The mouse wanted to eat. She was hungry and determined to gobble anything she could. It was an idle Thursday morning when the fat little rodent peeked from her hole atop the stove. It was a nice enough place to live in the winter but a real pain during the warm summer months. The stove was old and still worked, though barely, enough so the old woman who lived in the house was able to feed herself. The hunger noises that came from the mouse’s belly caused the small critter to roll her eyes with exhaustion. She scanned the area for a morsel in need of devouring. Then a tickle of aroma grazed across her tiny nose. She smiled as she turned to face the scent. A small chunk of liverwurst had managed to find the good graces to leave its sandwich and now cried out for attention.
As soon as the mouse scurried over to the vacationing piece of meat she found a surprise. Leaning against the fridge with a sleepy grin was a skinny tabby with the nametag: Bruce. The mouse began to calculate the various factors involved with this operation. Her own speed versus that of Bruce’s, and her need against the cat’s desire to eat her. The grandfather clock that rested in the far corner chimed three and scared the little fat mouse’s hunger pain. She considered the respite welcome. Bruce yawned as he put a paw in front of his mouth he then said, “Are you hungry? I’m starved. That goofy lady told me I could have all the mice I wanted to eat. Do you believe that? In this day and age she thinks cats don’t have anything better to eat than mice? Please lady, get a clue. I tried eating a mouse once and, no offense to you or your kind, it tasted gross.”
The mouse rested her eyes on Bruce for a second. This could be the ruse she’d been warned about by her mother. Mom always told her to be careful about with whom you speak and ever leery of cats in sheep’s clothing. She’d often wondered how a cat would get into a sheep’s clothes especially because sheep don’t wear anything. After considering her options, the stomach spoke again. She smiled slightly embarrassed. “Yes, I must admit I would enjoy a bite. I was planning on relieving that lonely piece of liverwurst its misery, if you don’t mind.”
Bruce laughed. “Aw heck, you don’t want that. The old goofy broad spat that out because it went bad. There is,” Bruce’s eyes dipped as his voice lowered, “a cabinet on the other side of this kitchen with a half-opened box of cookies. I was hoping someone might come by and help me get them. What do you say we work together?”
They did and left the box in such a state that nobody could tell it’d been tampered with. Politics make strange bedfellows, hunger even stranger ones. Don’t you think?
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