Chris Mouse writes his Memoirs

Listen to Chris Mouse's Story

Enjoy Chris Mouse's story as you explore Shrewsbury and hunt for his memoirs. Search for 'Chris Mouse writes his memoirs' in your favourite podcast app, or follow the link below.

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If you'd rather read the story (or have someone you love read it for you!) you can do that below.

Chapter 1. Wake up Chris Mouse

Chris Mouse has many tales, some tall, some short, and one that sticks out of his backside.

This realisation dawned on him some nights ago. Chris often realises things in October. So October he assumed, it must be. And so he got to it. It being writing down his memoirs. Or mousemoirs, if that isn’t too much of a mouseful, I mean mouthful.

Chris was hunched over a closed copy of Sherlock Holmes with an inked pigeon feather in his hand (yes I said hand, you’ll have to get used to that) and a large pile of parchment paper teetering dangerously beside him. This was intensified by the draft that whistled its way through the library, danced around the storage area and swirled inside Chris’s bookshelf.

Chris didn’t like to grumble but he was ready to throw down with this draft. He doubted T.S Elliot ever had to deal with gusts threatening to bury him in his own writing. He was gripping the pile of papers now. Arms and legs stretched full starfish, his belly supporting much of the index. Perhaps it was time for a break.

It was quiet in the library. Chris strolled his usual route, past ancient medicine, along eastern philosophy, and up along the old oak beams via a tightly woven curtain string. He sat and watched as Carol nudged her hoover across the ground floor. The instrument was more like an iron lung he thought, sucking and coughing up dust in equal measure. Another relic in a museum of timeworn books and antique oddities. A club to which Chris himself belonged, he supposed.

Continuing on his rounds, Chris scurried along the beams and down onto the old school desks that lined the windows. Etched into the wood were the many names of long-gone school boys. Careless carvings stitched into the grain. Chris traced his tail along the scars, coming to a stop at the footnote of Charles Darwin, who was of course a very dear and very, very old friend.

Chapter 2 - 8 stories high

Chris was perched on Charles Darwin’s shoulder. It was chilly on his hind quarters, but he’d grown quite used to the feeling of the polished black granite that was carved into his friend’s likeness. In some ways, this was more comfortable to sit on than the tweed overshirt Darwin had worn back in the day. But that was not the case today, he thought, as a heap of snow slid from Darwin’s smooth head and buried him. Chris gave a good shake, accidentally shifting the blanket of snow onto Mr. Otto, the Baker, who was making his way into the library with a tray full of gingerbread cookies.

Two full months had passed since Chris began writing his memoirs. One more read through and he was ready to take them to the printers. He gave Darwin a quick hug around his neck, slid down his coat and past the granite version of himself which poked out of Charles’s pocket. (Before you ask, yes there is a mouse in the statue, you just have to be the size of a mouse to see it.) He timed a perfect leap onto Mrs Pomona’s hat. She didn’t notice. But neither would you if you were wearing a hat that big. She had clearly spotted the baker moments ago and was now hot on his trail. Chris knew that she had a real soft spot for Mr. Otto, even if he was completely oblivious.

As expected, his journey took him directly to the front desk where Mr. Otto just happened to be. The receptionist was eyeing the cookies tentatively as he explained that they hadn’t come out quite as he had wanted but promised that they still tasted great. Chris jumped from the hat, sprung delicately off the baker’s shoulder and landed on the desk. This prompted Mr.Otto to turn around, discovering Mrs. Pomona beaming up at him. Chris watched as they complimented each others flour covered apron and flower covered hat. He loved moments like this, it was even better than reading a book. After a short while he turned to inspect the cookies. Then realised that he had never seen anything quite so hideous in his whole life. Each of them looked as if they had fought in a dozen battles, lost every single one, and then put themselves back together again with icing sugar and jellytots. One of them had 3 arms so he broke one off and took it with him.

It did taste delicious. That was absolutely true. He tried his best to focus on the taste and not the ghastly faces that would surely revisit him in his dreams. Then he slid through the gap in the door to the storage room. People rarely came in except to bring in a piece of broken furniture or something someone had left behind.

Right at the back was a very old, very grand bookcase. 8 stories high with ornate patterns carved into the frame. It was remarkably beautiful. That’s why Chris chose it for his house.

Chris pulled some string at the foot of the bookcase and climbed the rope ladder that fell to greet him. He flew up the case, right to the very top to his writing room - just above his biting room, where he kept his snacks. He adored his writing room. It had a great view out over the library beams and he could even see the castle through the window. He lit an old railway lantern with a match and stood for a moment in the warm glow. Chris had always preferred the cold, but there was nothing cosier than a lantern flame.

Chapter 3 - Rooftops

“And that is how I won my hat from that annoying little elf on a shelf.” Chris let out a sigh of relief as he flipped over the last page onto the pile. He was happy. He was ready to share his stories with the world. He just needed to get them to the printers.

... Get this pile of papers,

that tripled his height,

to the other side of town.

Ah ...

Suddenly Chris regretted writing that extra chapter about his hat collection. Never mind, he thought. If recounting his memoirs had reminded him of anything, it was that ‘Nothing is impossible and everything you could imagine is probable... Probably.’

He tied his papers together with some string, and hoisted them onto a makeshift pulley. He then jumped on top and rode them down the bookcase like an elevator. He went down 3 floors then jumped off to gather some supplies. Moments later he was back with as many fireworks as he could carry.

He carried on down again and just before hitting the ground he jumped off and yoinked something dusty from under an old sheet before dropping the papers on top of it. It was his sleigh. He hadn’t seen this thing in years, in fact the last time he’d used it was when he’d competed in that sledge race down the Wyle cop in 1989. Circling his vehicle that held so many old memories, Chris got to work tying the fireworks onto the bottom using elastic bands. He gave the sleigh a big shove onto the stone floor and jumped inside.

Before he could decide whether or not this was a really bad idea, Chris lit a match and held it down below the sleigh. When the smell of the lit fuse reached his whiskers he shook out the match and tossed it aside. Then strapped himself in and gripped the driving reigns.

Ssssssssssssssssss……ssssssssssssssssss….

…..sssssssZZZZOOOOOEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

The sleigh went from not moving to moving very very fast. There was no inbetween. He shot across the storage room floor, narrowly dodging fallen books and coats. There was of course a wall at the other side, but Chris had it all thought out. He pulled the reigns back and felt the sleigh start to skip on the ground. Just then another firework kicked into gear thrusting him even faster than before. The sleigh was entirely off the ground now and he was heading towards a broken bookcase that had fallen at an angle, creating a sort of ramp against the wall. He just missed the splintered edge of the broken case and skated up the surface until

BONK!

The front bumper bounced the window clean open and out of the library shot Chris Mouse, past Charles Darwin and high above the rooftops of Shrewsbury. Bright and colourful sparks trailed out behind him. Just as the next firework was about to go off, a gust of wind hit the sleigh from the side and flipped it completely sideways. The sleigh did 3 loop de loops and a corkscrew before Chris finally yanked the reigns and steadied his vehicle.

Phew, he thought. That was close. All of a sudden, papers began raining down around him. He turned around and saw that where his memoirs were, there was nothing. He looked down. Through chimneys they fell, through open shop windows and under closed doors. He watched helplessly as they turned to little white specks and then disappeared from sight, still gripping the reigns of his sleigh as it fought against him.

Holding back tears, he steadied himself and took a breath. Then reminded himself of the one thing that always made him feel better.

“Nothing is impossible and everything you could imagine is probable... Probably.”

Can you help Chris find his lost pages?

As you may have guessed, Chris has got himself into a bit of a pickle. Can you help him find his lost memoirs this Christmas? Some have burst to life in shop windows and you’ll see him hanging out in more of your favourite shops too.

So keep an eye out and keep counting, and you could be in for some prize money to spend in Shrewsbury shops this December. So good luck!

And Chris says thank you.

Visit the link below for a map and get searching!

View the Map

Psst... How many times can you spot Chris Mouse around town?

Tell us, and be in with a chance of winning £100 to spend in a Shrewsbury town centre business:

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The Chris Mouse Trail 2024 is an event powered by Original Shrewsbury, with characters and concept devised by Highly Flammable Studio and illustration by Charlotte Ellis