Mrs. Stafford

"Dr. Dawson," I began, "I know Mum says I'm not supposed to talk to you, but I have a question about medical science."

"What question is that?" he asked.

"Do you know where every part of the body is?"

He looked as if he wasn't sure he wanted to have this conversation. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to know how many sorry hides the average mouse has and where they're located."

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "'Sorry hides'?"

"Dad says when he worked for Ratigan, it was dangerous. Ratigan got mad a lot, and then he killed everyone for no reason...or something like that...but there was this mouse who always knew what to say at the right time, and sometimes he could convince Ratigan not to kill anybody. Dad always says, 'He saved all our sorry hides more than once!'"

Dr. Dawson looked as if he were trying not to laugh. "I think that just means he saved their lives." He changed the subject. "Would you like to know how your heart sounds?"

"How could I do that without having my heart ripped out like a sacrifice of the ancient Aztecs?"

He pulled an object from his black bag. "This is a stethoscope. You put these in your ears, and this part rests just over your heart."

It was strange hearing my own heart. It sounded a bit like a hum. Apparently with humans, it's much slower and sounds more like a drumbeat.

When the butcher went to the kitchen to see if Mrs. Judson needed any assistance preparing the meal, I began exploring the flat. Noticing a chemistry set, I began mixing the contents of the beakers until my uncle demanded to know precisely what I believed I was doing.

"I want to see something explode," I explained.

"Chemistry is a science used to acquire valuable information!" he scolded. "We do not attempt to cause unnecessary explosions!"

In a desperate attempt to get away from my uncle's constant admonishment, I wandered outside. I picked up a small twig and held it between my fingers. Leaning against the building, I moved the stick close to my mouth, forming my lips into a circle and exhaling as I pulled it away.

"Having a cigar?"

I was startled by the unexpected voice, but I smiled when I realized who it was. "Hello, Mrs. Stafford."

"Let me guess. Your uncle and my brother were being vexations, as usual, so you came outside for a break." She grinned. "Not that I blame you!"

"Did you want to play?" I offered.

"Why not?" She crossed her arms. "That miserable Basil! He won't rest 'til he sees us all swing! He arrested two of our own last week!"

"Tell me about it!" I replied. "I don't know who's worse, him or the boss!"

I really enjoyed our game of criminals. In reality, Mrs. Stafford is a very kind woman. She's very patient and understanding. In fact, she helps other rodents get their lives together after they've made terrible mistakes or are having trouble with something, such as grief or bitterness. When Dad was pardoned by the queen for his past crimes on the condition that he got professional counseling, Mrs. Stafford was the one who helped him reform his life.

After a while, Dr. Dawson stepped outside to see what I was doing.

"Good to see you, Hippo!" Mrs. Stafford ran to hug him, pinching his face like elderly women sometimes do to young children. "Isn't widdle Hippo just the sweedest widdle thing?" She tapped his nose. "Yes him is! Him's just the nicest widdle bwuffer!" She poked his ribs. "Gained a little weight, haven't you, Hippo?!"

He rolled his eyes. "It's good to see you again, Lenora, but could you possibly refrain from speaking to me as if I were an infant, and…?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous! I'm just so happy to be visiting my little brother!"

Mrs. Stafford once explained to me that "Hippo" was a cross between "Hippocrates" and "hippopotamus." She told me that if I ever had a little brother or sister, I'd understand why she still enjoys pestering Dr. Dawson, even though they're both adults. When I had responded that I enjoyed being an only child, she had simply smiled, but there had been something almost ominous about it; I just couldn't figure out what. Even though it's her job to hear the secrets of other rodents in order to help them with their problems, sometimes I was sure Mrs. Stafford had a few secrets of her own.