01-WE WANT STIL-TON!

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WE WANT STIL-TON! What a rat's nest this morning in front of my office! When I came up from the subway, I saw mice of all shapes and sizes packing the street. All their snouts were in the air. They were staring at the windows of my office! The crowd began to chant: "STIL-TON! STIL-TON! WE WANT STIL-TON! GERO-NIMO STIL-TON!" Uh-oh. I had a feeling these mice weren't looking for my autograph. Luckily, no one recognized me.

Because, you see, I am Geronimo Stilton! Quiet as a mouse, I wriggled through the crowd and sneaked up the back stairs. I dashed into my office, huffing and puffing for air. I really needed to get back to my gym, Rats La Lanne. My secretary, Mousella, ran to meet me. "Mr. Stilton! Horrible news!" she squEAKed, waving the phone book we had just printed. "New Mouse City's YELLOW PAGES are a disaster! There isn't one correct phone number! Not one!" Pale as a slice of mozzarella cheese, I leafed through the book. "Addresses... telephone numbers...

they're all wrong? I am ruuuuuined!" I SHRIEKED, pulling at my whiskers. I heard the crowd yelling and leaned out my window. They had lit a huge bonfire right in the middle of the street. They were BURNING my directories!!! A fierce-looking mouse pointed at me with his paw. "That's him! That's Geronimo Stilton! The one who published the Yellow Pages! He's the one who's turned New Mouse City on its tail!" The crowd began chanting again. "STIL-TON! STIL-TON! WE WANT STIL-TON!" Suddenly, all the telephones in my office started RINGING. I answered the phone on my desk.

"I need to speak with that cheddarface, Mr. Stilton!" an angry voice snarled on the other end. "Um, Mr. Stilton isn't here," I squeaked in a high-pitched voice. Hopefully, the caller wouldn't know it was me. "I don't know where he is," I continued. "He might be in the hospital with an ingrown toenail. Or maybe he's helping out down at the Creaky Mouse Nursing Home. He does a lot of charity work, you know." I decided to unplug the telephones, but the fax machines were all spitting out nasty letters. Threatening e-mails popped up on my

computer screen: "We know where you live! You can't hide! no hole is safe!" Mousella wrung her paws. Tears rolled down her snout. "Mr. Stilton, this is a total disaster! Even our own telephone number is wrong!" she squeaked. "We are now the Furry Tails Toilet Paper Company!" "Don't worry, Mousella. I have everything under control," I cried, closing my eyes. Maybe I was just having a bad dream. I waited a few seconds, then opened my eyes. The rodents outside were throwing moldy cheese balls at my window. No, this wasn't a bad dream. It was a living NIGHTMARE!