Hey Kids,
Meet Casavant

Here's your chance to meet Casavant and his mousey family--especially his wise whiskered mother. Snuggle up now and smell the cheese.

“Squeak”. . . Hi, I’m Casavant, your church mouse. My mother named me Casavant even before my eyes first opened to the dimness of the church basement. She said I was the cutest, little pink bundle that had ever tweaked her whiskers. We were born (my brother, my sister and I) one dark winter’s night in the blower room of the mighty Casavant organ. Mother made a comfortable nest of shredded church bulletins that she had lovingly collected. The first time the ancient blower growled to life, we all huddled close to her, and our tiny hearts trembled in fear. It sounded like a two-ton feline beast with an empty stomach, and that very thought filled our mousey hearts with terror. But when I heard the beautiful music from the giant pipes floating down through the floorboards, Mother saw pure joy on my whiskerless face. Right then, she decided to call me Casavant after that mighty organ. Then there was my younger sister. Mama was amazed at how each tiny toe moved with the sound of the mighty pipes above and called her Melody. And my brother was born with hair--so unusual for a mouse like us, so mama called him Bear.

We never did know Papa. Mama said he was a real country mouse. Rainbows danced in his head. The pressures of city life, with its hoards of lanky alley-cats and overpopulation of ratty cousins, became too much for him. He took off just before we were born to find us a country church where we could live in peace, but he never returned. We kids didn't like to talk about him much because it hurt Mother so. We often dreamed of how handsome and mousecular our father must have been. Mother tells of how he used to make the ladies shriek, better than any other mouse she ever knew.

Mama Mouse was the warmest, snuggliest and hairiest mama any little mouseling could ever imagine. Each time the organ blower groaned into action, Mother would cast her eyes upward, and our whole family would squeak in hairy harmony with the choir high above our heads. The words and the music so inspired her, and occasionally we saw tears glisten on the tips of her whiskers.

Mother often told us that we were the luckiest mice around because we lived in the House of the Lord, which was better by far than living in the world's biggest cheese factory. That mom of ours--oh, how we loved her.