Mitch : Good news : I think I finally figured out was the
waiter is saying about the second cheese in the teaser trailer 
I first thought it was a cowâs
milk-made cheese. Well, I was obviously wrong, 'cause the mysterious word is actually âbrebisâ ; I
explain myself : the waiter is saying âA brebisâ, because itâs a cheese made with milk from an ewe
(brebis = ewe).
So, 'looks like the blanks are filled in 
[size=59]But Brad Bird has
an awfull French accent^^ [/size]
Archibald - Awesome â thank you for the information! Iâm glad you found out what
type of cheese that was⊠
Side-Note - So Mr. Bird didnât get the accent
right, huh? Tell him that⊠
At
long last, chapter four has arrived!
I waited extra long to write this one, as I wasnât exactly ready to
type it out at the time. This, unfortunately, was due to teen depression â 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 â chapter four â may be a little ârough around the edgesâ, so to speak; I did type
it out rather quickly. However, I am unusually pleased with itâŠwhich is, I suppose, a good sign.
Please
enjoy, in any case.
CHAPTER QUATRE: A CHRISTMAS QUARREL
âBreakfast!â 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.
âRemy! Up and at emâ!â his mom called in a raucous way.
"Ohh⊠Five more
minutes, mom!" Remy answered back drearily.
"Itâs 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 clockâs 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 wasnât 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 Remyâs little âaccidentâ, 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 sewerâs 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 Remyâs 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 âgold from the kitchensâ. Neatly stacked away in a
third corner of the room, and next to his bed, were numerous pictures and memorabilia concerning Remyâs culinary
hero, chef Auguste Gousteau. One look at the room told anyone that Remy was a certified âfoodyâ.
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 hadnât exactly gotten a peaceful nightâs 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, heâd take the oatmeal for breakfast. Slowly, but surely,
he walked towards his bedroom doorâŠ
Creak, creak, creak, went the hard wooden stairs as Remy stomped
down them in a relentless fashion. âI really need to get these stairs fixed,â 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 â 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 wasnât 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 sighedâŠ
Treading the floor carefully so that he wouldnât slip on a
banana peel, Remy walked over to his mom, who was cooking oatmeal as fast as possible. Running around her were
Remyâs twelve rascally brothers and sisters: twelve hungry mouths to feed; twelve pairs of scattering little
feet; twelve sets of hands that broke whatever they touchedâŠ
âHey, dad. You called?â Remy
muttered, almost indistinctly.
"OhâŠyesâŠdear. JustâŠhold on second. Here, could you hold this
for me, please?"
âWhaâ?â
"Hold this. And Iâm your mother, by the way, not
your father."
âOh, rightâŠdad.â
Remyâs 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.
"UmâŠRemy, why
donât 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 fatherâs work-room.
âMom? MomâŠâ Remy called to his dad once inside his work-room.
"Yes, son? And why
are you calling me âmomâ?"
âHuh? OhâŠuhhâŠitâs breakfast time.â
Remyâs 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 nightâŠ"
âHuhâŠ? Living room? Whatâs a living room?â Remy questioned his father unconciously.
âHeh â nevermind. Iâll be right in son.â
âOk, mom.â
Once everyone
was seated at the kichen table, each with their own, rather small bowl of oatmeal, it became clear that Remy
wasnât 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, RemyâŠI think we would all like to know what went on last night.
Donât you, father? Father?"
âHmmâŠ?â, asked Remyâs dad, looking up from his newspaper,
The Tailed Reporter. âOhâŠyes.â He cleared his throat. "YesâŠI
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
storyâŠprobably exaggerating it as she did so. He finally decided to tell his parents the truth: some of it.
âWellâŠumm. I wentâŠout.â
"Yes, we know that, Remy. But where did you go
out?" His mother asked. His father had gone back to reading his newspaper.
"Uhh. OohhâŠyou
know. JustâŠaround," 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 faceâŠ
âAnd?â His mother urged him.
"I just went
to cheese some fetchâŠerâŠfetch some cheese."
âAaand?â
Remy was getting desperate
now, and Genevieve was glaring at him worse than ever.
"AndâŠummâŠGenevieve went with
meâŠ," he said very quietly.
His mother looked as if she had just been knocked in the head by a
piano.
"It was just a bupple of clocksâŠahhâŠcouple of blocks! She didnât really get hurt or
anythingâŠ"
At this point, Genevieve decided to take things to a new levelâŠ
"He did
too! He did too! And he pulled my tail, and he-heâŠumâŠhe messed up my bow, and then he dragged me home like an
old shoe, mommy!"
âI did not!â Remy retorted, outraged.
"Did
too!"
âDid not!â
âDid tooooo!!â
"DID
NO-"
âQUIET!!â Remyâs 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 âboiling pointâ, as
Remy called it.
âRemyâŠâ She spoke faintly, trying to let off some steam.
"Yes,
Maâam?" 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 fatherâs
permission, right?"
âYes, mom,â Remy and Genevieve both replied.
"Alright.
NowâŠRemy, I know youâre tired, but could you please help me out with the cleaning today?"
âButâŠdadâŠI meanâŠmom, itâs Christmas!â
"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 couldnât pass up a
chance to make the house actually look like a house.
"Thank you, dear. NowâŠIâm going shopping.
Father, would you please look after the little ones today?"
âHmm? Oh, of course, dear,â
muttered Remyâs father, who quickly went back to reading his newspaper.
âThanks, momâŠ,â 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.
âWellâŠIâm going to-to-toâŠ,â said Remy, as he struggled to hold back a yawn. "AhhâŠ
Iâm going to go brush my face and wash my teeth," he said drearily.
His mother chuckled to
herselfâŠand began to sing âHave Yourself a Merry Little Christmasâ.
Nice job ! But Remyâs confusion confused me at the beginning .
Another good chapter. I love the little argument between
Remy and Genevieve, and Remyâs confusion is nothing short of hilarious. âWhatâs a living room?â 
My
favourite part :
gottalovepixar - Haha â yeah, it is a little confusing. I did my best.
And thank you!
lizardgirl - Thank you ever so much!
My
sister and I often spoof films and trailers, and the opportunity to âcrack-upâ 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). AndâŠvoila!
There you have it!
Archibald - Haha â thank you, sir!
Another good one! I
felt so bad for Remy, going through all that and not having a thing to show for it!
lennonluvr9 - Haha â thank you!
Heh â I know. The poor
guy is absolutely pitiful during the first few chapters of my story. Donât worry; heâll get his peace soon
enoughâŠ
Side-Note - I will begin work on chapter cinq (five) sometime
today â yes, I havenât even started on it yet. Iâm 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 â I wasnât in the right mood until recently. 
I have only written a third of
the fifth chapter, but donât worry: Iâll get the other parts up and running soon! So if youâre wondering why
âRollieâ hasnât appeared in the story yet, wellâŠnow 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.
Please
enjoy!
CHAPTER CINQ: ROLLIE
It wasnât the first time an explosion had taken
place in Remyâs household â 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
onesâŠ
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 â
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 â 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, Remyâs mother knew that there was no stopping her son from taking an evening
out.
âYou hardly ever watch the kids anyway, father,â his mother would inform her husband, to
which father rat would reply with a small âHmphâ, and go back to reading his newspaper.
Remy
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 Remyâs father ever spoke out loud to his family
without a moments noticeâŠwas when he was about to make an important announcement. Remy well remembered the last
time his dad had given out âthe callâ; it was when Remyâs 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 â he had shouted himself hoarse for nearly half an hour, until Remyâs 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
âStumpyâ, though.
âAlright, dad. Who died this time?â Remy casually called back in
return.
âJoel,â his father answered.
"Joel? Not that old fellow who used to collect
left-overs from the garbage cans?" Remyâs mom replied in a worried voice, wandering into her husbandâs
room as she did so, a pink dish towel clutched tightly in her paws.
"Iâm afraid so. The poor old
fellow dropped the bottle last night." Remyâs father often used the term âdropped the bottleâ
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 wasnât careful. However, this time around he sounded unusually grave, almost to the point of fear.
âNo kidding?â 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 shakingâŠ
"Yeah. He got
snapped," his father replied, glaring tensely at his newspaper all the while. Remyâs mother gulped and
began wringing her dish towel of water, even though it wasnât wet at all. She knew that any rat that got
âsnappedâ â or, caught in a mouse trap, so to speak â was bad news. One trap meant that there was
surely more to come, and that equaled more deaths on their clanâs partâŠ
"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
wasnât the only part of his body that was clasped in the trapâs evil grip, however.
"Jo didnât
have a very good day, did he?" Remy asked wearily, laying his fatherâs newspaper down on a nearby table as
he spoke.
"Nope. The poor fellow was scrounging around the kitchens upstairs, lookinâ for some
food. Turns out that there was a mouse trap right around the corner andâŠblam!" Everyone jumped as Remyâs
dad slapped his paw on his desk as he said âblamâ.
âMyâŠoh my. The poor dear,â said
Remyâs mother, wringing her towel worse than ever. "And there was no evidence to suggest why the people up
there just decided to-âŠ," she gulped,â-to set a trap?â
"Nope, none. I have no idea
why the humans are setting out traps for us. I didnât even think they knew that we existed before
now!"
Remy looked at the floor and began to guiltily shuffle his feet, as his father put on a puzzled
expression.
"I just canât understand it. Martha, weâre gonna have to take desperate
measures," Remyâs father informed his wife. "Lock all the doors every night and donât let anyone
leave the house unless you or I say so, understand?"
âYes, father,â Remyâs mother
responded. She sounded as if she was on the verge of tears. Remy felt worse than
everâŠ
Oh my, i
sense trouble in this one too! Although Remyâs been in trouble almost from the start, hasnt he?
lennonluvr9 - Ha â indeed! And this is only the beginning!
I apologize to anyone if they believe that the story is rather âdarkâ and depressing at the
moment; it will get betterâŠIâll 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.
SoooâŠbear with me here. Time and patience equals results.
[i]Just in case anyone wanted to
know[/i]:
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.
[u]Remyâs
momâs[/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, Iâm basing some of
the charactersâ 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 everyoneâs
fanfic ! lol
i noticed i didnât reply to this chapter , but i was thinking about it all weekend
since i was missing the internet (thereâs no wireless at my dadâs) . Itâs really good and I love how you put
the mouse trap in a ratâs point of view .
gottalovepixar -
Thank you!
I love your fanfics, as well. Will you be adding any more chapters in the near future? 
I tried on Wednesday but then my dad
came to pick me up . I might just make it take a small detour , if youâd like to call it that , and put some
holiday spirit into it .
donât worry , itâs not done ! The main conflict hasnât even started
to show yet .
gottalovepixar - Cool â a Christmas them, huh? Awesome. Just take your time with
it. No rush.
Side-Note:
Iâm 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
tomorrowâŠ
gottalovepixar: Ha! Yeah I do dont I? Anywho,
thatâs a cool idea, putting a Christmas theme in it.
well , if i do it will only be for like , 3 chapters . then iâll 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 sisterâs and
IâŠ
Two
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.
"Stinking
newspaperâŠ," Remy muttered angrily to himself, as he stepped over a couple of discarded newspapers nestled
in his path. âWhy couldnât they have waited 'til tomorrow to almost blow my cover?â He came to rest
on an upturned flowerpot, utterly exhausted from the past events. âWhy me?â he spoke to the black
ceiling of the sewer. He sighed and stared at a murky puddle of water the floor. âWhy meâŠâ
It
took him at least a few minutes to realize that his reflection in the water wasnât 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 didnât take him long to find the
culprit, for as soon as he turned his head to the leftâŠ
âHi Remy!!â
âAhhh!â
Remy screeched. âGenevieve! Great balls of cheese, I hate it when you do that, dude!â
"Ha!
Got yaâ!" 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.
âYeah, you got me alright. Look at this mess. Look at me! What am I, huh?â
âYouâre wet.â
âExactly, and Iââ
"âand I like it when youâre
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
couldnât help but smile as he hugged her back, inhaling a rather delicious smell of honey and oatmealâŠ
hee hee , u make me laugh . now when the real
ratatoullie comes out iâll be upset that there will be no gueniviere .