One day Mogey and Smush were heading on down to the haberdasher to get their shirts taken out. Their collective poundage had increased considerably since they had discovered how easy it was to make mozzarella sticks if you have an in-house frialator, and now their shirts had grown uncomfortably tight. The worst area was about the wrists, where the shirts were so constrictive that their hands had swollen up to triple their normal size, but Mogey and Smush had far too much propriety to unbutton their cuffs.
They were almost halfway to town when they encountered a tiny chipmunk sitting on his haunches in the middle of the road. Mogey, who was always taken with the small creatures of the land, crouched down to greet the little fellow.
"Hello, my friend," Mogey said. "What can I do for you?"
The chipmunk cocked his head to the side curiously for a moment before launching himself forward and locking his jaws around Mogey's finger like a steel bear trap. With no warning, two dozen more of the creatures barrelled out into the highway and began nipping at Mogey and Smush's hands with reckless abandon.
"Oh no!" Smush shouted. "These aren't chipmunks at all, they're sausage squirrels! They must think our fingers are kielbasas! Run for it!"
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