Ultraviolent Rodentia!

By Geoffrey C Porter

I saw the first rodent droppings on the counter in my kitchen the other day. Rodents are foul beasts that you typically find living in sewers and under houses. I had no intention of sharing my home with one. I asked, “How did a mouse get in my house and on my kitchen counter?”

“It must have made it past the snakes in the yard. Perhaps there is a small hole in the foundation. Mice are great climbers. Perhaps he wedged his body up between the stove and the fridge.”

I nodded, “What of the cat? Surely he will catch the mouse in my house.”

“You best buy some traps--knowing that cat.”

I journeyed to the store and found the most vicious of snapping traps. I armed them and carefully set them on the counter baited with cheese. The next morning the traps were all sprung, but there was no mouse.

“Get a pointy stick, and kill the mouse yourself.”

I nodded. I went to the garage and looked for a dowel rod. I got out the sander, set it on the workbench, and proceeded to sharpen the stick to a fine point.

I went on the hunt. I pulled the fridge out from its enclosure and flashed my flashlight back there with the pointy stick in my right. I found an ancient sponge, but no mouse. I got down on my knees and opened all the cabinets down there poking around with the flashlight and the stick. I stood up and shrugged. I didn’t really consider myself a mouse hunter.

Then I saw the little monster dart from behind the toaster to the microwave. He moved so fast it was like trying to catch a glimpse of a speeding bullet!

I pulled the microwave out from the cabinet ever so slowly, so I wouldn’t startle the poor thing and thus cause him to dart away. The creature showed off his teeth and hissed at me. I stabbed at it with my stick, but it dodged out of the way and leapt off the kitchen counter only to land behind the fridge on the sponge. I stepped forward after him and tried to stab at him again while he recovered from his fall. He dodged into a hole in the side of the cabinet below the sink.

“You’ve got to be quicker!”

I growled back, “He’s so fast!”

“You’re faster. You just have to focus!”

I said, “I’m trying!”

Just then the wee creature jumped back out of the hole in the cabinet with something in its hands. I stared in awe as he flipped it back and forth and from left to right. Two sticks of wood or possibly metal attached to each other with a chain: nun-chucks. The little furry rodent had a pair of nun-chucks and was flipping them around like a Chinese Kung-Fu master. I aimed my pointy stick for his heart and thrust it forward.

The mouse dodged out of the way whacking my stick with the nun-chucks at the same time. I felt the vibration from the hit carry all the way from the end of my stick to my hand. Not to be discouraged, I stabbed forward with the stick aiming for his midsection. He dodged to his left and hit my stick twice in quick succession with his tiny little nun-chucks. The vibration growing in the dowel rod was even stronger than the last time. I snarled and lunged forward with the stick again. The mouse hit the point of my stick with the nun-chucks and knocked it off target.

I wanted to scream, “Bloody murder!” yet I stopped to collect my thoughts instead. One, I thought to myself, mice shouldn’t be allowed to have nun-chucks. Two, mice are strong, but this mouse was as strong as a man.

“Kill it!”

The mouse sat staring at me as if waiting for my next move. I quickly stabbed at it again with my pointy stick, and it did a summersault out of the way. I pulled back and stabbed forward again. The mouse hit my stick; then he hit it again; then he hit it a third time. I felt this weird vibration in the rod, different from the last two vibrations, and then the rod splintered into a million tooth pick sized pieces.

The mouse laughed like the sound of a chirping bag-pipe and charged my foot. He raised the nun-chucks high over his head and with a great swooping motion brought the device down on my left big toe. I felt bones crack, and an incredible sharp pain raced through my foot. I howled.

“You should be wearing shoes!”

I shouted, “Thank you!”

I went and rubbed my hurt toe. The pain throbbed.  I gingerly put my shoes on.

“Get the gun!”

I howled, “I’m not shooting the gun in the house!”

“Get the gun, and kill it.”

I went and unlocked my pistol from the safe. I loaded it. I paused wondering if there might be a better solution.

“Kill it!”

I went back to the kitchen, and the evil mouse sat on the counter by the toaster oven. He looked like he was smiling. I lined up the iron sights on my gun to its chest, and it scurried behind the toaster. I growled and aimed for the toaster. I waited.

I heard the faintest of metallic clicks. The mouse stepped from behind the toaster brandishing a tiny machine gun. He started squeezing off rounds, and I felt tiny thumps hit my chest. I laughed, and cried out, “I’m wearing my flannel!”

I took aim and squeezed off three rounds in quick succession, but all three missed. The mouse paused to reload, and I looked at the tiny rips in my shirt. I fired again while he dodged left and fired.

Finally the mouse ran out of ammo and scurried behind the deep fryer. I started to count the holes in the walls from my gun, eight in total.

“Stop missing!”

I said, “I didn’t mean to. He’s like lightning fast!”

“How can you miss so much?”

I glared, “I won’t miss this time!”

The mouse stepped back out from behind the deep fryer carrying a tube of some sort almost as big as a used up toilet paper roll. Except it wasn’t cardboard but steel, and it wasn’t hollow all the way through. The mouse lifted the tube onto his shoulder, and I realized it was a BAZOOKA. He aimed it for my face. The mouse squeezed the trigger and a missile launched out of the bazooka. I ducked, and the projectile hit my refrigerator taking a huge one foot chunk out of the freezer. The mouse started to do this stupid, happy dance, and I pointed the gun at him and shot. He dodged out of the way of the bullet and raced behind the food dehydrator.

The refrigerator was a mess. Bullet holes riddled the walls.

The voice in my head laughed, “You sure screwed that up.”