So there’s this mouse, Masgonzola, a Tiny guy, barely a snack for a sparrow, living in this wild, buzzing forest where every day’s a drama. He’s got a problem: his neighbor, this massive bear, is snoring through summer like it’s still hibernation season. The noise! It’s rattling Masgonzola’s little tree-stump home. He’s tried everything, yelling, banging twigs, even tossing acorns. Nada. The bear’s out cold. So, the tiny guy, brave but shaking in his tiny boots, decides to go big or go home. He’s off to see the lion, king of the forest, to borrow a roar that could wake a mountain.
He scurries through the underbrush, heart pounding, and finds the lion sprawled out in front of his cave, snoozing like he owns the place. Which, well, he kinda does. Masgonzola’s about to tiptoe away, because let’s be real, who wants to poke a sleeping lion?, When crack! He steps on a twig. The lion’s eyes snap open, golden and terrifying. “Who’s making that racket?” he growls, spotting the mouse. The mouse’s voice comes out all squeaky: “Uh, sorry, your majesty, didn’t mean to wake you. I just… need a favor?” The lion laughs, a deep, rumbly sound. “You? A speck like you? What’s the deal?”
The little guy spills it: “My neighbor, the bear, won’t wake up. His snoring’s driving me nuts. One roar from you, though? Bet it’d do the trick.” The lion just yawns, showing off teeth bigger than the mouse’s whole body. “Not my problem, tiny. I’m the king, not your errand boy.” And off he struts, tail flicking, leaving Masgonzola deflated. Back to square one.
But then, as he’s trudging home, ears drooping, he hears this weird wheezing sound. Curious, he follows it and, holy acorns, there’s the lion, hiding behind a tree, scratching like he’s got a personal vendetta against his own fur. The king of the forest, looking like a total goof, clawing at himself. Masgonzola creeps closer, squinting. Yup, fleas. A whole army of them, hopping around in that golden mane. The lion spots him and freezes, mid-scratch, trying to play it cool. “What? You didn’t see anything, mouse. Scram.”
“Fleas, huh?” The mouse says, bold as brass. “I can help.” The lion snorts. “You? Help me? Beat it.” But the mouse isn’t having it. He leaps onto the lion’s back, yep, just dives right in, scampering through that thick, scruffy fur like it’s a jungle gym. He’s tossing fleas left and right, dodging paws as the lion thrashes. “Get off!” the big cat roars, but now he’s itching worse, rubbing against trees like a bear on a scratching post. Masgonzola’s hanging on for dear life, shouting, “Hold still, you big furball!”
In a panic, the lion bolts for a lake and splash, jumps in, nearly drowning poor little guy. “Get out, you lunatic!” the mouse squeaks, clinging to a tuft of mane. The lion hauls himself out, shaking like a wet dog, sending the mouse flying. He barely hangs on, scrambling to finish the job. “Almost done, just, move left!” he yells. The lion grumbles but obeys, and finally, the last flea’s gone. Silence. The itching stops. The lion blinks, stunned. “You… fixed it.”
The tiny guy, soaked and bedraggled, just shrugs. “Told ya I could help.” The lion’s all sheepish now, muttering, “I was a jerk back there, wasn’t I? Hop on, little guy. Let’s go wake that bear.” So there they go, the king of the forest giving a ride to a mouse who’s a hero now. They roll up to the bear’s cave, and the snoring’s so loud it’s shaking leaves off trees. The lion takes a deep breath, lets out a roar that could crack stone, and (boom) the bear jolts awake, stumbling out like he’s late for a party. “What’s happening? Is it summer? Where’s the sun?” he babbles, looking ridiculous.
The whole forest cracks up, squirrels, birds, even a grumpy old owl. Masgonzola’s grinning ear to ear, his home was finally quiet. The lion claps him on the back (gently, thank goodness). “You’re alright, mouse. Alright.” And off they go, the unlikeliest buddies, while the bear’s still muttering about missing winter.
