CHAPTER TWO: STUART'S WISH

The Little family gathered around the table at their home on Fifth Avenue. Stuart had been adopted three years ago at the age of 10. Now he was officially a teenager, having reached the age of 13. He'd just opened up the presents, half of which he, truthfully, wasn't sure how he could use them, as they were definitely too big for him. Still, he hadn't said anything, as he didn't want to offend anyone. "Make a wish Stuart!" said his adoptive mother, Elanor Little.

The mouse made one inside his mind. There were many things he could have wished for at his age. And while his particular wish wasn't unique to those his age, it was more heartfelt than most boys his age. He wished for a girlfriend. Not just any girlfriend though. Not the type that he'd talk to a bit, go to dinner with, and then break up with sometime later and go find someone else. No, he wanted the right one to come to him right away. While that was a pretty selfish wish, after all, Fredrick had dated ten women in high school and junior college before he'd met Elanor in his first year at university, and, even then, he hadn't been for sure that she was the right one for two more years, he still desired to find the right one now. Unlike Fredrick's dating prospects as a human in a human world, his dating prospects as a mouse in a human world were as bleak as finding an honest politician to vote for in Washington DC.

Not that he hadn't found a few mice. There was one girl named Harriet Ames that he'd dated a year earlier when they'd first entered middle school in August. However, they'd only gone on a date or two before he'd realized she was using him just to get free food when going out to dinner and that she'd already had a boy she was going out with. He'd chalked it up to adolescent childishness, as he'd known Harriet since elementary school and she was normally a decent mouse. But, still, in middle and high school, kids sometimes acted out. And while he found he could forgive Harriet for what she did, especially after her other boyfriend ended up dumping her a month after Stuart had stop dating her, he certainly wasn't keen on having another date with her.

Still, Harriet, flaws and all, was probably the only decent girl he could see being Mrs. Right that he'd come across so far. And they both knew that it wouldn't work out between them. Yes, they'd made up around Christmas, a time when forgiving each other came easier than normal, and they had restarted a fairly decent friendship, after not speaking to each other for months, but, still, they both knew a romantic relationship between them was out for good. So, that left him now wondering if he was going to be single the rest of his life. True, he was only 13 and still had a lot of time to find the right one. But, for a teenager who would soon start to go through puberty, the idea of no female companionship in his life was a haunting one. He'd read that married guys lived into their 70's, 80's, and 90's (unless their wife was a Jezebel, then they tended to die much younger!) But single and divorced guys usually lived only till their 50's or 60's. And he hoped to live longer.

"Ok, Stuart, time to blow out the candles," said Fredrick Little, his adoptive father.
The mouse learned forward and blew. One candle after another went out. As long as he got them in one blow without stopping, he would get his wish. It wasn't easy, being a mouse about a foot tall, if that, to blow out candles on a cake at least that height and several times that width, but he'd worked out and was extremely flexible. As he learned the furthest forward, his lungs starting to ache from all of his blowing, something both good and bad happened. The good was that he'd succeeded in blowing out the 13th and last candle before he ran out of breath. The bad was that he'd lost his balance in the process, getting a face full of frosting and also getting it all over his nice clothes he wore for the occasion.
"Stuart!" Mrs. Little shrieked.
"I'm ok, Mom, I'm ok. Just had a little fall."
"Your clothes are all coated!"
"That's what the washing machine is for."
"At least take a bath," said Fredrick.
"I wish I could be covered in frosting!" George Little, his adoptive brother, sighed.
SPLAT! George's toddler sister, Martha, pulled a piece of cake free from the still-uncut birthday cake and hurled it at George, hitting him in the face. The splattered cake slid off his face and onto his pants. "Ug, Martha!" he groaned.
"Augggh! Now both of you are soiled!" Mrs. Little shrieked.
"Like Stuart said, that's what a washing machine is for," George said, laughing in spite of being hit with cake.
"Hey, at least you got your wish!" Stuart chuckled.
"Speaking of wish, what was yours?"
"I can't tell you that. You know if you speak it, then it won't come true. Rules."
"Yes, but maybe the rules don't apply if you write it down."
"Well, it's kind of personal."
"You won't tell me? Come on, I'm your brother! We're bros! I won't make fun of you."
"Ok. I need to find a pen and some paper."

The mouse left and soon returned with a pen and paper. He wrote down his wish and handed it to George. "Girlfriend? The right one?"
"Yep. Mrs. Right. And hopefully not with the first name of Always."
"Well, I hope you find her, but finding the right one this early isn't that common."
"it's just a wish after all. Who knows if these things truly work anyway."
"Well, I hope yours does."

They ate cake, Stuart opting to eat the piece that had the Stuart impression on it. After that, he had ice cream. "Are you sure Stuart should eat all of that?" Mrs. Little asked skeptically.
"He got no more than George," Mr. Little replied.
"Yes, but Stuart is only a fraction of the size of George. He might get sick!"
"Stuart is a teenager now. He'll be getting a bigger appetite."
"If you say so."

After they were done eating, and Mrs. Little had her back turned, washing the dishes, for the dishwasher had broken, again (This was the third time in four months it had had issues. They were certainly going to be buying a different brand next time!), Fredrick subtly handed Stuart a human-sized plate of cake. "Sshhhhh, don't tell your mother. Best you walk out of here with it before she sees you."
"This seems like a lot, Dad."
"Well, it's not every day you turn 13."
"Thanks Dad."
"Don't mention it, especially to your mother. Oh, and take a bath. We can't have covered in frosting."
"Right."

As the mouse walked down the hall, moving toward the bathroom, he saw the cat, Snowbell staring at his enviously. "Of course, they give you two pieces of cake! And what does the cute kitty get? Nothing! Zero! A big goose egg!"
Snowbell had been put on a diet when he'd gone to the vet and he'd pointed out that Mr. Snow's gut was a bit bigger than he thought healthy for a kitty. And so, the Littles had stopped giving him table scraps. The cat had protested, whined, and meowled angrily at the table, but none of the protests had worked. "Diet begins with 'die' for a reason!" Snowbell had lamented.
"Sorry about the diet, Snowbell. I don't make the rules."
"Rules drool!"
"I know."
"Can I at least lick the frosting off of you?"
"I'm worried it might tempt you to eat all of me."
"No, it wouldn't. It...you know, on second thought, it just might."
"And the Bible says to flee temptation."
"You're right. I'll go off somewhere and lick myself, pretending that I'm the one coated in frosting." And the cat quickly retreated down the hallway.

Stuart ate a bit of his cake and subtly left the rest of it in Snowbell's food bowl. He was generous like that. And also not always the best follower of the rules like that too. He went into the bathroom, which thankfully had a built in door for him to walk into, though it could be locked if someone was inside. He knocked on the mouse door, but heard no response. He'd learned to knock after, one time, shortly after the minidoor had first been put in, he'd just walked through it, only to find Mr. Little with his pants down, sitting on the can. Needless to say, that was the last time he'd entered without knocking first. He left his plate by the tub, climbed up the ladder, walked to the faucets and turned them. Mrs. Little hadn't let him take a bath in the human-sized tub until she was sure he first knew how to swim. Thankfully he did. And so, jumped in and washed himself clean, in addition to swimming several laps in the tub like an Olympic swimmer. it was great exercise!

After he was done, he put on a miniature bathrobe. He was about to leave the bathroom and head to his room when he realized that he'd left his clothes on the floor. He didn't want to to that. Mr. and Mrs. Little had been hounding him of late over him leaving his clothes on the floor too much, even going so far as to threaten to cut his allowance if they caught him doing it again. And so, he grabbed his clothes and left the bathroom, climbing up a ladder, set up for him, and depositing them into the laundry chute. He made sure to stay clear of the actual chute, having a bad memory of once being sent down it involuntarily and nearly drowning in the washing machine.

He felt that he was forgetting something, but wasn't sure what. Probably nothing but paranoia. He changed into his pajamas in the his bedroom, climbed up into hid bed, and picked up his copy of The Two Towers by JRR Tolkien and began to read where he'd left off the night before. He was engrossed in reading about the Ents's march on Isengard when he suddenly heard two angry shrieks from different parts of the house, bringing him back from Middle Earth to reality.
"Hey, what's this cake plate doing in the bathroom?" That was Mrs. Little.
"Why does Snowbell have frosting all over his face?" That was Mr. Little.
"He he he! Oops!" the mouse laughed nervously.