Six Mice, Three Pets, One Library: A Farcical, Fluffy Frolic of Fun
Title - Six Mice, Three Pets, One Library: A Farcical, Fluffy Frolic of Fun
Author - The Carlisle Cooperative
Rating - All
Spoilers - Nope
Disclaimer - Alas, neither the Doctor nor Rose (nor even the TARDIS) belong to the Carlisle Cooperative. We write this story out of deep love and respect for the characters, especially as created by RTD, but recognize that they are the property of the BBC.
Summary - Pretty much what it says on the tin. In this unrepentantly fluffy tale, the Doctor and Rose get into a war of escalation....of sorts.
Author’s Notes - This is what happens when the members of the Cooperative play around on e-mail instead of working. Written for irishlullaby's June Picture Prompts, numbers 7, 11, 15, 18, and 25.
It all started so innocently. Rose had been in the library, reading, while the Doctor sat at his desk working on yet another of the incomprehensible problems he was so fond of. The peace was shattered by the Time Lord's sudden squeal and leap to the desktop. When Rose saw the reason for this uncharacteristic display of genuine fear, she fell off the sofa, laughing. It was a mouse.
The Doctor, determined to finally be rid of the pest that had haunted his TARDIS for so long, determined it was time to get over his dislike of cats--an easy decision, as he disliked mice far more than he disliked cats. A quick stop on earth saw them bringing home a small fluffy kitten, Rose delighting in scratching under its chin and making it purr. The Doctor, once he stopped sneezing, conceded that it might be a less offensive creature than he originally thought.
Except that, while it perhaps wasn't offensive, the kitten was fairly useless, and spent its days curled up on bookshelves in the library napping, and Rose took to scolding the Doctor whenever he tried to lecture the sleepy kitten on its genetic desire to catch and kill the mouse. Finally, the Doctor conceded that they had managed to find the one kitten who didn't mind mice in the slightest, and so the Doctor resolved that what the TARDIS really needed was a dog. An enormous dog with a deep, rumbly bark that rodents would flee from. He really, really wanted the big, manly dog, he did, but who could resist a tiny, scrappy Chihuahua with only three legs? Certainly not him. Stubbornness. Spirit. Determination. The Doctor saw all these things in the Chihuahua with the peg leg. Surely this dog would catch the mouse, and possibly whip the lazy kitten into shape as well. Rose took one look at the tiny, terrified creature the Doctor carried home in his arms and instantly set about cooing to him and babying him and making the whole situation ridiculous. The pirate hat she gave him was the last straw.
It was as the Doctor sat at the table in the kitchen--the poor peg-legged pirate Chihuahua staring at him in hopes of a table scrap, the kitten rubbing against his ankles--that the Doctor came up with his Good Plan. All he had to do was get a mouse and study its behaviour. Surely he would be able to stare down a mouse and figure out what went on in its little rodent brain. Without a doubt, that would help explain where he was going wrong. While he was sure he’d be able to stare down a contained mouse, going out to find one was another matter.
Thus it was that Rose went mouse-shopping that very afternoon. He could still hear her laughter well after she had deposited the newly-acquired mouse in the beaker on his desk and left the room, scratching the napping kitten under the chin on her way out. He sat there, forcing himself to stare at the small wheat-coloured creature for the rest of the day, willing it to share its secrets with him. All he got for his effort was one shattered beaker and one escaped mouse. Rose found him crouched on his desk chair shortly thereafter, whites of his eyes showing as he tried to find the rodent. How was he to know the mouse would work out the force and angle necessary to tip over the beaker?
It took a week to get the Doctor back into the library, his imagination running amok with images of the two mice meeting up and doing what it is mice do
The kitten and the dog followed him around as he set mousetraps all over the place, regarding him with what he could only describe as amused interest when he informed them that this was their job, catching the mice. No matter how many mousetraps he set, no matter how large the enticing bit of cheese he used to bait them, he never caught a mouse. He had the idea that the TARDIS and Rose were ganging up against him, were disabling the mousetraps as soon as he'd finished setting them up, were warning the mice somehow. He could have sworn at one point he glimpsed a mouse in a red helmet, but he chose not to mention it. And the cheese always went missing.
Maybe he'd try the dog idea again, he thought. Only this time he'd actually get a big, foreboding dog.
He was thoroughly distracted by the chimpanzee. Well-trained, the proprietor of the exclusive intergalactic zoo assured him. Catches mice? asked the Doctor. Absolutely! came the response.
The chimpanzee proved as useless as the dog and the kitten. In fact, they all three could usually be found in the library, the chimp sprawled out on a couch, the kitten on a shelf, and the dog curled right up on the Doctor's desk.
He had started with a mouse problem. Now he had an animal problem. He couldn't disturb the dog to get at the notes he'd written himself. He couldn't move the kitten to read the books he wanted. He couldn't nudge aside the chimpanzee so he could sit on the couch. He was contemplating the problem when the mice--the bloody, cheeky mice--came marching by him, little baby mice hopping behind them in a row. Four, he counted. Four baby mice, living in his library. He had a menagerie.
Rose squealed when she saw the baby mice. The Doctor tried to have a serious conversation with her. He made her a cuppa and sat in the kitchen with her and told her all the reasons why THEY HAD TO GET RID OF THE MICE. Rose was busy naming them. Teresa, Martin, Cynthia, and Timothy. After the characters in Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. The fact that she was naming them after a book that had rats in it was not a good sign. He told her in no uncertain terms that there would be no rats in the TARDIS.
Leaving Rose to plot with the TARDIS how they would keep Teresa, Martin, Cynthia, and Timothy safe from him, the Doctor wandered back to his library. The chimpanzee was sitting up now, and the Doctor, sighing, sat next to him. The dog immediately leaped onto his lap and turned a couple of times before settling in for a nap. The kitten jumped onto his shoulder, snuggled against his neck, and commenced to purring very loudly. The Doctor sighed again and looked at the chimp. Who was smoking a cigarette.
“Where'd you get a cigarette on the TARDIS?" asked the Doctor, surprised.
~fin~
A/N: For more of the Doctor's adventures with mice, the Cooperative directs you to How Fair Art Thou, My Bonnie Lass, Parts One and Two. What? No, that's not self-serving!
Author - The Carlisle Cooperative
Rating - All
Spoilers - Nope
Disclaimer - Alas, neither the Doctor nor Rose (nor even the TARDIS) belong to the Carlisle Cooperative. We write this story out of deep love and respect for the characters, especially as created by RTD, but recognize that they are the property of the BBC.
Summary - Pretty much what it says on the tin. In this unrepentantly fluffy tale, the Doctor and Rose get into a war of escalation....of sorts.
Author’s Notes - This is what happens when the members of the Cooperative play around on e-mail instead of working. Written for irishlullaby's June Picture Prompts, numbers 7, 11, 15, 18, and 25.
It all started so innocently. Rose had been in the library, reading, while the Doctor sat at his desk working on yet another of the incomprehensible problems he was so fond of. The peace was shattered by the Time Lord's sudden squeal and leap to the desktop. When Rose saw the reason for this uncharacteristic display of genuine fear, she fell off the sofa, laughing. It was a mouse.
The Doctor, determined to finally be rid of the pest that had haunted his TARDIS for so long, determined it was time to get over his dislike of cats--an easy decision, as he disliked mice far more than he disliked cats. A quick stop on earth saw them bringing home a small fluffy kitten, Rose delighting in scratching under its chin and making it purr. The Doctor, once he stopped sneezing, conceded that it might be a less offensive creature than he originally thought.
Except that, while it perhaps wasn't offensive, the kitten was fairly useless, and spent its days curled up on bookshelves in the library napping, and Rose took to scolding the Doctor whenever he tried to lecture the sleepy kitten on its genetic desire to catch and kill the mouse. Finally, the Doctor conceded that they had managed to find the one kitten who didn't mind mice in the slightest, and so the Doctor resolved that what the TARDIS really needed was a dog. An enormous dog with a deep, rumbly bark that rodents would flee from. He really, really wanted the big, manly dog, he did, but who could resist a tiny, scrappy Chihuahua with only three legs? Certainly not him. Stubbornness. Spirit. Determination. The Doctor saw all these things in the Chihuahua with the peg leg. Surely this dog would catch the mouse, and possibly whip the lazy kitten into shape as well. Rose took one look at the tiny, terrified creature the Doctor carried home in his arms and instantly set about cooing to him and babying him and making the whole situation ridiculous. The pirate hat she gave him was the last straw.
It was as the Doctor sat at the table in the kitchen--the poor peg-legged pirate Chihuahua staring at him in hopes of a table scrap, the kitten rubbing against his ankles--that the Doctor came up with his Good Plan. All he had to do was get a mouse and study its behaviour. Surely he would be able to stare down a mouse and figure out what went on in its little rodent brain. Without a doubt, that would help explain where he was going wrong. While he was sure he’d be able to stare down a contained mouse, going out to find one was another matter.
Thus it was that Rose went mouse-shopping that very afternoon. He could still hear her laughter well after she had deposited the newly-acquired mouse in the beaker on his desk and left the room, scratching the napping kitten under the chin on her way out. He sat there, forcing himself to stare at the small wheat-coloured creature for the rest of the day, willing it to share its secrets with him. All he got for his effort was one shattered beaker and one escaped mouse. Rose found him crouched on his desk chair shortly thereafter, whites of his eyes showing as he tried to find the rodent. How was he to know the mouse would work out the force and angle necessary to tip over the beaker?
It took a week to get the Doctor back into the library, his imagination running amok with images of the two mice meeting up and doing what it is mice do
The kitten and the dog followed him around as he set mousetraps all over the place, regarding him with what he could only describe as amused interest when he informed them that this was their job, catching the mice. No matter how many mousetraps he set, no matter how large the enticing bit of cheese he used to bait them, he never caught a mouse. He had the idea that the TARDIS and Rose were ganging up against him, were disabling the mousetraps as soon as he'd finished setting them up, were warning the mice somehow. He could have sworn at one point he glimpsed a mouse in a red helmet, but he chose not to mention it. And the cheese always went missing.
Maybe he'd try the dog idea again, he thought. Only this time he'd actually get a big, foreboding dog.
He was thoroughly distracted by the chimpanzee. Well-trained, the proprietor of the exclusive intergalactic zoo assured him. Catches mice? asked the Doctor. Absolutely! came the response.
The chimpanzee proved as useless as the dog and the kitten. In fact, they all three could usually be found in the library, the chimp sprawled out on a couch, the kitten on a shelf, and the dog curled right up on the Doctor's desk.
He had started with a mouse problem. Now he had an animal problem. He couldn't disturb the dog to get at the notes he'd written himself. He couldn't move the kitten to read the books he wanted. He couldn't nudge aside the chimpanzee so he could sit on the couch. He was contemplating the problem when the mice--the bloody, cheeky mice--came marching by him, little baby mice hopping behind them in a row. Four, he counted. Four baby mice, living in his library. He had a menagerie.
Rose squealed when she saw the baby mice. The Doctor tried to have a serious conversation with her. He made her a cuppa and sat in the kitchen with her and told her all the reasons why THEY HAD TO GET RID OF THE MICE. Rose was busy naming them. Teresa, Martin, Cynthia, and Timothy. After the characters in Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. The fact that she was naming them after a book that had rats in it was not a good sign. He told her in no uncertain terms that there would be no rats in the TARDIS.
Leaving Rose to plot with the TARDIS how they would keep Teresa, Martin, Cynthia, and Timothy safe from him, the Doctor wandered back to his library. The chimpanzee was sitting up now, and the Doctor, sighing, sat next to him. The dog immediately leaped onto his lap and turned a couple of times before settling in for a nap. The kitten jumped onto his shoulder, snuggled against his neck, and commenced to purring very loudly. The Doctor sighed again and looked at the chimp. Who was smoking a cigarette.
“Where'd you get a cigarette on the TARDIS?" asked the Doctor, surprised.
~fin~
A/N: For more of the Doctor's adventures with mice, the Cooperative directs you to How Fair Art Thou, My Bonnie Lass, Parts One and Two. What? No, that's not self-serving!