“I’ve entered us in for the National Wildlife Film Award!” Fiddler told his friend, clapping his paws together with an insane grin on his whiskery face.
His friend, a rat, frowned at him. “You’ve done what?”
“You and me, Delta, me and you, you and I. Myself as the brave and oh-so-talented reporter in front of the camera and you as the not-so-talented but still nearly as brave camera-rat behind it!” Fiddler grinned and looked up at his friend. “We’re going to be brilliant!”
Delta sighed. “You’re going to be brilliant, Fiddler. I, on the other paw, am going to be at home. Asleep.”
Fiddler ignored the comment and set about making plans for his film. He knew Delta would help in the end. He always did.
“What can we film?” Fiddler paced around the room thoughtfully as Delta watched on. “It has to be something spectacular. Something nobody else has done. Something that no one has even dared to do. How about magpies? Large, dangerous birds with razor sharp beaks?” He looked at Delta, the sparkle of a challenge in his eyes.
Delta gulped. “Uh, I think that a squirrel reporter from Channel 9's doing that,” he lied.
Fiddler thought hard again, then suddenly he threw his arms in the air. “Then we will go bigger, better, even more dangerous. Cats, Delta, cats!”
This time Delta didn’t lie. “I heard that Marley was filming cats,” he said.
At the mention of the name ‘Marley’ Fiddler looked disappointed and slumped down on a chair. He picked at loose straw stuffing that was peeping out of the arm. “Marley,” he said, twitching his nose in a sulk. “He’s always got to beat me.”
Delta blew a sigh of relief. Maybe Fiddler had given up his absurd idea of entering the competition at all.
As Delta turned to pour a cup of tea for them both, Fiddler suddenly jumped up from the chair looking triumphant. Delta put the kettle down – sometimes he had trouble keeping up with the mouse.
“What’s more dangerous than cats?” Fiddler asked, his bright eyes gleaming.
Delta frowned. Then it dawned on him. “No,” he said. “Most definitely not. I won’t help you, Fiddler, if you do.”
“Humans! We can film humans! Come on, Delta!”
“Fiddler . . .” warned the rat.
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But Fiddler was having none of it. “Yes, Delta, we’ll make our film on humans. It’ll be the best entry ever.” He rubbed his paws together greedily and smacked his lips as if he could almost taste the award. “And the award for Best Wildlife film goes to . . .” Fiddler drummed his paws on the wooden table as Delta watched on, a slow grin spreading across his face, “Fiddler from Channel 1.5!”
Delta frowned. “Haven’t you forgotten someone from that announcement?”
Fiddler looked at his rat friend and pretended to think about it. “Have I? Okay, okay ‘The award for Best Wildlife film goes to Fiddler from Channel 1.5 and his camera-rat Delta!’”
Delta laughed, catching on to the idea that the prize might actually be achievable and was almost within their reach. He watched as the over-excited mouse strutted about the office thanking his imaginary fans.
As the two friends continued to laugh and warm to the idea of filming humans, Marley, a senior mouse reporter and arch-rival of Fiddler’s, peered into their office from outside. He glared at them silently and clenched his fist. With a quick movement, he turned and grabbed a large doltish looking rat at his side. “Those two idiots have entered for the competition?”
The rat nodded vigorously and then relaxed as Marley turned his gaze back to Fiddler and Delta. “They can’t possibly beat me,” sneered Marley. “What do they expect to film? Fluffy bunnies?” The mouse laughed nastily, and his camera-rat joined in obediently.
At that point Delta opened the office door, surprising Marley. The big rat grinned. “Well, what are you doing sneaking about out there? Come in here and celebrate with us!”
Marley smiled back, his eyes cold. Then he and his camera-rat followed Delta into the office.
Fiddler sat in an oversized chair with his feet up on the table. He held up a glass to Marley. “Here’s to Marley and Dogwood for choosing to film cats and leaving the more challenging species to us!” Fiddler clinked glasses with Delta and winked roguishly at the baffled Marley.
Dogwood, Marley’s dim camera-rat, allowed Fiddler to fill him a glass and joined them in the toast. Marley felt the anger building up inside him as he realised the subject that Fiddler had chosen to film. The more challenging species he said? That could only mean humans! Roughly, he grabbed Dogwood causing the rat to spill his drink. “Leave that, you fool!” Marley calmed himself and sat opposite Fiddler. “So, you think you can beat me by filming humans?”
Fiddler tipped his head and drained his glass before replying. “Definitely.”
“You’ll get yourself killed before you even get one shot,” scoffed Marley eyeing the cocky young mouse. “You can’t beat me, Fiddler, no one can. Why, you’re just a young upstart with a rookie camera-rat! Failure is imminent! Come, Dogwood.” And with that Marley left the room, his camera-rat following meekly behind.
Fiddler watched as Delta shut the door behind them. “Good riddance,” said the rat. “We’ve got to beat them now, Fiddler, we’ve got to! Rookie indeed. I’ve been working for this station as long as Dogwood has!”
Fiddler nudged his friend and refilled his glass. “That’s the spirit, mate! Course we’ll win, we’ve got me on our team.”
Delta smiled wryly. “If you say so. But Marley might be harder to beat than you think.”
#
That night Fiddler lay in his comfortable home in the hollow log and flicked through the channels on his old TV. He smiled and imagined the look on everyone’s faces when he, Fiddler, won the famous award. With a sigh, he turned the TV off and settled down in his bed. “Best reporter ever . . .” he muttered sleepily. “Bestest ever.” Slowly, he drifted off to sleep.