A Tale Of Cat And Mice

“Sire, sire!” The guard trips over himself and falls face first right in front of the throne.
The king motions to another guard for some water. He helps the jaded guard up. “Calm your nerves my good fellow. What troubles you thusly?”

“Sire he—” the guard takes a gulp, “—he took everyone. All the scouts.”
The court takes a collective gasp.
“No. NO!” Now it’s the guard’s turn to support his king’s weight.
“No sire, you cannot allow yourself to be brought to your knees by that wretched moggy.”
The king grips the guard’s shoulder. A tear born of hopelessness falls down his whiskers. “Surely, you jest? That’s… that’s…” The king thumps down on his throne, a broken teacup. The tired grey mouse buries his face in his paws and weeps.

The court falls silent.
“That’s twenty mice this week alone. Twenty able-bodied strong mice. Is this the house I will bring my children into?

“What is your name soldier?”
“Bernard, sir.”
“Tell me Bernard, what would you have your king do? How do we save our colony?”
“I…”
“Speak up soldier. Do not be frightened.”
“I think we need to find a new house, sire.”
“That seems like the only course of action left to us. But this is ground our forefather’s infested. How can I give up on the heritage I swore to protect?”

“A colony is not the place it infests sire, it is its mice.”
“YET YOU HAS HOPE STILL MY LIEGE!” Booms a voice.
The dark figure crosses the threshold of the courtroom. The shrivelled black mouse is draped in a cloak of rags and holds a twig for a staff.

The guards move in to intercept the figure, but the king interjects, “Let him approach.
“Pray tell us who you are grandsire.”
“I is your humble servant sire, come to offer mine services to you in our hour of—”
Cough!
Wheeze!
Cough!
“—of need. Sorry, I is not a young pup anymore.”
“And what can this old fool do which the most valiant of warriors could not?” Shouts one of the courtiers.

“Silence!” The king rises to his full height, his grey fur bristling. “It is our time of need. I will shun no help, whatever form it may take.

“Tell me grandsire, how would you assist us in these dire times?”
“Yer’ courtier is correct my liege, I is but a old man. But I bears hope. I is a seer my liege, and I—”

Cough!
Atchoo!
“—has a prophecy.”
The black mouse closes his eyes and strikes the floor with his staff thrice.
THWACK!
THWACK!
THWACK!
The staff emits an amber glow, and the air around him darkens. The LEDs lined up on the walls flicker and go out. He casts long shadows on the walls and appears to grow with them. Then his voice booms like a war-horn.

“WHEN THE AFFAIRS OF MICE ARE BEYOND THEIR PAWS, WHEN THE COLONY IS ON THE BRINK OF DOOM, A HERO WILL DESCEND! A HERO TO LEAD US TO SALVATION AND REFRIGERATOR! WITH A HEART OF CHEESE AND WILL OF WOOD, A HERO OF BROWN FUR SHALL GUIDE US ANEW!”

Like a setting sun the amber glow fades away and the black mouse returns to his frail self.
Atchoo!
“Surely,” begins a courtier, “You do not believe these parlour tricks sire? Whosoever has ever heard of a brown mouse? Old maid’s tales, nothing more.”

“I am a desperate mouse my good fellow and unless you have a better plan, I shall give this mouse the benefit of the doubt.

“Guards!” The king growls. “Have this message delivered to the entire colony by the end of day. I demand the presence of any mousehold blessed with a brown scion.”

Just then one of the queen’s handmaidens comes running in as though she was being chased by the cat.

“What news do you bear Helena? My ears thirst to hear of fair tidings.”
“The queen has given birth to six healthy pups my liege. But it is most unusual. One of the pups already has fur. And…”

“And?”
“And the fur, it’s brown.”

***

I see the great beast. It is sleeping peacefully, each breath more atrocious than the last. Perhaps without any hints even, to the horrors it has wreaked on my kind.

My whole life I have trained. Today I challenge his foul existence.

I plunge off of the kitchen counter straight onto his great grey head.
THUMP!
“Meow!” He lets loose his battle-cry, a guttural shriek of immeasurable terror.
I slide down his head. He rises to his full height. Like a monolith he towers over me, all twenty-five centimetres of him. I feel a chill running down my spine into my back-paws.

He bares those terrible fangs and lunges towards me. I feel the adrenaline coursing through me. I start running. The chase is on!

I can almost smell his breath on me. A pungent odour of stale fish.
Yum!
With a giant leap the beast appears in front of me, his fur rising in hideous fury. “Neow neow neow, where might you be off to?”

Uh-oh!
Before I can even stop running his claw grabs my tail and he swallows me whole.
His mouth smells even worse on the inside; I can feel my nose hair withering off after every whiff. His teeth are a whole palette of the colour yellow; and his tongue is greasy and warm.

Disgustful.
Darkness envelops my being as he closes his mouth now. And then he gulps.
I flay my paws as wildly as mousely possible for a pawhold. In the cracks of his teeth I find salvation.

And then his mouth settles. I take a moment to gather my bearings.
AND HE GULPS AGAIN!
Alright, alright. He’s finally stopped.
AND HE ANEW!
AND ONCE MORE!
After what seems like my entire adulthood, his mouth finally stops.
Yes, I’m certain this time.
I had a feeling this situation would transpire, so I prepared something just for the occasion.
Dried chilli flakes.
I rub them on his tongue furiously as my tired paws organize a rally in protest.
With a great heave he spits me out. I splash right into his dish of water.
I get a head start as he spends wastes time in trying to eradicate the disturbingly hot taste from his tongue.

He recovers much sooner than my liking however. Just as his abhorrent claws almost grab me again, I dive into my mouse-hole. I can hear his head crash onto the other side with a satisfying smack.

“Meow!”
Phew… That was close.
“Sire, you’re back. When you hadn’t arrived for so long, we… We thought,” a teardrop swells up in my trainer’s eyes.

“Hush now Bernard. This mouse shan’t be taken so easily. Now tell me, is the trap ready?”
Bernard grins as he sees the cat slide in his claw in through the hole. “Oh yes it is, sire.”
His nails rake across the floor.
Searching.
Seeking.
So close I can see the skin between his toes. The sound is awful; nails on a chalkboard have nothing on this monstrosity.

My heart thumps in my ears as I watch him make a mess of my home. His claw then falls on the mouse-trap I had my mice lay for him.

“MEOW!”
He tries to pull out his—
“MEOW! MEOW! MEOW!”
—his hand. But it’s—
“MEOW! MEEOOOWW!”
—stuck.
My mice and I leave through another hole and make our way to the beast. He has his legs propped against the wall, his whole body convulsing as he tries to pull his hand out.

I take the piece of cheese I brought with me and casually start munching on it.
“MEOW! You,” he growls, “You did this. I will have your hide for this. You’ll wish you were never born.”

I lick off the bits of cheese stuck on my paw. On the table besides my hole is kept an antique Moroccan ceramic vase. With lithe steps I climb up the table, followed by my mice.

“A HEAVE! AND A HO!” And with that we push off the vase. It falls right on top of the cat’s head, shattering into a million pieces as it hits the floor.

CRASH!
“Tom? Tooom? What mischief are you up to again?” The lady of the house calls out.
The cat spits such colourful venom in his guttural tongue it almost makes my ears bleed.
“Tom I swear to god if you’ve broken another vase I’ll throw you to the dogs.”
“You vermin you! Who are you?” The cat stares directly into my eyes, and I jump into his.
“MEOUCH!”
“I am called Jerry. You would do well to remember the name.”