It was eleven forty-five, and the train driver was calling for his dear night porter, hoping that he would appear soon. He was supposed to -

-be there some time ago, and the train had been delayed for seven minutes already as they searched for the creature. Eventually, and with -

-considerable relief to the driver, Skimbleshanks appeared from one of the carriages from the train, smiling and dusting off his pristine -

-waistcoat. With a smile the porter darted back onto the train, giving the signal that they were finally ready to be off, and with a whistle

-and a billow of steam, the midnight mail train slowly chugged away from the station. The scenery whizzed past them as the little train -

-headed north, and the porters darted up and down offering snacks or tea. Skimbleshanks himself hurried up and down the carriages, checking-

-on all of his dear passengers from third class all the way up to first, much to everyone’s delight. Skimble was no ordinary porter, you see

-. He was the mascot of the night mail train, with his bright eyes and furry ears and tail that so often brought confusion to new passengers

-. But what everyone liked the most was the cat creature’s nature, for it seemed that Skimbleshanks was perpetually happy and polite to -

-everyone around him. That is not to say, however, that the cat was a pushover, far from it. Skimble might have been little more than a

-night porter but he would not tolerate any ruckus being made on his shift, which he ensured by regular patrols up and down the train at-

-all hours of the night. He was also an incredibly neat person, and prided himself on his immaculate appearance. He had sulked for days -

-when someone had ripped his beloved waistcoat on one of his patrols, and that person had never got back on the train again. The only thing-

that had been able to console the poor cat was multiple cups of tea, with lashings of milk and sugar. Eventually the train pulled into-

- its final stop for the night, a strange little station at a place called Storybrooke, somewhere Skimble definitely did not remember-

- stopping at before. Skimbleshanks carefully helped everyone out of the train, before heading to the last carriage of their long train and

- hauling the mail out in its large heavy white sacks, trotting off into the city in an attempt to locate the post office before the postman

-arrived to start his rounds.

"I...umm... I am so terribly sorry to bother anyone, but could you point me in the direction of the post office? I have mail to deliver"