Do any of you have a house with one of those arch-shaped mouse holes in the floorboard? If you do, don’t ever reach into it. You won’t get bit by a mouse if that’s what you’re worried about. On the contrary, you’ll find the sensation of the mouse’s soft fur very pleasing against the tips of your fingers—so pleasing that you’ll never want to stop petting the delicate follicles. You’ll refuse food and water until you shrivel up to the point where you can physically pass through that tiny archway.
When you slide in on your belly, the first thing that you’ll notice is the odor. That’s because you have mildew in the crawlspace. I’m sorry, but you’ll grow accustomed to it. The next thing you’ll realize, once your eyes adjust to the dark, is that what you’ve been petting is a faux mouse-fur throw, draped carelessly over the back of a wee handcrafted leather Chesterfield that sits in front of a hearth with smoldering logs. If you’re hungry, you’ll have to figure out which morsels are cheese and which are arsenic.
You may eventually encounter a real mouse, and your first instinct will be to kill it because you suddenly miss the taste of fresh meat. You’ll tussle with the furry beast, wetting its soft pelt with drool as a powerful hunger envelopes your soul, but then you’ll realize you’re covered in the milk of a mother mouse, ready to give birth to pups. You’ll feast on the nutritious beverage until you regain your vigor.
All in that moment, you’ll recognize that in the diminutive space between your laundry room and pantry, you can have it all: a wife, children (of a sort), and what can only be viewed in this vermin world as superior intellect. There’s just one problem: to be pregnant, this she-mouse must have whatever version of a husband that mice have. Fuck you’ll think, but then you’ll discover that the rate of attrition is pretty high among reproductive male mice and there’s a lot of poison lying around, so . . .
Before long, your hyper-intelligence and rugged good looks will allow you to rise to the highest levels of mouse society. You’ll experience very few restrictions and most of the mice will encourage you to indulge as much as you like at the various banquets that are routinely held in your honor, so you’ll put on weight. You’ll grow and grow until you can no longer freely move about the confines of the mouse world. Eventually, your stomach will burst through the wall in a most undignified manner, and you’ll find yourself standing in the kitchen, naked, covered in drywall dust, with your human family giving you their usual judgy “what the fuck” expressions.
Your old human wife will tell you to get in the shower as she kills your mouse wife with a broom. Then, Scruffles, your fat house cat, will devour your mouse children. You’ll know you should be happy to see your human family, but all you’ll be able to think about is how to get that hunk of cheddar out from under the glass dome.
Thanks for reading and letting me read it at your gallery.
You are so Creative!
I loved this! “Chesterfield”,
I don’t know why people look at me like I’m crazy when I use it.
Haha. One of my favorite words.
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