Under the Stove
463-B Piney Way
Morro Bay, CA
You don’t know me, but I am the resident mouse here. The two humans, with which you are acquainted, know me now and the female has named me “Algernon” after some silly story she read that made her cry at the very last line. Someone apparently gave flowers to a dead mouse, I think. Yes, “Please, if you get a chance put some flowers on Algernon’s grave in the back yard” is how it went.
Fortunately for me also is that the male thinks he is very enlightened and so does not intend to kill me.
This is an improvement over the last two humans that lived here. They read their Bible, but did not hesitate to have the head of the mouse before me crushed into a piece of processed cheese that he knew well-enough not to taste, I am sure. The last humans did not even remove his body right away. That trap was forgotten until the day they moved out and saw it under the storeroom water heater.
Now, of course, the ghost of that very mouse runs back and forth, forever, in the wall behind the head of the bed. The new humans think it is me and pound the walls. But I wouldn’t be caught dead in that haunted storeroom.
Anyway, the new humans now lay a napkin covered in food scraps in front of the stove every night. Can you believe it? It is rather insulting. They can’t afford a cat so I am expected to be the sponge for their strange affections.
I must admit though, I do have my fun. Leave me clean-picked nut shells for dinner, eh? I’ll chew and crunch on them all night to drive them crazy. Now I’ll run across the stove and the counter top. That really gets the female human upset.
They now think I can reach the cupboards. I have even considered leaving foot-prints on the very next mountain of drying dishes, but I’ll have to think it some more. You can’t be too sure about human reactions in this day and age. You’d hope these two would remember that the church across the street owns this place and rent is low only through charity.
My only fear now is that I will soon become so fat that I will be stuck under this stove and slowly roasted some night. You never know what might become a trap, they tell me, and I can see what they mean.