Fred the Ferret

The moon peeks over the rooftops of the sleepy town, keeping a close eye on the little ferret scurrying through the streets. Fred, however, pays no heed to the orb in the sky. He is a ferret with a mission, guided by the lively notes of a piano.

He stops in the warm light streaming onto the street from the small windows of an inn. His round ears perk up, listening to the drinking song being played inside. Instinctively, his paws move to the rhythm, gliding over invisible strings in the air. The final notes have barely been played when a thunderous applause breaks out. The inn’s patrons call for more and so does Fred’s heart. He straightens his vest, tilts his hat askew, and slips inside.

Weaving his way through a forest of long legs and hairy paws, Fred spots the innkeeper behind the bar. Stopping between the stools, he knocks on the bar to get the ox’s attention.

“Good evening,” Fred begins cheerfully, but that’s as far as he gets.

“Whaddya doin’ ‘ere?” The ox bellows loudly, blowing Fred’s whiskers against his cheeks.

The inn falls silent as all eyes turn to Fred. The hairs on his tail puff out. His paws shake a little as he tugs at the strap across his shoulder. An old, weathered lute slides from his back to his chest.

“I would like to—” he tries again, but the ox cuts him off, his golden nose ring flapping like a banner in a storm as he snorts loudly.

“Ain’t care what yer want. Don’t need yer kind ‘round ‘ere, thief.”

Fred narrows his eyes. “I’m not a thief.”

“Ya think me some dumb cow?” the ox asks, pointing a hoof at the dark fur around Fred’s eyes, resembling the mask of a bandit. “Git yer sneaky tail outta my inn.”

“Please, I just want to play,” Fred begs and holds up his lute in his defense.

What he truly needs, however, is a shield. A horse at the bar gives a backward kick. Fred narrowly dodges out of the way. He rolls left and right between stomping hooves and paws, until he’s grabbed by the scruff of his neck by an enormous grizzly bear.

“You heard the man,” the bear growls as he hoists Fred high into the air. “Out!”

Fred curls up around his lute as he’s hurled out of the door. He lands on the street, rolling until the curb across the way brings him to a stop. Groaning softly, he gets up to check his beloved instrument. Nothing’s broken. Physically, at least.

Fred sits down on the curb, closing his eyes and clutching his lute tightly to his chest. His paws stroke and strum the strings. The weathered wood begins to glow with a soft, blue light, mirroring the somber melody he plays.

Behind Fred, a door creaks open. A grumpy old honey badger in a beige nightgown and matching sleep cap appears in the doorway. The snarl on his face softens as the music soothes his weary ears.

All along the street, bolts slide open, and windows are pushed ajar. From the alleys, residents shuffle into the street in their slippers, all drawn to the mournful music. Even at the inn, heads begin to peek out. Their gazes drawn upward to the sky where stars fall as if the heavens themselves weep.

The last note echoes through the now-awakened town. Fred remains seated for a moment, his eyes still closed. With a sigh, he pushes himself up to leave, but is startled by the crowd that has gathered around him.

Soft sobbing fills the street, some even wipe away a tear. A mouse with a large bite missing from his ear, pulls his blanket up over his snout and shuffles out of sight. Moved by his unexpected audience, Fred clears his throat.

“One more?”

Young foals run up and sit beside him on the curb. He smiles at their eagerness and begins a new tune. A jaunty melody this time, to chase away the tears. The lute’s glow shifts from a sad blue to a giddy yellow. Tiny lights leap from the strings and dance through the air like drunken fireflies. The children laugh and jump among them. Soon, everyone is dancing. Even the grumpy old honey badger taps his crooked foot along to the music. Fred stretches the moment for as long as he can, but every song must come to an end.

The strings lay still, the lights fade, but the sparkle in his audience’s eyes remains. Fred bows deeply as everyone claps and begs for more.

“I wish,” he says, “but I need to save my paws since I still have a long road ahead of me.”

He thanks his audience, accepting pats on the back as he weaves through the crowd down the street. Once out of sight, he slips into a dark alley. He hops over garden fences and leaves the town behind for the forest beyond.

Stopping under a large tree, he plucks one of the strings of his lute. From the shadows of the forest, a nest of mice emerges.

“Did it work?” Fred asks.

The mouse with the notched ear walks up to him, the blanket he had wrapped around himself now tied as a bundle on his back. “What do you think?”

A hysterical whinny rises from the town. Even within the forest, Fred and the mice can hear a mare scream: “My ruby necklace! It’s gone!”

Fred’s whiskers twitch in curiosity. “Oh?”

The mouse grins, reaches into the bundle on his back and pulls out the necklace. “Even got the matching earrings.”

“Marvelous!” Fred laughs as he takes the necklace and puts it around his neck. “Well then, on to the next town, shall we?” He dashes into the thicket of the woods, leading his mob of mice while dooking a merry tune.