The First Crusade of the Holy Cheese

They came out of the sewers and cubbyholes and upon the road with nary a squeak nor scent. Little ones, furry ones and chubby ones too, one and all they were the same. Old ones young ones, frail ones and healthy ones, urban and country, civilized and barbarian-all from far and wide, near and narrow. What is this the manager said, who be these manner of creatures who have invaded my home and hearth, my factory that make the cheese for the realm? Don't mind us they told him, we only be rats of sewer and country, and of every walk of life, we be passing through on our way to heaven, haven't you heard. Heaven, the manager bellowed, you pesky rodents, this is not heaven, it only be my cheese factory. Cheese factory, the rats whispered to each other with a gleam of wonder upon their beady eyes. Surely, they said, this is our heaven.

Onwards, they roared. Onwards to cheesy heaven! The manager took out his traps and sword, and he harried them far and wide, near and narrow. Why slay us, they beseeched him, when we only come to pay homage to the holy cheesy site?

With a huff and a puff and thump of his fist to chest, he glared at them all and said: This is my cheese factory, and ye ratty folk nay can have it. A rat who was braver than all the rest took upon himself the title of Speaker for the ratty masses. How about that cheesy statue of your good self, may we at least take a teeny bite from your very own likeness? It would be a taste of heaven for such as we who grovel in the sewers, surely you can spare us a bite good-man.

As the Speaker for the rats spoke, the manager's face became redder and redder until it was a wonder no steam came out of his ears. Enough! He roared. With the zealousness of the rightful he continued his slaughter, of the rats that came for his factory cheese. His cheesy statue of his wondrous self became a casualty of the battle. The great cheddar cheese cake for the mayor's birthday vanished as a broom head smacked in its very center. A rat who was chewing delicately upon a wheel of cheese fell into a cauldron of warm melted cheese. Truly, he blissfully thought as he sank to the bottom, I have gone to heaven.

The cheese was all gone at the very end, and the manager lost his factory. The rats themselves-those who survived at the very least-returned to their homes with tales of wonder and delight, for they the Rat Folk have won the First Crusade of the Holy Cheese.