How to Murder a Mouse: A Philosopher's Tale

Twenty-One

Chapter 1

Considering the circumstances, things are going rather smoothly. Winter decided to delay its entry into our world for a few weeks. I’d like to think I had something to do with that. I appealed to Sidney to intercede with the weather god. Notice it’s not a big G, like GOD, MY GOD, but a little ‘g’, an appeal to give us a few more weeks to gather more seeds and put them in our storage bin. Having seeds in the middle of the winter is a big G-God thing. Difference between feeding My Lady, having something for myself, or just feeding My lady while I starve.

Whenever I need something special I climb the five stairs to Sidney’s enclave. He lives in another part of our multi-story dwelling. Sidney’s in the book part. He’s our sage, or so he tells me, since he’s eating pages out of the books the Greater Being left. Those books have been there for centuries, I’m certain, because Sidney’s breath smells like he’s eaten nothing but old musty books since he lost his milk teeth. Have to turn my head when I’m too close and he’s spouting off. Once I held my breath so long I almost passed out.

Sidney claims to understand the meaning of the words he’s devouring and likes to tell me how the great mysteries of life now make sense. He says, I’ll never understand the ways of the Greater Being, who puts traps in our passageway, or why the winter comes early some years and not others, until I devour at least parts of three books.

Why three? Sidney never said. Didn’t even say which three. Probably doesn’t know.

Sidney says it’s natural for him to digest all this information since he’s the third generation of mice who nibble the pages with all the words. Says some of the words passed to him before he was born. Anyway that’s what he tells me. And I never question him. How can I? I only know things a mouse knows. Sidney, on the other hand, devours books until he knows everything about a subject. Then he goes to another shelf and selects a different subject. How he knows what’s in these books is not something he’ll discuss with me, so I’m sure he doesn’t know. Just likes to pontificate. Sidney’s good at that.

I, on the other hand, spend my summers outside scurrying along the sidewalk getting to know the neighborhood. I like to visit the nearby mice, see what’s going on, always asking if they’ve found a special stash of food. Sometimes visit their women, just for a kiss or two, nothing else. I have my special lady. She’s mad at me now, so I don’t feel bad when the ladies give me a long, sloppy kiss. Makes me feel special, and, of course, I am. I’m the Informed Mouse of our little clan.

Sidney thinks he’s so clever he dresses the part---wears a beret that hangs over his left ear and halfway down his face, nearly covering his left eye. Makes him look at me sideways, his head cocked as if he’s always thinking. When I have a big life question, I traipse up five sets of stairs and sit at Sidney’s feet and wait for him to notice me. Rather demeaning for a mouse of my stature, but I have no one else to talk to about important things.

Yesterday when I’d wandered to the top floor of our little homestead, Sidney had been chewing on an old book all night (anyway, that’s what he told me). So, when I asked him what happened to the Greater Being who put the books on the shelves, Sidney just nods knowingly and says something about divine wisdom. So, I decide to ask my Big Question. Why does that Greater Being tempt us with cheese, put it on a smelly trap, and wait for one of our young ones to come along and spring the trap?

Sidney looks at me with that sideways, head-cocking stare and begins in a monotone voice. It must be said that the Greater Being, who puts out those smelly traps, is caught in his own trap, so how can he do anything differently?

Now, that profound statement really pissed me off. I told Sidney he’s full of crap. But it got me thinking; what if it’s true? I try to imagine what kind of trap the Greater Being is caught in. I wonder if he squirms and yells when the wire catches him in back of his neck. But how big would the trap have to be? Besides, who’d set it? Pull back that wire and set up the trip mechanism.

The more I think about it, the more I wonder. Like what does the Greater Being look like? I’ve only seen a hand - anyway I think it’s a hand - that puts the trap in the middle of our passageway. The next time I visit Sidney I ask him point-blank, How big is the Greater Being? What does he look like?

Of course, Sidney didn’t have a clue - just said the books he’s been ingesting told him the Greater Being was caught in a trap.

When Sidney doesn’t have anything else to say on a subject, he just tears off some more paper and begins chewing. That’s a sight. He chews with his mouth open and his eyes shut. His ears twitch, making his beret move up and down in the same rhythm as his jaw. Watching him is disgusting, so I leave.

My role inside our little enclave is to guard the passageway where the Greater Being puts the trap. My bed is in a small niche across from where the trap always appears. My space is just big enough for My Lady and me to cuddle. Close enough so I can nibble on her ear and lick her beautiful hair - her rich, dark brown hair, so shiny she almost glows in the dark. For me, she always glows. I just wish she’d stop being mad at me. I miss her. Have a young one curling up with me now, but she’s just a little toy, nothing more. I’ve told her that, but she thinks when it’s her time, I’ll fill her with little babies. That’s not in my plan.

But back to Sidney. It makes me feel better knowing no little lady mouse curls up with him at night. Why would any lovely brown-haired beauty want to spend time with Sidney? His hair is a dirty gray, just like the pages he eats. And his breath. It would have to be someone who ate pages too. Who would that be? He actually asked me once if I knew someone who’d like to share the space with him. He looked around the entire room. Lots of space, he said. I can’t image any young mouse wanting to live in all that space. I certainly wouldn’t send anyone.

Since it’s a cheery warm day, I stick my head outside and sniff the air. Good smells. Someone dropped something. I rush down the street, sniffing the ground, smelling all the feet ahead of me. I know My Lady is up front. I stand on my hind legs and see her with two of our youngsters. We’ve several generations of young ones. Three of them. I sniff the air again and know the food everyone is chasing is gone. Now it’s scramble time. Too long in one place is pure stupidity. And I’m not stupid. Neither is My Lady. I see her scramble with our two young ones into a stairway that leads to a neighboring enclave of mice. I just see her round rear end disappear through the doorway---a hole large enough for her to slip through, but barely. She’s my plump lady. Love all her fat. Like to think how it’ll feel when I curl up next to that beautiful brown hair and her ample tits next to my dark brown hair, my nose in the curl of her neck. Such a sweet smell My Lady has. Clean and welcoming.

I decide not to follow her into the neighboring enclave. She’ll think I’m pursuing her and give me a slanty-eyed look. I’d wilt. Not good for a mouse of my stature to let my neighbors see me back out the door, my tail hanging between my legs.

But now, I’m going down the street, staying close to the brick wall, sniffing as I go, looking for a seed that might have blown in during the last storm, or maybe a bit of food left for me to find. I stop and sniff the air looking for disturbing signs and moving shadows. Being an Informed Mouse, I read the messages in the shadows and put out warnings. Everyone hides until I give a signal that it’s safe. Then the mice come out and explore, or just gossip lazily with a neighbor.

And then when something happens that confounds me, I traipse up the stairs for an encounter with Sidney. I’ve asked Sidney more than once to explain why some of our food is poisoned. Terrible to watch one of our youngsters curl up in pain, knowing there’s nothing I can do.

Afterwards, I must look haggard, because Sidney always asks me what happened. As I talk, he pulls his beret down, even turns his head away. I know he can’t stand to look at me, as if he sees the painful death I’ve witnessed. I just sit there for a long time and stare off into space. Sidney rips out a page from a different book and chews. Have I mentioned I hate that? If I sit too long he starts telling me what’s written on the pages. Sometimes he makes sense, like the time he talked about the Greater Being after three of the mice in our little enclave were devoured by poison.

Sidney said in his squeaky voice. It’s better to be scared of the unknown than to go exploring into the chaos.

Now that I repeat the words it means nothing. But at the time I felt like I’d been relieved of the agony of dying. Now I wonder what the hell he meant. I shouldn’t have to figure out the meaning. Not my job.

But now, I’m an Informed Mouse running down the street, smelling the fresh air and a fishy scent. Who wants to spend time in Sidney’s fifth floor room and listen to him chew pages? I’m working. Looking for signs. Have to always be one step ahead of the Greater Being. Can’t just sit and wait for him to show up, can I?

No unusual smells, so I snack on a piece of something that smells a little like cheese. Tastes good. I decide to put out the sign that there’s food here. I know the neighbors will hear me. My Lady will forget about gossiping and come running. They know I’ve tested it, looked over the place and consider it safe. They’ll come two or three at a time. No need to look like we’re starving, or that we run in packs.

That’s what Sidney says: Never look like you’re running in packs like wolves. The Greater Being hates animals that run in packs. They are dangerous and have to be destroyed. That was one time Sidney said something that actually made sense.

I see My Lady coming first. She’s claiming her spot as my mate, the first one to eat. So, maybe she’s not too mad at me. When she stands next to me I put my nose under her hind leg and smell her. Ambrosia. She turns and licks me and rubs her nose under my chin. I nearly forget my job of being an Informed Mouse and go off with my Hannah. She knows I won’t, so she gives me a look of yearning, like she wants to curl up with me as much as I want to curl up with her. She nearly draws me away from my responsibility.

I raise my head and sniff the air. Trouble. I yell and everyone scatters. Except my Hannah. She knows I’m not serious.

Tonight, I whisper.

She looks at me with hunger in her eyes. Not the kind of hunger that feeds her belly, but the kind of hunger I don’t dare think about. We are a long ways from our home. If I forget that I’m an Informed Mouse we could enter the chaos and disappear into the ether.

That’s what Sidney says. He says you can go so far into the chaos that you’ll be swallowed up. I keep looking for the ether, wondering what it looks like. When I ask Sidney to describe it, he just rips out another page and begins chewing. Sometimes I wait for him to stop and say something, but usually I walk out, not waiting for some profound statement.

The last time I visited Sidney he’d been chewing pages from a different book. Said he was learning about the Greater Being. Actually he’d sent a message for me to come up and see him. Getting messages from Sidney is like royalty calling; you have to go whether you want to or not. So I plod up the five sets of stairs and sit at Sidney’s feet. Had to wait for him to acknowledge my presence. Finally he looks up, pushes his beret back since it’s slipped over his left eye. You might want to know that the Greater Being is planning an attack.

Why? What have we done?

Done? Done? Sidney says. Who says you have to do anything? Anytime the Greater Being wants to attack, it can.

I sit at his feet a while longer, hoping he’ll tell me more. But he just tears another page from the book he’s been ingesting and chews. I stay as long as I can. But I know it’ll be hours before he devours all the pages he needs in order to give me an answer. That is, if he ever has an answer. I tiptoe out the door. Now, I’m an Informed Mouse. Knowing what the Greater Being is planning is a good thing. But knowing the Greater Being is planning something, but having no idea what it is, why do I want to know? All it does is upset my stomach.

So, here I am, standing on the street looking at the hunger in My Lady’s eyes and thinking about the warning. Best if you go home, I finally say, the words barely slipping out of my mouth.

Trouble? she asks, her nose running along my back, and she nibbles gently. I let the sensation tickle up and down my body. Come and see me tonight, I whisper in her ear just as she turns away.

Before dark, I slip into our home, climb the five stories and creep into Sidney’s library. He’s sleeping, part of a torn page under his head, as if he’s trying to absorb the words into his ear and find their way to his brain. His beret has slipped completely over his left eye and his right eye is buried in the page or somewhere.

Hey Sidney, I like to yell at him when I find him sleeping. You know anymore? What the Greater Being is planning? Sidney jumps out of his skin. Makes me feel good. But I never laugh when he springs up, looking to see who is yelling at him, half blind, and his beret now covering his entire face. Like it did this time.

Why? I ask.

Why what? he barks at me.

Why’s the Greater Being planning something? And how do you know that it’s about us? Maybe it’s about the wolves who run in packs.

Sidney tries to recover before he says anything, but I know I’ve sent a shiver up his spine. I’ve told him more than once that he’s the most scared mouse in our little enclave. Knowing things that he can’t do anything about, or even what all the words he’s chewing mean, that’s not a peaceful way to live. I tell Sidney that when he finally pushes his beret back. I’m sure his hair is a dirtier gray than it was the last time I visited him. No pretty young thing will ever curl up with him. Ever.

Sidney’s eyes finally settle in one place, instead of darting around the room, under the bench he’s sleeping on, even surveying the ceiling, as if the Greater Being has learned to walk on the ceiling. That’s when I ask. What’s the Greater Being got planned? I don’t give Sidney time to think about it, I just demand an answer.

Will happen tonight, Sidney says the words blurting out in one big mouthful.

Tonight, I repeat. Are you sure?

Hell no, Sidney says, as if he thinks I’m crazy for even asking, How do I know when? Just that the Greater Being is planning something.’

If I hadn’t scared the bejesus out of him I’d tell him his head was stuffed with paper. But then, I can tell he’s upset. Must have been dreaming about some young lady mouse curling up with him and I caught him.

Well, I’ll be ready anyway.

Do that, Sidney says to my back as I scramble toward the door, hoping to get there before Sidney gets in the last word. I almost make it. I stop on the third floor, sit for a short time then go back up the stairs.

Explain the meaning of the trap again.

He looks at me sideways like I know he will.

Well, I think it’s obvious.

Hate it when he says something like that - a slight sneer curling his lips and his high-pitched voice pontificating. "Well, I think it’s obvious. Then adds in his superior manner, one less mouse."

I try to say how important it is to have a healthy mouse population before Sidney quotes from the latest book he’s devoured and says something like, one less mouse, one less mouth to feed. What does that mean? There are enough seeds to feed everyone living in our lovely abode. Can’t imagine why the Greater Being wants to destroy anyone. So, it makes me think. If I can figure out what kind of trap this Greater Being is caught in, then I’ll free all of Them, a big ‘T’ on Them, and they’ll stop putting that smelly cheese on the trap that catches our children. I can’t help but think that the Greater Being wouldn’t want one of its babies caught in a trap, flopping around and around until finally suffocated, the tongue hanging out, feet curled up. Not a pleasant sight.

Once the trap is sprung, we eat the cheese, ignoring our dead friend. Does that make us less than mice of good character? A question I’ve asked Sidney more than once. Says he probably needs to eat a page from a different book to answer that. So, I’m waiting for his answer.

But the answer I really want is the Big ‘T’ Them answer. What kind of trap is the Greater Being caught in? I want to yell at Sidney, but he’ll just curl up in a ball and pretend I don’t exist. He’s done that before. So I stick to the question of the planned attack.

You think he’ll attack tonight when we’re all asleep.

Maybe, he says and looks away.

That means I’ll have to stay awake, not let Hannah sleep with me. Maybe she’ll understand---maybe she won’t. I can just imagine some young mouse following right on her tail, thinking he’ll get my place. Takes my breath away, just thinking of him snuggling up…I will not be jealous. Won’t descend to that level. Sidney’s statement. Something he says often. Says it’s written in three of the books he’s been devouring lately. Don’t let jealousy pull you into a pit, or something like that, so, I’ll not think about Hannah and some young thing.

Going outside always clears my head. I’m tired of thinking about what the Greater Being has planned. Even been trying to imagine why the Greater Being wants to scare the bejesus out of all the mice. So, I need to think like the Greater Being. Think: what would I do if I had the power to create chaos and not care what happens?

Sidney says - but I can’t imagine that it’s true - that the Greater Being actually eats creatures with feet. That would mean us mice. Even the wolves roaming around in packs.

He needs to come outside. Let the sunshine warm his back. Bet Sidney has never had his back warmed, by the sun or some young thing.

Noise. I hide in a corner. Let the noise go by. Maybe they’ll leave something for me. Happens sometimes. Smells good. Pigeons. Hate pigeons. Dirty bastards, took it. Think they’re so smart, having wings and all. Just flying in and then out. Wonder if the Greater Being has wings. Couldn’t. How would something with wings set the traps? I keep asking Sidney what the Greater Being looks like but he doesn’t answer me. Don’t think he knows. But think I’ll ask him if the Greater Being has wings. Maybe he’ll give me an answer.

There goes Hannah. Been outside with her friends, sitting in the sunshine, watching our young ones. She’s a good mother. Takes good care of our children and me when she’s not mad at me, like now. But I know if I need her she’ll come and forget about…

Not my fault. Just not my fault. I keep trying to tell her it’s not my fault and she shouldn’t be mad at me. But she’ll say, like she always does, ‘then whose fault is it?’