

Father Richards smiled. "Yes … in a matter of speaking."

I could barely utter a sound from my throat. My sight became misty with water. Father Richards found us a child! My body quivered with excitement as I clung to my husband and buried my face in his chest. After all these years of mockery! All these years of wishing, hoping, and aging! My dream was finally coming true! But Father Richards wasn't finished yet.

"There is something however, that you should realize."

Well, this is very intriguing, I thought.

"This boy has been a prisoner to villainy," Father addressed. "He's fighting many beasts right now."

"Beasts, Father?" said Albert.

"What kind of beasts?" I added.

"All in good time," Father Richards uttered with a reserved smile. He took one last sip of tea before he rose from his seat. "I must be on my way now. I will bring your new child here tomorrow evening, then I'll explain everything."

After Father Richards left us, Albert and I conversed over the matter. A prisoner to villainy? A slave to a very cruel master, no doubt? Or perhaps a victim of kidnapping. Father did have a habit of speaking in riddles from time to time. Whatever the matter, Albert and I wanted to meet our new son. Our dream took an unexpected turn …

The next evening, a knock came at our door. I was working on my needle-point again. Only this time, I didn't mind the interruption. Our child was here! Our new child was finally here! My hands trembled with excitement as I rose from my seat. I opened the door with welcoming glee … and found an image that made me shriek.

It was not a child! It was a full-grown, yet scrawny little bat with a peg-leg! But this bat's face I knew. It was that same bat I saw the night of the Diamond Jubilee! Professor Ratigan's accomplice! I stood aghast as I turned my gaze to Father Richards, who stood right next to him. When Albert rushed to my side, he did the same. "What's the meaning of this, Father!?" my husband gasped.

Father gestured his hand at the bat. "This is the boy I told you about," he replied. "His name is Fidget."

What in God's name?! A convict as my son!? The bat shielded his face from my view.

"He was just released from Pentonville," Father told us, realizing our horror. He gestured the bat to unmask his face. "He's trying to get re-adjusted back into society. I'm helping him with his studies. But he'll also need proper guidance."

"And you want us to give it to him!?" said Albert.

Father Richards nodded. "Fidget is deeply ashamed of his crimes. He is willing to repent, but

he'll need all the help he can get."

Albert and I looked at each other in disbelief. A criminal re-adjusting back into society!? Father Richards was babbling madness! He wanted us to adopt this … this thing!? I was to become the mother of an ugly, scrawny, disreputable little goblin!? No, I would not have it! I would not have God mock my misery again! Nevertheless, Father Richards entrusted Fidget to us, despite our reluctance. Father bade us farewell as he slung on his coat, put on his hat, and turned around to walk away. And now, we were left with him.

Father Richards advised us that we make sure Fidget earned his keep. And that's exactly what we did. For two weeks, Albert and I had him on hands and knees like a farm boy. We had him scrub the floors, wash the dishes, and do every chore imaginable. And we made sure he did it thoroughly. At the same token, we made him withdraw his pockets to check for any hidden weapons. This was done when he came down for breakfast, before he left for his studies, when returned, and before he went to bed. Fidget hardly spoke to us, but when he did, we instructed him to look us in the face and keep his hands in view (which wasn't hard for him since he talked with his hands anyway).

Albert and I never left him unattended. When Fidget went to the guestroom to be alone, we occasionally peeked through the keyhole. When he bathed himself, we stood outside the door to listen for any inconsistencies of sound. Aside from splashing water, we heard exasperated sighs and muttering. Complaining about the chores we made him do, no doubt. He probably never had to clean a thing in his whole life.

There were also occasions when I caught him doing something suspicious. One evening when I had him clean out the cupboard, I saw him take something out. It was one of my fancy dishes, painted with blue flowers and silver lining along the rim. His eyes lit up like candles as he gazed upon it. It was as if he found a piece of lost treasure. He slowly turned around to walk away with it when I began to cry out. "What are you doing?!"

My comment gave him such a scare that he almost dropped the dish. He caught it just in time to face me. There was a guilty look on his face.

"I repeat, what are you doing?"

He raised the dish to my eye-level, as if I couldn't figure out the answer already.

"You have a tongue in your mouth," I addressed. "Speak."

"I … I was lookin' at dis," Fidget stammered.

I gave him a stern look as I crossed my arms and tapped my foot. "I hope you weren't trying to steal it."

"N-no," he uttered in an uncomfortable tone.

I didn't believe him. I snatched the dish from his webbed hands. My gesture must've frightened him because he cowered from me. "Just finish cleaning," I demanded, "and don't let me catch you with one of my dishes again!"

Fidget made a sour face of defeat as he lowered his head. He continued his work without another word. So, he tried to sneak a lie past me, eh? And I caught him in the act!

Another time I noticed something odd was when he was cleaning the fireplace. He peeked up the chimney with a focused gaze. I fixed my eyes on him. He started to climb up the chimney. He was sneaking out! I rushed over and pulled him by the ankle. A huge pile of dust fell on his head, followed by a huge cloud. I quickly turned my head away as I coughed dust out of my lungs. I turned my gaze back at Fidget. He was covered with dust from head to shoulders. I realized that the dust blinded him. He glided his webbed hands in the air as he coughed. I went over to his side and wiped his eyes with my apron so he could at least see. Fidget opened his eyes and looked up at me.

"Why did you do dat!?" he exclaimed. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Because I caught you trying to sneak out," I replied firmly.

Fidget looked at me as if he had been slapped in the face. "I wasn't sneakin' out! I was cleanin' da chimney!"

"By climbing it?" I said with crossed arms.

"Y-yes!" he blurted. "Dhere's a big cobweb blockin' it." He held out his hands, which were covered with cobweb. "I was tryin' to get rid of it. And you pulled me!"

"There's a chimney sweeper right next to you," I pointed defiantly. His eyes followed my finger.

When he saw the chimney sweeper, his ears lowered. He began to pout. I was right. He was trying to sneak out.

"I'll take care of the chimney," I uttered in an exasperated tone. "In the meantime, you go upstairs and wash up."

Fidget didn't budge. It began to aggravate me.

"Didn't you hear what I said?!" I exclaimed. "Go! Now!"

Fidget wasted no time in heeding my order. He marched his way upstairs in a childish manner. I tossed the sweeper on the floor. That boy must be very slow. It seemed that every order I gave him was a delayed reaction. Dear God, why do you mock me?! I wanted a child, not some daft ruffian! It was enough to make me faint upon the couch. If I wasn't getting old already, that creature was adding more wrinkles and gray hairs to my body. That boy could never get re-adjusted back into society! It never occurred to me that I would be proven wrong …

It was Saturday afternoon. I asked Albert to go to market and buy some food while I stayed home to keep an eye on Fidget. He polished the vases in the dining room while I organized the tea pot and tea cups on a silver dinner tray. I was on my way into the dining room … when suddenly my body began to tremble. I stopped dead in my tracks. Everything looked hazy, even through my glasses. My head was as heavy as an anvil that I could feel it heave my body backwards, causing the tray to slip from my hands. What was going on?! My hands clasped something behind me (the counter, I assumed), but the stop knocked my glasses off. I made every effort to stay on my feet, but I felt too giddy. Was I dying? Then I felt something wrap around my waist, catching me off-guard. I wasn't sure, but it felt like a bony arm with a cape.

"I got'cha!"

I recognized that hoarse tone. It was Fidget!

"Hold onto me."

I wanted to protest, but I was too weak to argue. I felt the creature haul my body with such a force that my footsteps nearly faltered. I was a puppet on strings in his webbed arms. I couldn't see where we were going. Then I felt something soft. The parlor couch?

"Lie down."

I allowed my body to slump. I glanced at the other end to see what Fidget was doing. Although everything still looked hazy, I saw that he lifted my feet and placed them on a pillow. Then he ran off. He was trying to escape, I thought. But, I didn't have the strength to stop him. But before I could sulk, I felt a hand lifting my head. Something cold and hard pressed against my lips.

"Drink it."

Something wet touch my lips. Drink what? I hoped that it wasn't poison. Out of impulse, I tasted the liquid. It was water. Not long after it parched my thirst I started to feel less dizzy. I opened my mouth for more. My body stopped trembling. I felt fingers fumble with my hair. My bun was untied; my hair hung loose. I opened my eyes. Nothing spun around anymore. I saw Fidget's eyes gaze at me. They were mixed with worry and relief. I was never so taken aback in all my life. Was he really that concerned about me?

"Are you … alright?" he asked, dabbing a wet rag upon my temples.

I nodded my head lethargically. The dampness of the rag soothed my weary head.

"Not mad at me, are you?"

I shook my head.

Fidget folded the rag and rested in on my forehead.

"I'll clean up da mess," he told me. "Dhen I'll get a blanket for you."

I watched as he did his usual halting stride to the kitchen. What a convincing man he was. I almost wanted to believe him. But what if it was all a trick?

Albert heard of my misfortune upon his return. He summoned a doctor to our house, who concluded that I suffered from a seizure. The doctor insisted that I rest a few days. I worked on my needle-point to keep myself occupied. Albert and Fidget occasionally visited me. I saw Fidget the most. He took small, creeping steps whenever he entered the room. He always approached me like that since the day he set foot in the house. Was he plotting something? Yet he often inquired about my health. His face looked so concern. I found myself second-guessing my judge of his character. Was I wrong about him? If he was putting on an act, it was powerful enough to sway even the most perceptive mouse. But I would not have it! I couldn't let my illness overrule my judgment. I had to watch his every move. He may attempt to keep me ill.

Surprisingly, my days of bed rest passed quickly. Fidget was scrubbing floors as usual. He didn't even try to keep me sick. But I wouldn't let that fool me. I decided to check out the guestroom where he slept. I just had to make sure he wasn't plotting something. I searched under the pillows and blankets for hidden weapons. Nothing. I searched his suitcase … and found a diary. I was never one to pry, but in his case I made an exception. I opened the pages, expecting to find something to prove my theory correct. I was appalled by what I saw. I couldn't even read his handwriting. The alignment of the words was crooked and spelling was terrible. It was a child's scrawl! A giggle escaped my throat. A criminal who couldn't spell?! It was enough to make me die of laughter. I dropped the diary back in the suitcase. I came away with the idea that he was as thick as wood. He couldn't plot a damn thing!

I went back downstairs to check on Fidget. He was still scrubbing floors. But there were a couple of times he stopped short. He breathed laboriously and brushed his arm across his forehead. His yellow eyes looked fatigued. He dropped the brush and fell into a sitting position. He was quivering. I couldn't believe my eyes. Why was he quivering?

"Fidget?"

He flinched at the sound of my voice. He picked up the brush and resumed scrubbing.

"Stop, stop, stop!" I blurted.

He dropped the scrubbing brush and looked at me with such a surprised stare.

"You're work is done. Go upstairs."

He gave me a puzzled look. "B-but … I wasn't done yet."

"I'll finish it," I ensured him.

"But what if you fall again?"

"I assure you, that won't happen. Now go upstairs."

He rose to his foot and peg. I watched him walk away in a dismal manner. He stopped for a moment to look back at me. "You hate me, don't you?"

"Just do as I say," I sighed impatiently. "Like a good boy."

Fidget's ears drooped in dejection. "No wonder da boss fired me."

That caught my attention like a needle-prick. He slowly climbed up the stairs with his head lowered, like a man sentenced to execution. I suddenly regretted my own words.

While I washed the dishes, I thought about Fidget. I couldn't focus on a single chore. I went upstairs to his room.

I peeked through the keyhole. He was asleep on the bed. I quietly opened the door and crept inside. I approached the right side of his bed. His hands were balled under his right cheek and his face held a serene expression. My eyes were fixed on the image. It was like watching a baby in its crib. Then he rolled on his back. I almost cried out in horror. A series of bruises and lashes covered the boy's shirtless and skeletal body, making it appear like a mutilated corpse. I turned my head away. Then came a bloodcurdling scream.

Fidget tossed violently in his sleep as he cried out appalling words.

"Please, don't hurt me!! I don't wanna die!!"

His webbed arms clutched as his sides, as if he were in pain. My body froze. Was he hurting himself?! I had to stop him! I wrapped my arms firmly around his skeletal body. He tried to wriggle free of my grasp. "It's alright," I uttered. "I'm not going to hurt you."

His body suddenly went limp in my arms. Dear God! Did I hurt him? Then I heard soothing, child-like sounds escape his throat. My touch calmed him.

"Good boy," I whispered in his ear. "It's alright … Everything's alright …"

For a moment, I kept my arms wrapped around Fidget's body. It was light and soft as a doll. His sighs were low, yet tranquil. I felt such an ache in my heart that I didn't want to let him go. It was like his soul merged with mine. I never realized that holding my new child would bring me such warmth.

What was I doing?! This was not a child!

"Ma … Mama …?"

That voice! I was giving in!

"I'm … not your mother."

I lowered his body upon the mattress. A tiny smile flickered at the corners of his mouth. A child's satisfaction. The image clutched at my heart like a fisher's hook. I left the room and closed the door behind me. I cupped my hand over my mouth. My voice was stuck. What was happening? I'm a sensible woman. Now I'm questioning my own wisdom.

The next day, I left the house. I needed fresh air to clear my head. I also hoped to find Father Richards at home. I climbed aboard a human hansom that was on its way to Piccadilly. My mind swam in a sea of thoughts. And I couldn't decide which one was real.

I finally arrived at Piccadilly. Father Richards was just coming out.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Collins," he greeted. "I was on my way to Westminster Abbey."

I smiled in reply. "May I walk with you, Father?"

Father nodded his head. "I trust you have questions about Fidget?"

I didn't answer right away. How did he know? Then I found my tongue again. "Father, there are some things I don't understand."

He motioned his hand for me to come with him. I told him about Fidget's unusual behavior. Father listened intently as I explained everything. He nodded in an agreeable manner, as if he already knew. "That's exactly how my pupil described him."

"Your pupil?"

Father Richards nodded. "Deniece la Chauve-souris."

My jaw fell open. I knew that name! "The Songbird was your pupil?!"

Father smiled at my surprised manner. I hardly knew the girl, but I used to attend her plays. But what did she have to do with Fidget? Studying my perplexity, Father Richards gave me the answer.

"They were friends?!"

"By mishap, of course," Father Richards added. "Ratigan threw him in the River Thames; Deniece saved his life."

Fidget's remark suddenly came back to me: No wonder da boss fired me.

"So Ratigan tried to kill his own accomplice?"

"Because Fidget outlived his use," Father Richards replied.

That didn't surprise me. I knew Ratigan. People were merely pawns on his chessboard. Those were the exact words that escaped the rat's lips.

"I don't understand it either," Father continued. "But somehow, Deniece kindled a spark inside Fidget. He did things I never thought him capable of doing, including confession."

That caught me by surprise. "You mean he actually confessed his crimes?"

Father told me about Fidget's confession and his growing companionship with the Songbird. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"But what provoked him to make amends?"

Father Richards shrugged his shoulders. "Love makes people do extraordinary things."

This whole talk left me baffled. Yet my curiosity begged for more.

"And those scars?"

Father smiled. "Why don't you try asking him?"

I allowed Father Richards to go his way while I walked alone. It all seemed inconceivable to me. An actress kindling a spark in a madman? It sounded like a fairy tale, and I never believed in fairy tales. I'm a realist. But I also knew Father Richards never lied to me (and I can tell if someone is lying). Yet images of Fidget still plagued my memory. I didn't know what to believe anymore.

I passed by Westminster Bridge when something familiar caught me by surprise. Fidget sat between the poles, gazing at the River Thames. A lilac flower was in his right hand. How intriguing. I hid myself from view as I watched him. He rose to his foot and peg and spoke in a faltering tongue.

"Mama … It's me, Finnius."

Finnius? That must've been his birth-given name. It looked like he was making a confession … or giving a requiem. I listened intently to his faltering speech. What I heard suddenly brought shame in my heart. I learned that he was maltreated by outsiders, while his mother neglected his needs. Then he ran away and became corrupted by villainy. He never allowed himself one moment to grieve for his mother. This was his moment.

He threw the lilac in the river and fell to his knees. Now I understood why Father Richards described him as a prisoner. He was a captive to his own beasts. All he wanted was to be acknowledged by someone. And I've denied him that.

I quickly hopped aboard the next hansom back to Regent Street. Enough was enough! In my youth, I wanted a child. Now I'm old. I still want a child. This is my last chance.

I sat and waited for Fidget's return. He arrived and stopped short when he saw me. I gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, child. You didn't do anything wrong."

"You're not … angry with me?"

I shook my head. I couldn't be angry with him. There was no need.

I beckoned him to sit next to me. Then I placed my hand on his cheek. My gesture took him by surprise. "I'm sorry, Fidget," I uttered. "I kept distant from you and … treated you like a servant-boy. Can you forgive me?"

Fidget looked at me with astounded, yet friendly eyes. "Oh, dat's no problem. I've had worse."

I looked at the ground, pondering for words. Then I found my tongue again. "Fidget, I want to tell you something."

Fidget's ears perked up attentively.

"I was barren," I began. "I couldn't bare children. All my efforts had failed. Then I became old. I gave up that dream long ago … until you came … Finnius."

Fidget startled expression came on his face. "Wha … What?"

"You made my dream come true," I said with a smile. "Only a beautiful creature could do that. And in spite of the wrongs you did, I'm very proud of you."

All of a sudden, Fidget fell to his hands and knees. I heard choking sounds escape his mouth. I realized that he was weeping. I lowered myself to his level. His body quivered like a terrified puppy. I put my hand under his chin to lift his face up. There were tears in his eyes. I never thought he could shed tears like that. Then he turned his face away. "Please, don't look away," I whispered gently. "There's no need to be ashamed."

I lifted my new child and drew into a warm embrace. He buried his face in my chest as I comforted him with gentle words. Oh, how good it felt to be a mother. How good it felt to have a child weep on my shoulder and to comfort him. Poor Finnius Holloway. All his life, he learned shame. All he wanted was a sense of meaning in this world. Now he can have that. He can give without reluctance again. I liberated him from his prison..

Author's Notes:

"... whenever I lectured on Lady Macbeth or Medea:" Lady Macbeth and Medea are two female figures in ancient literature that scorned the idea of motherhood and everything expected of a female in a man's world. In Anna Collins's class, a student once asked her "Is that why you don't have children, Professor Collins?" I.e., the student implied that Mrs. Collins was lecturing on those two female figures because she doesn't believe in baring children.

Pentonville: Pentonville Prison.

That didn't surprise me. I knew Ratigan ...:" Both James Ratigan and Anna Collins were professors at Oxford University. James attempted multiple times to get Anna to come away with him, but Anna stubbornly refused as she got bad vibes from him.