Cartoonist -

Arthur stared at the living cartoon, picked up his pencil with a shaking hand, and began to draw a steering wheel.

A sharp, microscopic tap-tap-tap noise on the desk woke him up.

Arthur sat at his cluttered wooden desk, the glow of his desk lamp casting long, sharp shadows across a stack of Bristol board. He was a cartoonist for a dying local newspaper, known for his syndicated strip, The Daily Grump . His hands were perpetually stained with India ink, and his mind was usually preoccupied with meeting his midnight deadline. cartoonist

He turned his head toward his inkwell. Standing right on the rim of the glass jar was Barnaby. He was three-dimensional, perfectly inked, and completely alive. The tiny mouse tipped his top hat toward Arthur, leaning casually on his drawn cane.

"The line work on my left leg is a bit heavy, don't you think?" Barnaby asked, his voice sounding like the squeak of a wet marker on a whiteboard. "But overall, a splendid job, Creator!" Arthur stared at the living cartoon, picked up

Arthur blinked his eyes open. He looked down at the paper. The panel where he had drawn Barnaby was completely blank. "What on earth..." Arthur muttered, rubbing his eyes. Tap-tap-tap.

"No touching the merchandise! I'm still fresh!" Barnaby squeaked. "Now, if you don't mind, this desk is incredibly boring. Why don't you draw us a tiny sports car? I'd like to see the world." He was a cartoonist for a dying local

He blew on the wet ink to help it dry, resting his head on his arms for just a moment to close his eyes.