Micecapade

College kids. They sure know how to live! Pizza delivery. I’m all for it. Always some pieces of crust left in the box. Perfectly baked. Not too doughy, not burned, just crunchy enough to snap when I gnaw into them.

They have been covering their trash lids more carefully these days, though. I suspect the landlord sent them a letter warning them about me. Good thing nobody’s thought to get a cat.

Nevertheless, I can almost always get into a trash can even when it’s closed carefully. I can squeeze down pretty thin. Tonight’s specialty of the house was a taste of pizza crust with some melon rinds and for that after-dinner treat, a mouthful of coffee grinds.

So now I'm tired. I'll climb up here. The car just pulled up and the engine’s still warm. Think I’ll take a snooze right here, below the windshield wiper, tucked between the windshield and the hood … mmmmm.

Whoa! Why’s this car starting up! Better get out of here quick! Who’s driving? It’s some girl. You crazy chick, why are you pulling out already? Don’t you know you’re supposed to let the car warm up a little first? Even I know that, and I don’t drive. You’ve got to let the oil flow through the engine.

And now I can’t jump off. If I do, I might get run over. I’d better just stay low and take the ride. She must be going to 7 Eleven for a midnight Slurpee or something. I’ll jump off there.

What? Oh, no! The freeway!

Aiieeeeeeee! I’m going 70 mph! Through the night! Tucked in here under the windshield wiper! I’m probably not gonna make it. I’m probably gonna get shaken off. I’m trembling. I’m so scared. I’m hanging on and the wind is whipping over me, and it doesn’t stop. And the vibration! And the lights! Where is this girl going? This is taking forever!

Whew. Off at last. I don’t know how I survived that.

What’s this now? She’s pulling into a garage. Oh, good, the car stops, the engine shuts, and she walks up the stairs and into the house and doesn’t see me.

What should I do? I don’t know this place. And there could be a cat. I wandered into a garage once and there was a cat there. That was at least as scary as this freeway drive.

I got away, but barely. And I saw the look in that cat’s eyes. It wouldn’t have eaten me. It would’ve played with me for hours, shuffling me in its paws, letting me go, catching me again, ripping my eye out with a claw. Yikes. Not gonna risk that. This car will move again. I’ll just sleep here until morning and then when the car moves I’ll jump off and find some hiding place safer from cats.

Whoa! Oh, just the engine, again. It’s morning and she’s leaving, as I’d expected. I’ll jump off at the first stop and then find a place to hide.

Shit! She sees me! She’s screaming! Ah, what do I do? What do I do ….?

You know what? I’ve decided. I’m just staying here. She’s calling someone on her phone. I guess I could make a run for it. But I think I’m safer here. No cats for the moment, at least.

So this guy comes out. With a broom. He sees me. He’s yelling at her: “Pull the car out of the garage. Pull the car out of the garage.” But she’s too scared. He won’t do anything, though. He doesn’t want me running around his garage. But that broom is bad news. I’m going to have to get away from that broom. I could make a run for it now. But I won’t Let’s see what he does, first.

She backs the car out of the garage and tells her to shut the door so I don’t run back in after he knocks me off. Except I have no intention of letting him knock me off. I’ve decided I kind of like it here. I think I’ll make my last stand. I’d rather die than move from here. Strange, how these thoughts come into your head? Oh well, no one ever said I had to act rationally.

So the guy he takes a jab at me with the broom. I’m looking at him. He’s looking at me. I don’t move. He laughs. I guess he finds it amusing that I’m not scared of him and his broom. “Dude, what’s your problem?” I think to myself as I stare him down. “Just leave me alone, man.”

I guess he’s impressed by my determination to hold my position. He actually talks to me: “Get out of here!” he says. I look at him. “No,” I reply. I’ve made my decision. He laughs again.

This time, though, he doesn’t just make a feint with the broom, he actually pokes me with the bristles. I don’t want to move, but my nervous system kicks in. Fight or flight, they call it, though I ain’t no bird. I guess my nervous system wouldn’t let me get hit with the broom. I was trying to do passive resistance, y’know, like Gandhi. I didn’t want to move, but I had to. Reflex.

So I run up the windshield, right over the girl’s face. You should’ve seen her! And heard that scream! Girls really don’t like me. If ever I needed confirmation, that was it.

Now I’m sitting on top of the roof of the car, like a hood ornament. No, that would be a roof ornament, right?

The guy is laughing at me. “Fuck you,” I say to him. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. This car carried me here at 70 mph on the freeway last night and I survived. Now I claim this car as my own.”

So he makes another jab at me with the broom but I don’t even flinch. I’m just looking at him with my beady little eyes. I’m not movin.’ Unless I have to.

Which I do, when he uses the broom to push me off the car.

I fly onto the ground and trot down the alley.

I’m not running. I’m in no hurry. I’m just walking off to find someplace I wanna be. Where there are no cats.

That was a pretty nice car, though. Wish I coulda kept it. The mousemobile, I woulda called it. My mousemobile. I coulda been riding all around town in style. With that girl as my chauffeur.

“Hey baby,” I’d say. “To the cheese store!”