When Fiddler awoke the next morning he found that Hebe had already left. The old house mouse clearly felt safer in his own home. Fiddler yawned, scratched himself sleepily and set about making himself breakfast. Munching on his cereal, he looked about his log home for Delta.

“Delta? Delta, me ole rat, are you still here, mate?” Fiddler shrugged. “Probably gone off home. Huh, nice of him to tell me. Yuk, don’t think much of this new cereal. Added vitamins and minerals. They’re always adding stuff to food these days. Might just go back to nibbling stems and scrounging for nuts.”

Delta stood in the kitchen doorway and chuckled to himself as he listened to his voluble friend rabbit on all to himself. “Don’t you ever stop gabbing?”

Fiddler looked up and winked roguishly. “S’what make’s me an excellent reporter, my long-suffering side-kick.”

“So, what’s the action plan for today then?” asked Delta seating himself at the table.

Fiddler slurped milk from his bowl nosily and wiped a paw across his mouth. “Office work today. I want to see Hazel, tell her about our adventures!” He tugged Delta’s ear excitedly. “Not long 'til the awards now, mate! I’ve been discussing what do to for our grand finale with Hebe--”

“What grand finale?”

Fiddler got up from the table and started to clear up after his breakfast. He smiled and tapped the side of his nose. “You’ll have to wait but I can promise you that’s it’s goin’ to be a piece of Fiddler genius. With a little bit of Delta genius too, of course.”

Delta sighed wearily as he helped his friend. “I wish you’d tell me about these little schemes of yours first, Fiddler. I’d like to know what’s in store for me when I go out filming for you. Do we really need a grand finale?”

Fiddler laughed and looked at his camera-rat as if he had just asked the most stupid question in the world. “Do we need a grand finale indeed? Ha!”

#

The studios at Channel 1.5 were buzzing with activity as journalists rushed about here and there making adjustments and amendments to their various entries for the National Wildlife Film Award.

Fiddler bustled his way through to his office with Delta behind him, slammed the door shut and blew a sigh of relief. “Phew! It’s mad out there. We picked the wrong day for office work, eh Delta?”

The camera-rat grinned. “You picked the wrong day. It looks as if everybody’s nearly finished now then.” Delta turned and watched the activity from the office window as Fiddler scribbled down some notes for his narration. “Apart from us that is, if you have a ‘grand finale’ planned.”

Delta looked hopefully at Fiddler, wanting him to explain a little more of his idea but the mouse ignored him and with a frown on his face he scored out what he had just written. Delta sighed. “So. When is this grand finale going to take place?”

“Soon,” said Fiddler. “Excited, Delta?”

“Worried, Fiddler,” mumbled Delta, “very worried.”