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A resilient and quirky colony of church mice fears another Great X more than they fear cats. Under Mouse Mistress Hildegarde�s leadership, they save themselves from one danger after another-sometimes just by the skin of their tails! Can one ultimate act of bravery during the feast day of St. Francis get Father Murphy to bless these mice and keep them safe forever?

Rife with humor and perso... More

A resilient and quirky colony of church mice fears another Great X more than they fear cats. Under Mouse Mistress Hildegarde�s leadership, they save themselves from one danger after another-sometimes just by the skin of their tails! Can one ultimate act of bravery during the feast day of St. Francis get Father Murphy to bless these mice and keep them safe forever?

Rife with humor and personality, this young middle-grade novel has an old-fashioned feel with the makings of a modern classic.

A Note from the Author



Dear Amazon Readers:

Here is how it started. Out of the corner of my eye, while I was hard at work one day, I saw something move. A little scurrying motion. It wasn�t my dog, Alfie, who was curled up and snoozing by my feet. But I was quite certain I had seen something. I went to look, and found a mouse.

Though I am not the kind of timid female who shrieks "Eeek!" and jumps up into a chair, I am not fond of mice. They come in from the meadows around my Maine farmhouse when the weather gets cold. They move stuff around-once I found French lentils in my ski boots. They make little nests of shredded cashmere sweaters. They gnaw their way into my pantry. I have been known to set traps for them and then to dispose of them-and their traps-without a shred of remorse.

But this mouse was quite different. He had very large eyes and ears. They made him appear-well, cute. He seemed, actually, to have a personality, and he was completely unafraid of me. Finally, not knowing exactly how to behave with such a creature, I picked him up, talked to him a bit about how he would be happier living outdoors, and then I carried him out to my garden and gently placed him on the ground beside the birdbath. I told him that I hoped he would have a pleasant summer. Alfie took one last close-up look at him and lost interest. Then I went back into the house and to my unfinished manuscript.

But I found myself suddenly bored by my fictional humans. I could only think about mice. I started typing. I created a mouse, and then another, and another. I gave them names and personalities and problems and relationships, and before I knew it I had written an entire book about them. I called it Bless This Mouse.

(But when I went out to tell him about it, he was gone.) --Lois Lowry

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