Feeding Mice – Comfort #4

Posted on February 23, 2011


I wanted to get out of doing the dishes so I signed up for the space program. The training has not been easy. This is due in part to my fellow space mates, who consist of a Great Dane, a Siamese cat, and about twelve emaciated mice.  We spend hours a day in a room together, trying to learn what being confined to small space feels like. The Siamese cat spends most of its time chasing the Great Dane. The mice sit, drooling, thinking about our target — the moon.

There are some scientists that still believe the moon is made of cheese, and a danger to earth. They have put our team together with the idea that I will fly the ship, the mice will eat the moon like a buffet, the cat will keep the mice in check, and the Great Dane will keep the cat in check. The composition is flawed, the dog is a coward, the cat is uninterested in mice, and the mice are multiplying.

I’m uncertain what will happen when we get to the moon. If it really is made of cheese, the mice are going to go ballistic and devour the whole thing, leaving us to float in space until we starve. I should call off my participation, but I really, really hate doing the dishes. I hate the way milk dries in bowls, or the way pasta sauce has to be scrubbed from the pan.  I could use some excitement in my life, some true danger. I haven’t dated a woman in the last six months, and I’m up to date on my taxes. The moon it is. And when I’m up there, as the moon is slowly being devoured by gluttonous mice, I’ll look down at the earth with a telescope and try to find something more dangerous to target upon my return.