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This is Ria. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People. Sometimes I come up with the title for a story before I have the slightest idea for the plot. I've done it a few times and it's always a challenge, the good kind. Like the challenge our main

character faces in this sweet tale. Let's hear it. It's called The Hatmakers Dilemma. Take it

Bella. Remember, there are no pictures.

You have to imagine the pictures in your mind.

You can imagine them however you want.

Okay, here we go.

Some mice are born to be trapped disablers.

Others are born to be trapped disablers. Others are born to be chefs.

Still others are meant to be burrow architects, cheese raiders, cheese graders.

Gordon S. Mouseweather was born to make hats.

It is said, rather loudly, by Gordon's Aunt Florence, that when he was nine days old,

he fashioned a hat from a leaf. He donned it like so.

Florence would trill at holidays, always at holidays, with a knowing grin.

He tilted it at a can't he did, and I told his mother then and there.

That boy is born to make hats. Gordon's mother, Flannery, always laughed,

good-naturedly at the recollection, never quite going so far as to nod or offer anything in the way

of corroborating her sister's story, but never contradicting it, either.

If Aunt Florence had, in fact, correctly predicted Gordon's path in life, it would be about

...