They Thought He Was a Goner

I've got troubles of my own.

I was born there. I was nursed there, and I hunted my first mouse there! Yes, my dam was watching the whole time, to make sure I got the hang of it. And I wasn't rude enough to lay it on the doorstep like some uneducated tomcat, I ate it properly as befits my status. Mama raised me right – you kill it, you eat it.

So there was no reason to give me to some random lady going on a balloon ride. I have fur, but not enough for that type of trip! Mama wasn't happy, but except for hairballs in every slipper, there was not much she could do. What if she were next? Mama can't handle that exertion, she's an older dame. That's why I stayed, to take care of her. Purring and making biscuits and twining carefully around ankles can only get you so far.

So Mr. Johnson ups and hands me off to this stranger with a big blue bow tied around my neck, and off we go. Mama cried and Mrs. Johnson was wringing her front paws, but the end result was the same – way up in the air, above the birds. I clung to that lady like a skullcap while she shrieked and hollered, and in her thrashing around, pulled on the wrong rope. At least she broke my fall.

But I was very, very lost.

I was near a pond. There were geese, and they were kind enough to do some flying for me while I chased rats away from their nests. Well, I did more than just chase them, and they're chewy but tasty. The geese had seen the balloon, knew where it came from. I remembered the parking lot when I got there, and some of the roads. And dogs can be quite helpful when you trade rat chew toys for information. Rides, too, from some of the bigger ones.

I made it home with a nice plump rat for Mama, only to be scooped up again! This time given to a man traveling out west to his sweetheart. A red bow this time, in honor of the occasion.

At least I could wiggle out of that cage, trailing the ribbon behind me. I made it to the front of the train before anyone could catch me, and somehow the ribbon got wrapped around one of the stick things. Lots of screeching and yelling. Someone yanked on my tail, I yowled and scratched, I was pulled, the stick thing moved. The ribbon broke. I jumped out as the train did its own screeching and crashing. I followed the tracks back to the station, and made my way from there.

Mama purred her best purr to welcome me, and Mrs. Johnson was relieved to see me. But before I could get a-mousing on their growing infestation, the neighbor started yelling about me. Me? Why, is he breeding mice for pets or something?

Well, he went crazy, screaming and waving his shotgun around. I ran out back, but he'd turned the far corner of the house to ambush me. I guess the mice thought he was me, because they swarmed him, and kaboom! I suppose the yellow overalls he was wearing looked like me? I'm not sure.

My victory was short-lived. Then I was given away to a little boy traveling upriver with his parents. But I saw the green paper Mr. Johnson gave the kid, and the whispering, so I was on alert. I didn't believe that rope he intended to tie around me was a leash! It was wrapped around a big rock! I kicked and scratched – I didn't mean to, but I knew that boy didn't have my best interests in mind. And in scrambling away, I think the rope got tangled around him. I didn't stay to find out; I can swim.

By now Mrs. Johnson was rather irritated, and told her mate to knock it off. She won't be happy to come back from shopping to find out I was sent out on a cruise ship in a crate. Did you know crates float? I could feel the storm through my paws, and I felt the box tip and slide into the water. But the air was kind to me, and blew me back to the dock. The workers there cracked the boards open to see what they'd find, and I took off before they could harm me. By now I knew the way home.

And when I got to Mama, there were mouses everywhere! Mama didn't even have to move, she'd just swat, and another mousie on the pile! I got busy myself, having a lot of pent-up zoomies from that crate. Soon we had a mountain of food!

Mrs. Johnson was so happy! She clapped her hands and fetched the tractor, and she plowed those fields in record time. Then she switched to the seeder, and a mousie went in each hole with the planting corn. Mama and I don't know why she doesn't just make mouse pies and - what do the humans say? Cut out the middleman? Humans get too excited about the wrong things.

Well, Mama and I watched contentedly while Mrs. Johnson plowed and planted. She was quite pleased when she put the tractor away, and joined us on the porch with a glass of lemonade. We got a bowl of milk with the cream still on it, and the cows thanked us too. Mousies are ew-squishy under hooves, they say.

When Mr. Johnson came home from wherever-it-was, and saw me there, he tried to have a fit, but now Mrs. Johnson was having none of it. She screeched louder than he did, pointing to the fields and the mousies we hadn't eaten yet, and howled so much his ears turned red. And she pointed at us, and the mousies, and us again. And when he tried to yell more, she stomped into the house, grabbed a nice brown box with a handle on it, and slammed it down in front of him.

He stopped yelling.

Mrs. Johnson scooped us both up, marched into the house, and slammed the door on him.

When people asked after him, Mrs. Johnson would always mention something about balloons, or boats, or trains. But there's a big lump out at the end of the field, and on wet days, sometimes you can see a brown handle sticking out. It smells bad. But Mrs. Johnson, she walks the fields every day, checking the crop, and shovels dirt back over it.

She's not a cat, that's for sure. You're supposed to eat your kill.

But she brought us inside, and we get good food, and we're free to chase mousies whenever we get hungry for fast food.