December 19, 1896

"Dearest brothers, we are about to embark on an epic journey into the innermost regions of our souls to discover the true spirit of Christmas within our hearts." Ratigan paused to lift his cigarette holder to his lips. "In four days, it shall be Christmas Eve. That very evening, I shall inform all the little children that I have special gifts for them. When the come close enough to receive their presents, you shall all seize them and put them into this bag." He laughed maliciously. "Felicia shall enjoy a lavish Christmas feast the next day!"

We all cheered enthusiastically. The typical pattern was that after the professor explained his next scheme, we would sing his favorite song. However, this time he requested a Christmas carol.

"Any one in particular, boss?" I asked.

"It doesn't matter!" he responded. "Just as long as it gets my mind off that wretched Basil! I can't help but feel he's already plotting to ruin my perfect Christmas! He torments my slumber with nightmares, and I become paranoid! There's no escape from that miscreant! He sees me when I'm sleeping! He knows when I'm awake! He knows if I've been bad or good…!" The boss sighed.

"Try to relax, Professor," Bill replied. "We'll get your mind off him. You're too smart for him anyway!"

Ratigan smiled. "Thank you! Oh, by the way, can you sing something about bells? A lot of Christmas carols mention bells, and I just love songs like that!"

While the world's greatest criminal rat made himself comfortable and Bartholomew nearly drowned himself in wassail, we sang every carol we could think of and several we invented on the spot. The boss seemed amused, much to our relief. It was our job to do anything possible to keep him entertained, but this was not always an easy task. All was going well until somebody was dumb enough to visit.

Ratigan stormed to the door. "You knocked?"

The stranger tipped his hat. "Good afternoon, sir. I'm collecting for the poor. Would you care to make a contribution?"

The boss looked like he was about to explode. "You interrupted my Christmas to asks me to give to charity?" He suddenly became calm. "I'm always pleased to help feed the hungry! In fact, I think we should discuss this over dinner!" With that, he rang the bell.

We cowered, expecting Felicia to devour this generous visitor, but to our great surprise, she turned up her nose.

"What's wrong, darling?" Ratigan asked.

Felicia poked the stranger's ribs.

"He's too skinny for you?"

She meowed.

"What if we fattened him up for your first snack of the coming year? Would that work? Would he make a nice little treat at midnight to celebrate 1897?"

The cat licked her lips.

"Fidget!"

I stepped forward nervously. "Yes, boss?"

"Take him somewhere he won't be found, and make sure he can't escape. Give him plenty of food, and keep him from exercising. If he isn't ready by New Year's Eve, you'll replace him!"

"He'll be ready, sir," I promised.

From the way Felicia was looking at me, I got the feeling she wouldn't be too disappointed if she had to eat me instead of her intended victim. I knew I would take every precaution necessary to make sure I would not fail.

As I tied up the visitor, I suddenly felt uneasy. Ordinarily, I thoroughly enjoyed helping Ratigan get rid of others, but killing someone for trying to make Christmas better for the less fortunate didn't seem right. Ignoring my conscience was surprisingly difficult.

When I had finished my chore of capturing our visitor, I went to the Rat Trap for a bottle of Rodent's Delight. I hoped my favorite brandy would wash away my guilt. Three rounds later, it still hadn't worked. I bet I drank more than Bartholomew that day.

The next thing I knew, it was nearly evening, and I wasn't feeling so well. Looking around, I noticed I was in someone's house.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You drank too much and passed out in an alley," a man's voice explained. "I brought you here to recover."

"Your voice sounds familiar," I remarked.

"You might say we knew each other in another life. I was your colleague years ago. We were in Ratigan's gang together."

"Really? Now what do you do?"

"I stand guard at Buckingham Palace."

"I'm impressed! How'd you go from henchman to guard?"

"Never mind that!" he responded. "I'd rather discuss why you had so much liquor. I know you favor a little Rodent's Delight, but I've never known you to become drunk."

I told him all about Ratigan's plan to feed innocent children to the cat on Christmas and have the stranger killed the same way when the clock struck midnight to signal the new year.

"I thought you liked helping murder the innocent," the guard argued. "Why the change of heart?"

"The gentleman was collecting for the poor so they could have a good Christmas. It doesn't seem right for him to die. It also seems wrong to have the cat eat children on Christmas!" I answered.

"Be careful, Fidget. One would almost think you had a conscience somewhere. I think you turned evil because the pain in your broken wing makes you irritable, not to mention Professor Rat probably brainwashed you."

"Don't you mean 'Professor Ratigan'?"

"No. I meant his name like I said it." He put on his jacket. "I think you'd become a respectable citizen if you escaped the criminal mastermind's influence and had someone repair your wing. I'll mention it to Basil."

"You know Basil?" I asked.

"Of course! I'll explain later if there's time. Right now, I have to inform him of Ratigan's plot. My wife's visiting a friend at the moment, but she'll be home soon. When she returns, you'll have company, but if you steal so much as one item or destroy our flat while I'm gone, I guarantee I will ruin your life!"

I wasn't sure what he had in mind, but I didn't want to upset one of the queen's guards, especially one that had lived among criminals previously, so I vowed to be a gracious guest. I made sure to be extremely polite to my hostess and respect the lovely home she shared with my host. In fact, I even helped with housework.

"How's Bartholomew?" my hostess asked as we washed dishes.

"Drunk," I answered, drying a plate that she handed me.

She sighed. "That sewer rat ruined his life! Until Ratigan forced him to start drinking, Bart had never tasted liquor, and now he's a drunkard! I miss the Bartholomew I remember, the sober one!"

I didn't find out until months later that she was his sister.