Great Mouse Detective and Rescuers Down Under characters belong to Disney

Secret of NIMH and American Tail characters belong to Don Bluth

Original Christmas Carol story belongs to Charles Dickens

I only own my own retelling of the story. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Sebastian Doran was dead. Everyone knew this, especially his long time friend and business partner Padriac Ratigan. It was he who signed the papers with the other witnesses to make it official. It was he who was the executor of Doran's estate stated in his will. It was he who was Doran's only friend, business partner, and sole mourner at his funeral. Yes, Ratigan knew without a doubt that Doran was dead as a doornail. But for some reason, he never painted out Doran's name on the front of their warehouse. It still read "Ratigan and Doran." No one knows the reason why; some said that perhaps he just never bothered to. Others said it was to honor his old friend. But a thought like that was a little ludicrous, for even if Ratigan cared about Doran, a notion like that would mean that Ratigan still had a heart, and heaven knows if he even still had one.

Yes, he was a tight-fisted rat, that Ratigan, a covetous, cold, greedy devil, squeezing out every penny anyone owed him until it choked them! He was ruthless in collecting what was owed to him, showing no mercy. There were rumors that he even fed those who couldn't pay him to his cat Felicia. These were false rumors, but it was apparent that no one would be surprised if he did. Freezing weather could bother Ratigan, for the coldness in his heart was much more bitter than any harsh winter that was dished out. And nothing, not even Christmas, ever warmed him one degree. What's more, icy frigidness of his heart showed on the outside of his face as well. He had sharp, calculating ruby eyes, a rounded clever chin, a slithering harsh voice that was as smooth as a cobra yet harsh as spikes, and had a muscular height and build that towered over other mice and rats like an evil giant glaring down at his helpless quivering victims. No one ever smiled at him. No one ever greeted him in the streets and asked him "My dear Ratigan, how are you? Are you free this evening to come to dinner?" No child ever came up to him to ask for directions. No beggar ever came to him to ask for a pence. His countenance was so cruel looking and forbidding that even strangers on the streets who never met him before steered clear of him the moment they laid eyes on him.

But Ratigan did not care. He actually liked this, and thought it best that it was kept that way, warning all to keep away from him least they suffer his wrath.