On How I Escaped The Claws of Death

The terror started with the little girl.

She has a habit of wandering into the old barn every morning, just as dawn slices through the jagged, cracked windows in golden, slanting rays. There are always dust motes floating in sparkly abandon on those rays. I like to watch them while munching my morning snack. Right now it's the shiny red apple she left on a hay bale a few days ago.

Usually when she comes in, The Family scatters to comfy corners in search of safety. The apple's crispy sweetness thrills my taste buds enough to risk discovery, and so I stay in my spot.

As I'm finishing up the apple, contentment soothing my limbs into a relaxed state, the girl marches in at her normal time. She's a strange human, to my way of thinking. Always wearing a beanie and carrying a book. Not like the other humans who stomp around like cows. You can hear those humans from a floor away.

No, there's many a time she's almost caught me curled up on her favorite bale because her movements were so silent I didn't hear her approach.

Not today. I finish my last bite and then store the core of the apple in my special crevice located between the bucket wedged against the wall and the timber supporting it. The remaining seeds will make a tasty lunch.

Time to get home. I can hear The Family's chastisement already. They don't approve of my eating habits. Between that and my extraordinarily long tail, I'm considered to be somewhat of an anomaly. Some have gone so far as to very rudely compare me to a rat, which always gets me in a teeth-baring tussle.

Meow.

I freeze, every part of my body stiffening. Following the girl is a very large, very orange cat. His golden all-seeing eyes are fixed upon the girl. Perhaps I can dart across the barn floor before the monster sees me. The girl settles in her normal spot, which is unfortunately too close to me. Perhaps only a thousand patters away.

I swipe my whiskers, nerves catapulting about my spine, and the apple does not sit so nicely in my stomach anymore. I glance down at said organ, admiring its sloping curve outward. Such a soft brown, the color of fresh bread crust, which is a particular favorite of mine. I've always been quite proud of my generous figure, but when one carries such a lovely tummy, one cannot run as fast as a more lithe mouse.

Sighing, I peek to my left, which is where the girl is cuddled. She's brought a blanket today, and something that smells suspiciously like sharp cheddar cheese. My nose twitches.

But then that beast emerges, rubbing it's terrible body against her legs. Gulping down raw terror, I draw a steadying breath. If I don't move, it won't find me.

Alas, the universe is conspiring against me. The great orange tabby begins sniffing the floor, its tail ticking through the musty, sun-streaked air like a death watch second hand.

Then my stomach decides to release a happy, the-apple-has-been-digested growl.

The sound draws the eyes of the orange mongrel. His pointy ears resemble tilted witch hats. The cat's ugly pupils widen as it drops to its haunches. The tail has gone horribly still.

My heartbeat is a a drum. No, it's the tromping of big humans thudding in my chest. Crowding my throat.

The cat is looking directly at me. Across the floor, on the far side of the barn, I see Mother emerge from a hole in the wall. She's waving in frantic, swift claw swipes.

I straighten on my back legs. Stiffen my shoulders. I can do this. I can. I've lost a lot of mouse races, but this is for my life. This is for the chance to emerge tonight to find any dropped crumbs from the cheddar which keeps tantalizing my senses.

The cat launches himself toward me. I kick into action. I scurry across the floor, drawing uneven, burning breaths. There are not enough bales to hide inside of. Furrowing my forehead, I race toward Mother.

"Whiskers!" the girl calls, but she is too late.

Sharp, piercing pain shreds my tail. I screech, jumping to the right, dodging to the left. The cat's claws have scraped my tail. I resist the urge to look and see if its bleeding. And then, abruptly, I'm jerked to a stop and hauled into the air.

This monster is carrying me by my precious, long tail! Aghast, I stare at the floor as it swings wildly below me. I try very hard not to move. The Family says cats love to play with twitching mice. That's how Cousin John went, poor thing.

As I'm carried presumably toward the place of my death, my life flashes before my eyes. The crunchy seed I ate last night for dinner. The long-grain grass that was my snack after dinner. Then there is, of course, my bedtime snack. A most tasty slip of bark. I take a few nibbles every night to inspire delicious dreams.

My jaw firms. My teeth clench. I will not die quietly. There is too much to live for. Why, I can practically taste the cheddar the girl brought. My taste buds salivate in anticipation of tomorrow morning, when I'll scurry out for my share.

A burst of energy frizzles through me and before I can think twice, I heave myself upward and bite through the thinnest part of my tail.

Now, there are some who say time moves differently depending on one's placement in space, and I firmly believe this must be true. I shall never forget the way the cat's eyes slowly widened as I surged upward. I shall never forget the torpedo of pain that cut through my body when I bit my tail off, nor the way I spiraled to the floor, hitting in a brain-jolting thump.

As soon as I hit, I popped up and ran as fast as my swaying belly would allow.

I'll never know what the cat thought as I escaped, if he thought at all. My Family firmly believe felines to be unfeeling carnivores, though I myself have not formed an opinion.

I did not look back. I scurried to my mother, who ushered me into safety, tsking at the state of my poor, extra long tail. No longer would I be called a rat. My perilous tail, source of my capture, had also facilitated my escape.

And that is how I escaped the very claws of death. I shall live another day. I shall eat another apple.

In my humble opinion, life does not get much better than that.