Mitch's "Tails"

Mitch : Good news : I think I finally figured out was the

waiter is saying about the second cheese in the teaser trailer :smiley:

I first thought it was a cow’s

milk-made cheese. Well, I was obviously wrong, 'cause the mysterious word is actually “brebis” ; I

explain myself : the waiter is saying “A brebis”, because it’s a cheese made with milk from an ewe

(brebis = ewe).

So, 'looks like the blanks are filled in :sunglasses:

[size=59]But Brad Bird has

an awfull French accent^^ [/size]

Archibald - Awesome – thank you for the information! I’m glad you found out what

type of cheese that was… :wink:

Side-Note - So Mr. Bird didn’t get the accent

right, huh? Tell him that… :stuck_out_tongue:


long last, chapter four has arrived!

I waited extra long to write this one, as I wasn’t exactly ready to

type it out at the time. This, unfortunately, was due to teen depression – premenstrual syndrome, to be exact.


I began by sketching out this chapter quite slowly, until I realized that, if I kept going at that

particular pace, I would never get the chapter done in time. Having only just finished it a couple of minutes

ago, this chapter – chapter four – may be a little “rough around the edges”, so to speak; I did type

it out rather quickly. However, I am unusually pleased with it…which is, I suppose, a good sign.


enjoy, in any case. :wink:


“Breakfast!” yelled a

certain someone from downstairs.

Remy opened up one dreary eye a peep. His alarm clock read 6:45 AM. He

groaned, rolled over, and pulled the covers over his head, rocking his Kleenex box bed as he did so.

“Remy! Up and at em’!” his mom called in a raucous way.

"Ohh… Five more

minutes, mom!" Remy answered back drearily.

"It’s been five minutes since I last called you,

dear. Come on down, Remy. The oatmeal is getting stone cold!"

Remy rolled over onto his side again,

noticing that the clock’s minute hand was now pointed at the fifty minute marker. Rolling his reddened eyes at

the ceiling in disgust, Remy unwillingly slumped out of his warm and comfy bed, leaving a depression in the

mattress where he had slept.

After rubbing his eyes vigorously for a few seconds, he slowly surveyed his

rather catastrophic-looking bedroom. It wasn’t your usual, everyday residential living quarter. What with the

hard-wood flooring, paneled walls, and large assortment of knick-knacks, one might have though it was a badly

built treehouse at a first glance. After Remy’s little “accident”, one that involved he and his family

having to live in the sewers than in the bush, his father had gone out to locate a suitable home that would house

fifteen. He found one, too: A spacious area within one of the sewer’s many tunnels, about five and a half feet

long and wide by seven feet in depth, large enough to accomodate at least twenty rats. He quickly went to

building a rather rickety residence for his ever-growing family, adding a second story for Remy specifically.

Why Remy needed a story all to himself was certainly no riddle to his family. Everyone knew of his

unusual love for cooking and his annoying passion for collecting anything that had to do with the subject; his

room was practically a museum unto itself. In one corner of the room stood Remy’s kitchen, which he had

laboriously crafted himself over a period of two weeks. A collection of discarded kitchen tools rested in a

second corner: left-over utensils which Remy called “gold from the kitchens”. Neatly stacked away in a

third corner of the room, and next to his bed, were numerous pictures and memorabilia concerning Remy’s culinary

hero, chef Auguste Gousteau. One look at the room told anyone that Remy was a certified “foody”.

Remy heaved a tremendous sigh. He was desperately hungry, yet he wished that he had spent a little less

time fooling around the night before; he hadn’t exactly gotten a peaceful night’s sleep. He sighed a second

time, this time looking up at the ceiling as he did so, only to have a couple of spiders brush his fur. Remy

stared at them drearily. Between spiders and oatmeal, he’d take the oatmeal for breakfast. Slowly, but surely,

he walked towards his bedroom door…

Creak, creak, creak, went the hard wooden stairs as Remy stomped

down them in a relentless fashion. “I really need to get these stairs fixed,” thought Remy. He swerved

around a corner and walked into the very untidy kitchen, one which his mom never bothered to clean up as she was

always to be found knitting in her bedroom. Remy could barely make out the kitchen at first – he was already

quite exhausted from his adventures of the previous night. He rubbed his eyes vigorously. It was only a few

seconds before his vision of the ktichen went from blurry to crystal clear; he wasn’t surprised to find that the

room was in its usual state of disorder, as it was every morning. At first glance, one would have thought that a

tornado had twirled its way into the room… Pots and pans lay scattered across the dining table; flour, sugar,

and left-over cheese crackers had been discarded in a very unfashionable manner all over the once clean floor

that Remy had swept just the day before; and numerous dishes and utensils retained their place in the soapy sink

in a corner of the kitchen. Remy sighed…

Treading the floor carefully so that he wouldn’t slip on a

banana peel, Remy walked over to his mom, who was cooking oatmeal as fast as possible. Running around her were

Remy’s twelve rascally brothers and sisters: twelve hungry mouths to feed; twelve pairs of scattering little

feet; twelve sets of hands that broke whatever they touched…

“Hey, dad. You called?” Remy

muttered, almost indistinctly.

"Oh…yes…dear. Just…hold on second. Here, could you hold this

for me, please?"


"Hold this. And I’m your mother, by the way, not

your father."

“Oh, right…dad.”

Remy’s mother sighed tenderly, shaking her head

as she handed him the pot of oatmeal. Remy was so tired that he almost dropped the pot several times, so that his

mother had to keep a watchful eye on him as she spooned cup after cup of oatmeal into fifteen diminuative bowls

set on the center table. It was a relief when Remy finally got to put the pot down; he was so exhausted that he

accidentally leaned on one of his sisters, thinking that she was the kitchen counter.

"Um…Remy, why

don’t you go get your father," asked his mother, as she struggled to keep one of her children from pulling

off her apron. Remy replied with a nod and a very large yawn, before heading off to his father’s work-room.

“Mom? Mom…” Remy called to his dad once inside his work-room.

"Yes, son? And why

are you calling me “mom”?"

“Huh? Oh…uhh…it’s breakfast time.”

Remy’s father eyed him suspiciously.

"You really should get some more sleep, you know. What

were you doing last night anyway? I thought I heard something outside in the living room last night…"

“Huh…? Living room? What’s a living room?” Remy questioned his father unconciously.

“Heh – nevermind. I’ll be right in son.”

“Ok, mom.”

Once everyone

was seated at the kichen table, each with their own, rather small bowl of oatmeal, it became clear that Remy

wasn’t going to join in in eating with the rest of his family. He barely managed to stay awake at the table,

almost tipping over his bowl while trying to sleep in his oatmeal, before his mom finally decided to take the

matter into her own paws.

"Well, Remy…I think we would all like to know what went on last night.

Don’t you, father? Father?"

“Hmm…?”, asked Remy’s dad, looking up from his newspaper,

The Tailed Reporter. “Oh…yes.” He cleared his throat. "Yes…I

think we would all like to know what happened, Remy."

Embarassed, Remy looked down at the floor,

while trying to brush oatmeal off his whiskers as he did so. His mother and father never really approved of his

going out late at night, even though they allowed him to do so without hesitation. However, letting his sister

follow him out the door and into the unknown, and at night, was another thing. He knew that if he told them the

truth, Genevieve, who was sitting right next to him, would most certainly add a few details to his

story…probably exaggerating it as she did so. He finally decided to tell his parents the truth: some of it.

“Well…umm. I went…out.”

"Yes, we know that, Remy. But where did you go

out?" His mother asked. His father had gone back to reading his newspaper.

"Uhh. Oohh…you

know. Just…around," Remy slowly admitted. He intended on holding the truth from them as long as possible,

lest Genevieve describe the finer details of the story a little early. She was already glaring at him with a

rather nasty grin pasted on her face…

“And?” His mother urged him.

"I just went

to cheese some fetch…er…fetch some cheese."


Remy was getting desperate

now, and Genevieve was glaring at him worse than ever.

"And…umm…Genevieve went with

me…," he said very quietly.

His mother looked as if she had just been knocked in the head by a


"It was just a bupple of clocks…ahh…couple of blocks! She didn’t really get hurt or


At this point, Genevieve decided to take things to a new level…

"He did

too! He did too! And he pulled my tail, and he-he…um…he messed up my bow, and then he dragged me home like an

old shoe, mommy!"

“I did not!” Remy retorted, outraged.



“Did not!”

“Did tooooo!!”



“QUIET!!” Remy’s mom had finally lost it. Remy and Genevieve shrank back into their

chairs at once; they knew better than to mess with their mother when she was at her “boiling point”, as

Remy called it.

“Remy…” She spoke faintly, trying to let off some steam.


Ma’am?" Remy tentatively answered.

"I think you knew better than to let your sister follow you

out the door last night. And Genevieve, you know better than to leave the house without my or your father’s

permission, right?"

“Yes, mom,” Remy and Genevieve both replied.


Now…Remy, I know you’re tired, but could you please help me out with the cleaning today?"

“But…dad…I mean…mom, it’s Christmas!”

"Exactly. Do you want this house to

look like a storm when your relatives get here?"

Remy shook his head. His mother knew how much of a

neat-freak her son was, and so she had him in her clutches this time. She knew that Remy couldn’t pass up a

chance to make the house actually look like a house.

"Thank you, dear. Now…I’m going shopping.

Father, would you please look after the little ones today?"

“Hmm? Oh, of course, dear,”

muttered Remy’s father, who quickly went back to reading his newspaper.

“Thanks, mom…,” Remy

whispered, so that only his mother could hear him. His mother gave him a small smile; she knew how much her son

hated watching over his many siblings, so getting her husband to take responsibility for them was a rare treat.

“Well…I’m going to-to-to…,” said Remy, as he struggled to hold back a yawn. "Ahh…

I’m going to go brush my face and wash my teeth," he said drearily.

His mother chuckled to

herself…and began to sing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas”.

Nice job ! But Remy’s confusion confused me at the beginning .

Another good chapter. I love the little argument between

Remy and Genevieve, and Remy’s confusion is nothing short of hilarious. ‘What’s a living room?’ :laughing:


favourite part :


gottalovepixar - Haha – yeah, it is a little confusing. I did my best. :wink:

And thank you! :smiley:

lizardgirl - Thank you ever so much!


sister and I often spoof films and trailers, and the opportunity to “crack-up” the

Ratatouille teaser was just too good to miss.
While writing the fourth chapter,

I suddenly remembered that one of the jokes my sister and I inserted into the trailer was an instance where Remy

completely forgets and mixes up everything around him (due to his exhausting nightly adventures). And…voila!

There you have it! :smiley:

Archibald - Haha – thank you, sir! :smiley:

Another good one! I

felt so bad for Remy, going through all that and not having a thing to show for it!

lennonluvr9 - Haha – thank you!

Heh – I know. The poor

guy is absolutely pitiful during the first few chapters of my story. Don’t worry; he’ll get his peace soon

enough… :wink:

Side-Note - I will begin work on chapter cinq (five) sometime

today – yes, I haven’t even started on it yet. I’m so ashamed of myself. (snigger)

Well, it turns out that I waited an extra four days to begin work on this fifth chapter.

Please forgive me – I wasn’t in the right mood until recently. :blush:

I have only written a third of

the fifth chapter, but don’t worry: I’ll get the other parts up and running soon! So if you’re wondering why

“Rollie” hasn’t appeared in the story yet, well…now you know.

The heat is getting more and

more intense! Looks like Remy will have to run for the hills if he wants to get out of a good lecture from his

dad. :stuck_out_tongue:




It wasn’t the first time an explosion had taken

place in Remy’s household – as a matter of fact, they were quite the norm, especially if you took a seat within

the confinment of the kitchen every now and then. The only dangerous experience concerning this rapid, unusual

burst of energy was that they appeared and evaporated without warning, and often in the company of little


After sweeping the floors with his worm-shaped tail, brushing off hidden dust with a feather

duster, cleaning out leftover oatmeal from the oven, and washing the soapy dishes, Remy was quite exhausted –

exhausted, yet content. His mother, finished with her morning shopping, had returned to find a perfectly clean

house at exactly 12:00 PM, and as a reward, she let Remy take some time off – time to himself. And no matter how

much Genevieve complained that she never got to go anywhere with her brother, or that her husband fussed about

always having to watch the kids, Remy’s mother knew that there was no stopping her son from taking an evening


“You hardly ever watch the kids anyway, father,” his mother would inform her husband, to

which father rat would reply with a small “Hmph”, and go back to reading his newspaper.


grabbed his small bottle of water from the kitchen icebox, wrapped a green and brown scarf around his neck, and

thanked his mom with a large, neck-choking hug. He was almost out the door, Genevieve still complaining behind

his back, when his father called out to the family from his work room. Instantly, everyone halted in their

tracks, not even daring to move a muscle, as if a hundred bombs had suddenly been placed at their feet, and would

explode the minute someone made a wrong move. The only time that Remy’s father ever spoke out loud to his family

without a moments notice…was when he was about to make an important announcement. Remy well remembered the last

time his dad had given out “the call”; it was when Remy’s second aunt, Abelia, had gotten flattened by

a dump truck. And, of course, no one would ever forget the incident where father rat had tragically lost half of

his tail – he had shouted himself hoarse for nearly half an hour, until Remy’s mother managed to calm him down

with a glass of root beer and a newspaper; father rat had never quite forgiven her for nick-naming him

“Stumpy”, though.

“Alright, dad. Who died this time?” Remy casually called back in


“Joel,” his father answered.

"Joel? Not that old fellow who used to collect

left-overs from the garbage cans?" Remy’s mom replied in a worried voice, wandering into her husband’s

room as she did so, a pink dish towel clutched tightly in her paws.

"I’m afraid so. The poor old

fellow dropped the bottle last night." Remy’s father often used the term “dropped the bottle”

when referring to someone who had recently snuffed it. Being no newcomer to the world of terror and fright, he

usually never paid much heed to the next poor soul who dropped dead on the street. To him, it was just another

rat who wasn’t careful. However, this time around he sounded unusually grave, almost to the point of fear.

“No kidding?” Remy asked, trying to sound calm, but really shaking as he said it. His bottle of

water was already losing quite a bit of its contents from the shaking…

"Yeah. He got

snapped," his father replied, glaring tensely at his newspaper all the while. Remy’s mother gulped and

began wringing her dish towel of water, even though it wasn’t wet at all. She knew that any rat that got

“snapped” – or, caught in a mouse trap, so to speak – was bad news. One trap meant that there was

surely more to come, and that equaled more deaths on their clan’s part…

"May I look at

that?" Remy asked, taking from his father the newspaper that beared the headline "Caught in a

Snap!". Remy gulped too. On the front page of the paper was a black and white photograph of a rat who had

one hand on a piece of cheese, and the other hand caught in a very large, very intimidating mousetrap. His hand

wasn’t the only part of his body that was clasped in the trap’s evil grip, however.

"Jo didn’t

have a very good day, did he?" Remy asked wearily, laying his father’s newspaper down on a nearby table as

he spoke.

"Nope. The poor fellow was scrounging around the kitchens upstairs, lookin’ for some

food. Turns out that there was a mouse trap right around the corner and…blam!" Everyone jumped as Remy’s

dad slapped his paw on his desk as he said “blam”.

“My…oh my. The poor dear,” said

Remy’s mother, wringing her towel worse than ever. "And there was no evidence to suggest why the people up

there just decided to-…," she gulped,“-to set a trap?”

"Nope, none. I have no idea

why the humans are setting out traps for us. I didn’t even think they knew that we existed before


Remy looked at the floor and began to guiltily shuffle his feet, as his father put on a puzzled


"I just can’t understand it. Martha, we’re gonna have to take desperate

measures," Remy’s father informed his wife. "Lock all the doors every night and don’t let anyone

leave the house unless you or I say so, understand?"

“Yes, father,” Remy’s mother

responded. She sounded as if she was on the verge of tears. Remy felt worse than


Oh my, i

sense trouble in this one too! Although Remy’s been in trouble almost from the start, hasnt he? :wink:

lennonluvr9 - Ha – indeed! And this is only the beginning! :stuck_out_tongue:

I apologize to anyone if they believe that the story is rather “dark” and depressing at the

moment; it will get better…I’ll make sure of that. I always spend a lot of time creating my tales and

chapters, due to the fact that a long and engaging script is more suitable than a short and messy one.

Sooo…bear with me here. Time and patience equals results. :wink:

[i]Just in case anyone wanted to


Remy is losely based on myself: always getting into

trouble and not meaning to.

Genevieve is practically a replica of my

youngest sister: constantly causing trouble and mayhem wherever she goes.


mom’s[/u] personality is ripped off of a canine character that my sister and I created: sweet and

caring, but harsh and stern when need be.

Since my family is the closest thing to me, I’m basing some of

the characters’ personalities off of them (my family) while still attempting to retain their true form as they

are manifested in the film, Ratatouille.

lennonluvr9: oh you sense trouble in everyone’s

fanfic ! lol :stuck_out_tongue:

i noticed i didn’t reply to this chapter , but i was thinking about it all weekend

since i was missing the internet (there’s no wireless at my dad’s) . It’s really good and I love how you put

the mouse trap in a rat’s point of view .

gottalovepixar -

Thank you!

I love your fanfics, as well. Will you be adding any more chapters in the near future? :slight_smile:

I tried on Wednesday but then my dad

came to pick me up . I might just make it take a small detour , if you’d like to call it that , and put some

holiday spirit into it . :wink:

don’t worry , it’s not done ! The main conflict hasn’t even started

to show yet .

gottalovepixar - Cool – a Christmas them, huh? Awesome. Just take your time with

it. No rush. :wink:


I’m not exactly sure when I will begin

work on the finishing touches of the fifth chapter. I may decide to start the typing either tonight or


gottalovepixar: Ha! Yeah I do dont I? :stuck_out_tongue: Anywho,

that’s a cool idea, putting a Christmas theme in it. :slight_smile:

well , if i do it will only be for like , 3 chapters . then i’ll go back to regular .

Presenting: Part 2 of

Chapter Cinq! Although this is the shortest section of a chapter I have ever written

out, I am extremely pleased with it. I am in a rather cheerful mood this morning, and so I felt that I should let

my feelings be known through this chapter. Even though it starts out depressing, it ends in a rather bittersweet

tone. The context of this particular sub-story emphasizes the relationship between one of my sister’s and



hours and four locked doors later, Remy once again found himself shuffling his feet along the dusty sewer floor

outside of his house. Unable to stand the tension any longer, not to mention the fact that his parents kept

throwing him rather suspicious looks, Remy had swept out the back door as fast as possible, being careful to not

trip over a loose floorboard dangerously positioned an inch above the ground.


newspaper…," Remy muttered angrily to himself, as he stepped over a couple of discarded newspapers nestled

in his path. “Why couldn’t they have waited 'til tomorrow to almost blow my cover?” He came to rest

on an upturned flowerpot, utterly exhausted from the past events. “Why me?” he spoke to the black

ceiling of the sewer. He sighed and stared at a murky puddle of water the floor. “Why me…”


took him at least a few minutes to realize that his reflection in the water wasn’t alone. Looking more closely

at the mirrored liquid, Remy noticed that his sad expression was accompanied by another, more puzzled, face. Eyes

wide, he quickly swiveled around on his hard, cold seat, tipping the flowerpot over and falling off it backwards,

and into the puddle, in the process. After shaking his fur dry, and rubbing his eyes vigorously to get his vision

back into place, Remy rapidly stared around for a sign of the intruder. It didn’t take him long to find the

culprit, for as soon as he turned his head to the left…

“Hi Remy!!”


Remy screeched. “Genevieve! Great balls of cheese, I hate it when you do that, dude!”


Got ya’!" Genevieve squealed delightedly, as she hung from a wall pipe by her feet and swirly tail, the

pipe, moreover, coming dangerously close to falling off its hinges. Remy eyed her suspiciously, his pink and wet

paws on his hips.

“Yeah, you got me alright. Look at this mess. Look at me! What am I, huh?”

“You’re wet.”

“Exactly, and I–”

"–and I like it when you’re

wet!" Genevieve giggled, and she jumped on top of him, knocking him into the puddle once more. Remy glared

at her, his back soaked in muddy water and his face dripping wet.

He and his sister stared at each other

for only a couple of seconds, before Genevieve finally gave in and hugged her brother around his soggy neck. Remy

couldn’t help but smile as he hugged her back, inhaling a rather delicious smell of honey and oatmeal…

hee hee , u make me laugh . now when the real

ratatoullie comes out i’ll be upset that there will be no gueniviere .