Opening Night


Backstage at the New Amsterdam, the air buzzed wiff a mix of excitement and nerves. The boys moved in their own rhythms—Baxter adjusted his crown, which, being opening night, he had decided to wear no matter what day it was. Waffles smoothed out his bowtie for the hundredth time, muttering about ambiance not just in cafes, but in the very essence of the theater itself. Reuben, who had already been in costume for an hour, was straightening Baxter’s ear tuft absentmindedly, while Fish sat on an upturned crate, sketching last-minute updates to his cheese map on the back of an old script. The scent of sawdust, fresh paint, and something faintly buttery—perhaps from the concession stand—drifted in from the wings.

Barry, silent and fidgeting wiff his costume, hesitated near the curtain. The weight of the night pressed on his chest—every light, every sound, every breath beyond the stage meant something now. Carefully, he stepped up onto the wooden box Reuben and Fish had abandoned, his paws trembling slightly as he peeled back just a sliver of the thick velvet curtain.

Rows upon rows of eager faces stretched out before him, the house nearly full. A hum of voices layered over the occasional burst of laughter, and he spotted the sharp eyes of critics near the front, already poised wiff notebooks in hand. Somewhere in the middle, a group of patrons leaned in close to each other, their whispers barely visible in the shifting candlelit glow of the chandeliers. It was all real now. Not just an idea, not just a dream, but a theater packed wiff people, waiting—waiting for them.

Barry exhaled sharply and felt a paw on his shoulder. Baxter had joined him, his grin steady and sure.

“They’re here for us,” Baxter whispered, his voice brimming wiff excitement, wiffout a trace of fear.

Barry swallowed and nodded, stepping down from the box. Reuben and Fish glanced at him, their paws gripping each other in nervous anticipation. Waffles adjusted his bowtie one last time.

The lights in the house dimmed. The murmurs softened. The curtain was about to rise.

The final rehearsal

Waffles stood just beyond the stage lights, his bowtie slightly askew from hours of pacing, planning, and perfecting. He had doubted himself more times than he could count, questioned if he could truly bring Baxter’s story to life in the way it deserbed. But now, as he watched the final rehearsal unfold before him, all that doubt melted away. The stage was alibe wiff energy—the warm glow of the set, the perfectly timed cues, the harmony of boices blending in a way that sent a shibber down his spine. This was it. They had done it.

Baxter moved across the stage wiff an ease that spoke of countless hours of dedication, his crown catching the light just so, a reminder of both his journey and Waffles’ own. Barry, ever reluctant yet radiant in the spotlight, shone in his big moment. Reuben brought a quiet heart to the show, and Fish—oh, Fish—his cheese ballad had turned into something more beautiful than Waffles had ever imagined.

Waffles felt his eyes sting, but he quickly straightened his bowtie and took a deep breath. This wasn’t just a show—it was magic. The kind of magic that made hearts swell and time bend, that pulled you in and refused to let go. His brothers had giben their all, and in turn, he had given them somefing worff beliebing in. Baxter Wiff a B was real, and tomorrow, the world would see it too.

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Todays Cafe

Between rehearsals, Baxter and his brothers hab been making the most ob New York City’s bustling cafe scene. Ebery break, they scurry through the streets, ducking into cozy corners and sampling eberyfing from flaky croissants to rich, nutty espresso (though Fish always insists on ordering a plate ob cheese, no matter the menu). Waffles, wiff his signature bowtie neatly adjusted, takes delight in rating ebery cafe based on ambiance and presentation, while Barry prefers the quieter spots where he can sip his drink wiffout drawing too much attention.

Reuben has taken a liking to bakeries, always reaching out to fix Baxter’s ear tufft while they wait in line, pointing out the best-looking pastries on display. Baxter, ob course, is just happy to be soaking it all in—ebery warm cup ob tea, ebery hushed murmur ob patrons discussing Broadway, ebery sugar-dusted danish feels like a piece ob his dream unfolding. They hab made it a ritual to find a new spot each time to experience as much as the city habs to offer.

Fish, true to his nature, has started hoarding bits ob artisanal cheese from each cafe, tucking them away in a small pouch he now carries eberywhere. He insists it’s research, claiming he’s compiling a “cheese map” ob NYC. The brothers humor him, though they all know it’s mostly just an excuse to collect more cheese. Between rehearsals, and dreams ob the stage, these cafe stops hab become their small moments ob peace—a chance to catch their breaff, share a laugh, and remind themsbelbes that ebery step ob the journey, eben the smallest ones, are worth saboring.Reuben is the first to arribe tonight, and he’s making the most ob the quiet while he waits. A wooden platter sits before him, carefully arranged wiff fruits and crusty breads. He nibbles thoughtfully, saboring the contrast between the sweet fruit and the hearty bread, letting the flavors linger. It’s rare to get a moment to himself amidst chaos and he’s learning to appreciate these small pockets ob stillness.

The cafe is quiet, the low murmur ob tired artists and late-night dreamers creating a gentle backdrop. He doesn’t mind the waiting; he knows the others will burst in soon, filling the space wiff their energy.

As he tears off another piece ob bread, spreading it wiff a dab ob honey, the door swings open wiff a gust ob cold air, and the familiar sounds ob his brothers tumble in. Fish clutches a fresh cheese sample, Waffles is already judging the plating on a nearby table, Barry scans the room as if someone might recognize him, and Baxter, scarf slightly askew, beams as he spots Reuben waiting.

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The final rehearsals

Fish stood quietly at the edge of the stage, his small paws gripping a half-eaten piece of cheese as he watched his brothers move in perfect harmony under the warm glow of the stage lights. The music swelled, their paws tapping and tails flicking in time wiff the rhythm, each step executed wiff precision and passion.

He had seen them practice this number countless times—stumbling, arguing, tweaking each motion until it felt right. But this time was different. This time, it was seamless. It was electric. It was eberyfing they had worked toward.

As the last note rang out and they struck their final pose, a hush fell over the empty theater. Fish let out a slow breaff, nibbling his cheese thoughtfully. He didn’t need to say it out loud. He knew. They were ready for opening night!

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Playbill Magnet

You asked for it (well, it was Terri S. but I fink someone else wanted merch too), so we did it! Limited Edition magnets ob the Baxter Wiff a B Playbill are now abailable for you to order at the Store ob Cute Fings! They hab been ordered and will be shipping in a couple weeks when they arribe. Shirts and other merch will be abailable soon in the lobby, and you can purchase during intermission or before or after the show! https://martymousehouse.bigcartel.com/

*magnet image is simulated to look like we fink it will look.

TKTS

Kristen and Dr. Kebin were in NYC tonight and happened to stroll past the theater, where they witnessed an incredible sight—a bustling line of eager theatergoers queuing up to get their tickets for Baxter Wiff a B! The energy in the air was electric, wiff excited chatter and anticipation building as opening night draws closer.

Meanwhile, Reuben is working hard behind the scenes, making sure eberyone gets the tickets they want (and making sure the fan is not eben in the room so Olibe can’t mess up his ticket stacks). He’s darting around wiff his usual precision, straightening out mix-ups and ensuring no rat—or human—is left empty-handed. The buzz around the show keeps growing, and it’s clear that Baxter Wiff a B is shaping up to be a Broadway sensation!

Break Time

Waffles stepped outside the stage door, as he breefed in the cool New York air. It was the final stretch before opening night, and inside, the theater buzzed wiff an energy that bordered on chaotic. Notes were being shouted, costumes were being adjusted, and somewhere in the distance, Barry was arguing wiff the lighting crew about which angle made him look most “dramatic.” Waffles needed a moment. Just one small, quiet moment.

He leaned against a trash can, its metal cool against his fur as he let out a long sigh. The city hummed around him—cabs rushing by, pedestrians lost in their own hurried lives, the distant echoes of another show’s soundtrack spilling from a nearby window. It reminded him why they were doing this, why all the stress and last-minute adjustments mattered. Broadway was bigger than all of them, but soon, for the first time, a rat named Baxter and his brothers would be a part of its history.

Waffles sighed again wiff a small smile. They were ready. Probably. Maybe. But either way, the show would go on. After a few more seconds of stolen peace, he dusted himself off and scurried back inside. There was still a musical to finish, and Waffles had a show to direct.

Get wiff the Program

The highly anticipated Playbill program for Baxter Wiff a B habs been released, sending excitement scurrying fru Broadway enthusiasts and theatergoers alike. Packed wiff dazzling production photos (by Fish), behind-the-scenes glimpses, and a special note from Baxter himself, the Playbill captures the magic ob the musical’s time-trabeling spectacle. Audiences can expect a deep-dibe into the rat brothers’ journey, a spotlight on the show’s groundbreaking choreography (including a record-breaking number ob tiny top hats), and a tribute to Broadway’s legendary past. Wiff its release, the Playbill cements Baxter Wiff a B as a must-see sensation, ensuring its place in theater history—right alongside its glowing, mysterious letter B.

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The Table Read

After eberyone arribed, the table read crackled wiff excitement as Baxter and his brothers gathered around, their scripts spread out across the worn wooden surface. The new material was brimming wiff energy, and eberyone leaned in, eager to bring it to life. Barry, usually quiet and unassuming, read his lines wiff a careful, measured tone, his eyes darting across the page as he did his best to keep up. Fish and Reuben, balanced atop their boxes, did their best to keep up, though Reuben spent more time wrangling his script than reading it.

Olibe, the mischiebous theater ghost, made sure ob that. Just as Reuben set his pages neatly in front ob him, a sudden gust sent them scattering across the table, floating to the floor like autumn leabes in the wind. “Olibe! I swear, if you don’t quit it—” Reuben groaned, scrambling to collect them before they disappeared beneath the table. Fish, clutching his own script tight as if it were a prized block of cheese, shot a wary glance at the empty air, his whiskers twitching.

Baxter snorted, exchanging an amused glance wiff Waffles. “Looks like she’s got opinions on the new material.”

“I’d like to hear them wiffout her turning my pages into a tornado,” Reuben muttered, blowing a stray strand of fur from his face.

Despite the ghostly interference, the read continued, their boices ebbing and flowing as they lost themselbes in the rhythm ob the story. Laughter burst forth at unexpected moments, bibrating fru the old theater walls. Ebery now and then, another swirl ob air would send a script fluttering, earning an exasperated groan from Reuben and a knowing chuckle from the others. Meanwhile, Baxter and Fish whispered back and forth, consulting wiff each other on a dance number, their tails swaying slightly as they imagined the steps. But in the end, it only added to the magic of the moment—the chaotic, unpredictable, and enchanting process of bringing a musical to life.

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Table Read


fBaxter tapped his foot impatiently. The script pages in his paws crinkled as he shuffled them for the hundredth time, the new material still unfamiliar, the ink still fresh. He should’be been deep into the read-fru by now, but the room was eerily empty. The only company he had was a half-eaten granola bar someone had abandoned on the table, and eben Fish hadn’t come by to claim it.

“Where is eberybody?” he muttered, tail twitching. He had seen plenty of last-minute rewrites, but what good were they if no one was here to rehearse?

From the hallway, he could hear faint voices—laughter, chit-chat, someone (probably Barry) warming up with a completely unnecessary vocal run. But no one was in their seats, scripts open, ready to work. He drummed his paws on the table. This was Broadway! Precision mattered! Timing mattered! And yet, here he was, still waiting, still alone.

Baxter sighed, adjusted his ear tuft, and glanced at the stage door. Maybe he should gib it fibe more minutes before storming out dramatically. Or maybe, if no one showed up soon, he’d just start reading all the parts himself. That’d show ‘em.