Panic Is A Helluva Thing...

I think I know how she feels. Or at least, I think I know how she feels up until this moment. At this moment, she feels the exhilarating rush of escaping her doom, which is a feeling I can only wish for. But her feelings up until this moment... Well...

This is a benevolent mouse trap, comparatively speaking. It’s not a snap trap or a glue trap; it’s a humane trap – the catch and release kind. But it doesn’t matter to the mouse in terms of her panic. This little mouse, terrified and damned as she undoubtedly feels, could have it a lot worse. But how could she know? How could she know that, in mere hours, her cell door will be unlocked by some unseen force which - instead of killing her - will set her free? The glare of the flashlight and the jostling of the trap in my pocket as I walked down the hill must have seemed like mouse Armageddon to her, and as she simultaneously nibbled the bait and defecated in panic, she must have felt certain that her fate was at hand.

How to know? When every sign points to disaster of the highest order, how does the mouse have any confidence that it will all work out in the end? In this instance, the Matrix is benign. But is it always benign? Or is the Matrix indifferent? This time, the mouse gets a fresh start down the hill over at Barbara and Matt’s place. Because I don’t like Barbara and Matt, and if anyone deserves to be harassed by a mouse that’s too clever by half, it’s them. But the Matrix doesn’t always hate Barbara and Matt. Sometimes it hates the mouse more. And it's impossible to know which it's going to be. Which is unbearable. Lucky mouse. This time.


  1. Sometimes I think I would rather go out with a SNAP while I'm dining on the precious bait. Living right up to that moment.

    Oh, the torment of capture, always wondering if the Mice will trade human prisoners or, as in this case, political favors. Sending the "lucky mouse" off to battle with the BabAndMatts.

    Is it a fresh start or will the trauma and drama send Lucky into a lifestyle of living on wine corks and moldy bread, always looking for escape from the dreams that all bait is the enemy, waiting in the corner, all too conveniently...

  2. All bait is the enemy. All bait is the enemy. Where did that wine cork get to?

    Living right up to that moment. I like it. It amazed me that, scared as she was, Lucky still ate every bit of the pistachio in the trap. Like she knew it might be her last, so she may as well enjoy it. That is one profound mouse.

    I hadn’t considered that Lucky might not enjoy her life at BabAndMatts, but you might be right. My place is pretty hard to beat. Peanut butter and pistachios for days.