Davide la Locomotive

A fairytale of trust, betrayal, and what happens when it’s all gone.
A reworking of the classic tale by the Brothers Grimm.

---

A certain cat had once been rescued by a mouse, from a drainpipe, of all places. He’d gotten stuck chasing a beetle and cried for help until she arrived, set down her basket, and chewed through the ivy holding him in place.

“That’s not very dignified for a cat,” she said.

“I don’t believe in dignity,” he replied, licking his paw. “Only dramatic escapes.”

A week later, she was cornered by a gang of alley cats behind the bakery. Before she could squeak, a shape leapt down from the roof.

“She’s with me,” the cat said, voice like velvet and claws like razors.

The others slunk away. The mouse adjusted her scarf. “Well,” she said, “I suppose we’re even now.”

After that, they became fast friends.

The other mice kept their distance.
But she liked the way they looked at her — the mixture of fear and curiosity.
And when he offered to split the rent on a flat near the market, she said yes.
Not every mouse had a cat for a friend.

They shared a flat with ivy at the windows, a pantry of carefully labelled jars, and a rotating dinner schedule. The mouse cooked most nights (her fondue was famous). The cat sharpened knives, fetched ingredients, and, on special occasions, flambéed dessert — with a blowtorch he “borrowed” from a neighbour.

The mouse was practical, precise, and fond of warm slippers. The cat was lazy, charming, and suspiciously vague about his past.

She often invited friends over for dinner, but they always declined. “Not while he’s there,” one of them whispered once.

On Sundays, they played Monopoly. The mouse stacked notes in neat piles. The cat hid hotels under the rug. If she started to win, he’d stretch, yawn, and “accidentally” stroll across the board, scattering pieces and sweeping the dice under the sofa with his tail.

“Oh dear,” he’d say, blinking innocently. “I suppose we’ll have to stop there.”

The mouse never complained. She simply made a note in her little red notebook labelled Suspicious Incidents (Do Not Read).

---

As winter approached, the cat suggested they buy a pot of fat to see them through. The mouse agreed. The cat proposed they store it in the church loft, “That way, it’ll be safe.”

Soon after, the cat felt hungry and yearned for the delicious fat.

“Oh, mouse,” he said, stretching. “I’ve been asked to be godfather to my cousin’s kitten. Will you watch the flat?”

“Of course,” said the mouse, scrubbing the cooker. “If you get anything good to eat, think of me. I’d love a drop of christening wine.”

The cat meandered across rooftops to the church. “Just a little lick,” he told himself. “No one will know.”

He returned home in the evening, sleek and content.

“No doubt you had a merry day,” said the mouse, lying exhausted on the sofa.

“Wonderful,” said the cat, coolly.

“What did they name the kitten?”

“Um… Top-Off.”

“Top-Off?” cried the mouse. “What an odd name. Not something traditional, like Tiddles?”

“More unique than Mickey,” snapped the cat. “Unlike 73 of your siblings.”

Not long after, the cat grew hungry again. “Another kitten,” he said. “I’ve been asked to be godfather again.”

“Another?” said the mouse.

“Oh yes,” said the cat. “Very sad story. Poor orphan.”

Once again, he slinked off to the church and licked away another helping of fat.

When he returned, she asked, “What was this one named?”

“Half-Gone.”

“Another unusual name.”

“I don’t pick them,” said the cat. “I just attend.”

The mouse nodded absently, flipping through her little notebook.
And life returned to normal.

Some time later, the cat was preparing for a third trip.

“Don’t say it’s another christening,” sighed the mouse.

“I don’t like it any more than you do,” said the cat. “But duty is duty.”

Before he left, the mouse smiled sweetly and said, “Have fun at the christening. I’m sure it’ll be… unforgettable.”

He crept back to the church loft, scraped out what was left, and padded home with a full belly.

When he returned, she asked, “And the name this time?”

“All-Gone.”

“Really?” said the mouse. “Well, it’s no more ridiculous than the other names.”

The cat didn’t reply. He sat down, head spinning.

“I was thinking,” said the mouse, drying dishes, “our supplies are low. We should get the fat from the church for next week’s meals.”

“Oh, I’ll go next week,” the cat muttered.

“No, I think we should go tonight,” said the mouse, calmly.

The cat rose slowly from the sofa, creeping toward the kitchen, checking the sharpness of his claws.

“Really,” said the mouse, turning to fetch a tea towel. “I want to go tonight.”

When she turned back, the cat towered over her. His teeth gleamed in the dim light.

“You don’t need to go to the loft,” he said softly.

“Feeling alright?” asked the mouse. “You don’t look well. Maybe something you ate didn’t agree with you?”

The cat swayed and collapsed on the kitchen floor. Eyes open, breath shallow, limbs unmoving.

The mouse looked down at him, calm.

“Top-Off? Half-Gone? You must really think I’m stupid,” she said. “I did some digging. You’re godfather to nobody.”

She turned back to her dishes.

“I’ve known for weeks. You know, my friends always warned me: never trust a cat.”

She paused.

“After the last time, I added a little something to the fat.”

The mouse dried the final knife and turned, slow and steady.

“Just enough to slow you down.” she said.

She held up a gleaming carving knife. The moonlight flashed off the blade.

The mouse leaned in close to the cat’s fading eyes.

“For you, it’s all gone.”

“For me… I think I’ll make it through winter,” she said, adjusting her apron.
“If I ration carefully.”

---