The usual disclaimer: Cosgrove Hall owns Dangermouse, Penfold, Colonel K, and the whole general idea. I own nothing but a fevered imagination.
"No!"
"But K-" hissed the voice over the viewscreen
"No! I am not working with a crosseyed mouse! When you said you were sending me an assistant, I assumed you meant someone with some inherent capacity to, as the term would suggest, assist!"
Mouse stared at the floor and chewed the end of his tie, trying to wish himself invisible. He dimly heard Agent K making some comment about the likelihood of a shootout in a cheese factory.
"Look here, K," boomed the Colonel through the two-way screen, shaking his mane, "Mouse is a good lad. Promising young agent. Did very well on the coursework, now we want to see how he shapes up in the practical."
"You've drafted a MOUSE into Her Majesty's Secret Service!"
"Yes, we had noticed that, K. Colonel out."
Special Agent K spun away from the now-dead screen, and surveyed his new 'assistant'. Little more than a child, he was small even for a mouse, and his thick glasses did nothing to hide the fact that his yellow eyes were permanently fixed on a spot near the end of his nose. His rumpled blue suit was too big and the tip of his striped tie looked suspiciously nibbled.
"So, you're Mouse."
"Y-y-yes, Sir." Mouse hugged his training manual tighter against his chest, as if hoping the words would protect him from the wrath of the agent he'd been assigned to. He had thought it would get easier away from the training compound, free of three years sharing barracks with two Persian cats, a terrier and a bald eagle. Now he wasn't so sure.
"Wouldn't have happened in our day. Rodent-liberationist claptrap. Once they picked agents by their ability - Retrievers, Panthers, Owls - people with potential." K turned his back on the trembling mouse and gazed out of the pillarbox slot, across London. "Now there are voles in Defence, rabbits in the Ministry and even a ferret running for office in Weston-Super-Mare! They'll be putting bally hampsters in the Service next thing you know."
"Y-y-yes, Sir." Mouse looked up at K. He could see the agent's fangs glinting beneath his black moustache, muscles rippling beneath the white suit. He wondered if K was going to eat him up and spit out his spectacles. With fifteen littermates, one insignificant little white mouse wouldn't even be missed.
The viewscreen hissed back into life. Mouse squeaked in alarm and jumped a foot in the air, dropping the manual. He landed in a heap and awkwardly picked up both his book and himself.
"S-s-sorry, Sir."
"Mouse - shush!" K turned to the Colonel's leonine face coming into focus on the viewscreen.
"Ah, K - another spot of bother with Greenback, I'm afraid. We need you to to save the world again, old boy."
"Wilco, Sir." K lifted an eyebrow at his dishevelled assistant. "Come on then, Mouse, let's see what you can do."
Later. Doesn't matter how much later, time is but an illusion
"Dashed big class this year, DM," proclaimed Colonel K through his white moustache. "Hundred and seventeen of 'em. All excellent agent material, trained up and ready to go."
"We'll need them, Colonel. Greenback's schemes are getting more and more devious."
"Just as well we have the world's best agent hot on his stumpy tail, then, eh what?"
"Maybe, Colonel, but I'm not sure how much longer even I'm going to be able to keep up with him alone."
"Yes, well that's one reason-" they were interrupted by a squeal of laughter from the ranks of newly-graduated agents spilling out of the hall into the grounds. A red fox and a polar bear jostled each other good naturedly down the steps before collapsing into a playful wrestle on the lawn, a blue-suited crowd gathering around them. The Colonel cleared his throat loudly and the gaggle of young agents looked up sheepishly, except the sheep who wore her characteristic dogged expression.
"Hey, that isn't-
"Colonel K?
"No, the chap he's talking to-
"White suit? Eyepatch? You don't think it's-
"Dangermouse!
"Can't be!
"Cor, they reckon he's the best agent in the world -
"Anyway DM, as I was saying, that's one reason I've invited you along to the graduation today." The Colonel took a swig on his punch. "How do you fancy having an assistant?"
"Well," the mouse looked across the crowd of young hopefuls. "Have you anyone in mind?"
"Young Renard's good in a scrap," the Colonel nodded to the fox, now trying to dust grass stains from his suit. "There's a cougar lass we're expecting great things from, and Ping-Cho has an excellent analytical mind - you know what these Siamese are like."
"Would you excuse me for a moment, Colonel?" Dangermouse flashed one of his charming grins. "Just popping off for a quick mingle."
The mouse threaded his way through the crowd - a surprisingly easy task, since the crowd shuffled respectfully aside to give him room. What it was to have a reputation, Dangermouse reflected. He still hadn't entirely forgiven 47 for 'accidentally' treading on him during rugger practice all those years ago - surely being an elephant should be all the more reason to watch where one puts one's feet?
Then, through the sea of people, Dangermouse spotted a small person looking out of place. His rumpled blue suit was too big and his collar and cuffs stuck out untidily. His naturally wide-eyed, bewildered look was magnified by his thick spectacles. The mouse made his way over to the hampster's side.
"Hello, little chap. What's your name?"
"Ooh 'eck. Err. Penfold, Sir. My name's Penfold."