Miss Mousey lived in the mighty oak tree, one of the few trees in the land of Rocksylvania. It was so big that most of the mice in the land lived in it too. Miss Mousey was lucky as she lived in #1A, the very first apartment on the very first floor, and this was a good thing as we shall see later in this story. She had a little kitchen with an old wooden stove, where rumor has it she baked the best chocolate chip cookies of all the animals in the land.
Her living room was small too, with just enough room for Miss Mousey, a couch, a chair, a stool where she could put up her tired feet, and a lamp. Next to the living room was a cozy little bedroom with a tiny little bed with lots of big fluffy pillows and a snuggly warm patchwork quilt, which she kept folded at the bottom of her bed in the warmer summer months.
Less than a foot away from Miss Mousey's front door was a deep hole in the ground, partially hidden by an old, fallen tree branch, and in this hole lived her very best friend, Young Mr. Bunny. He was called Young Mr. Bunny so as to be better distinguished from Old Mr. Bunny, who, at the age of 6, was a full year older than Young Mister Bunny.
Young Mister Bunny and Miss Mousey were such good friends that they did everything together, things like the annual Rocksylvania Three-Legged Race (they were national champions three years running), gardening in Miss Mousy's little plot behind the mighty oak, listening to music, and even grocery shopping on Saturday mornings! They always went early to avoid the crowds.
Sometimes in the early evenings, if they listened carefully, and if they happened to be in Young Mr. Bunny's tunnel at the back door near the lake, Miss Mousey and her very best friend often heard a mysterious yet soothing sound. They didn't know what it could be, but it puzzled them, as it seemed to be coming from under the water.
The sounds, such lovely mellow sounds, were both low and high, and some were in the middle range too. Sometimes slow and mournful, sometimes lively and playful and almost always sweet, the 2 friends often found themselves tapping their feet to the rhythms in the lake. Little did they know that it was old Mr. Beaver playing his cello, and the part he would soon come to play in their lives.
