Mickey sat up, rubbing his eyes, perplexed by the clattering sounds that filled the night. "Quiet down there!" he shouted into the darkness, his voice echoing back to him. As he shifted, the bed seemed to melt away, and he plunged through the darkness, leaving his clothes behind.

Mickey floated past the moon, its surface glowing softly, and watched his mama and papa sleeping soundly below. Down, down he drifted, until the darkness gave way to a warm, inviting light.

Landing with a gentle thud, Mickey found himself in the heart of the night kitchen. The Bakers moved with purpose, mixing and stirring, their voices ringing out "Milk in the batter! Milk in the batter! Stir it! Scrape it! Make it! Bake it!" They lifted Mickey high, ready to turn him into a cake.

"I'm not the milk and the milk's not me! I'm Mickey !" he declared boldly, slipping from their grasp. He bounded away, diving into a mound of dough ready to rise. The dough was soft and pliant under his hands, and he kneaded it with determination.

"What's all the fuss? I'm Mickey the pilot!" he exclaimed, grabbing a measuring cup as he flew higher. The kitchen faded below him as he ascended above the Milky Way, the stars forming a glittering path.

"I'm in the milk and the milk's in me. God bless milk and God bless me!" Mickey sang, pouring milk from his cup into the batter below. The Bakers cheered as they mixed and baked with renewed energy.

Mickey nestled under his blankets, the adventure still vivid in his mind. "Cock-a-doodle-doo," he whispered, drifting into a peaceful sleep, cake-free and content.