Mister Mouse

I have only seen one rat before in my whole life.  A burly dark brown rat with half a tail and a ripped ear and a very dirty face.

The other mouses (in case you’re curious, there is no word “mice” in mouse language), said she ate mouses for breakfast, lunch, dinner and even snacks.

And now here I was, sitting six inches away from a -gulp- rat. He was white with a black hood on his head. And very clean.

“What is your name?”

“My name?”

“Yes Mouse, what are you called?”

“I am called Mouse, I suppose.”

He raised up and shook his paws above his head. “MOUSE? MOUSE?”

“Yes”, I said, “We are all called Mouse”.

“OK then”.

“OK then what?”

“I shall call you Mister Mouse. Are you a boy?”

“Of COURSE I am a BOY!” Is he blind?

“I will call you Mister Mouse and you will call me Mongo.”

“What is Mongo?”

“I have no idea what Mongo is. It is the name my girl calls me.”

Ah… he has a girlfriend. I am almost old enough to have a girlfriend and soon after that, a wife.

I couldn’t stand the suspense any longer and finally had to ask him.

“Mr. Mongo?”

“Yes, Mister Mouse?”

“Are you going to eat me?”