A Mouse’s Tale

Tracy had a mouse. Actually, Tracy had chocolate bars. She was selling them for her nephew’s school. One morning she came in and found that a couple of the chocolate bars had been nibbled on. That’s when Tracy found out she had a mouse.

Tracy wrapped the nibbled bars in paper towels and put them in a metal filing cabinet and locked it. The next morning she opened the drawer and discovered that the mouse had returned in the night to continue nibbling on the chocolate.

The mouse had ignored the other, un-nibbled bars and went straight after the bars that it had already nibbled. There were Pop Tarts in the same cabinet. And instant pasta.

But no, the mouse wanted it’s chocolate. The mouse got it’s chocolate.

Tracy left the nibbled chocolate bars on her desk for a few hours and then threw them away. The next morning, she found that the mouse had returned and left a small turd on her desk where the bars had been.

The mouse was not afraid to show it’s defiance in a small, mouse-like way.

Tracy came in this morning. There was a mouse on the floor, lying on it’s side as though it were sleeping. Underneath one little paw was a folded sheet of yellow paper from a legal pad.

It was a suicide note.

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(That’s what separates us from the animals. No one in the animal kingdom fucks around with our dead bodies as a joke. I mean, if a bear kills a hiker he doesn’t arrange the body afterwards to make the other bears laugh. That’s something people do . . . well, it’s something Jack does. At least, with mice.)