One Mouses Daily Life

Hello. I am Lucky Durittle, and I, as you may have gleaned, am a mouse. I live in the Landlord’s house, who are, by the way, are getting nastier and nastier. They are actually beginning to exterminate us! And we, serving them loyally for years, cleaning up any forgotten food, any lost paper, any unwanted trash. Why, once the mistress was so happy I destroyed a marriage certificate that she burst into tears! But those wonderful days are over. Now is a time of caution and woe, of deadly cheese and fatal peanut butter. However,— that is not what I came to tell you, to sob out my many troubles onto your shoulder. I came to tell you a story, when some of the younger landlords loved us, when they would try to save us, to keep us. Now, listen as I relate to you the fascinating story of myself, or, to you, Lucky Durittle…

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It happened, if I remember correctly, when they—meaning my parents— were poisoned by some monstrous evil device they had found under the kitchen cupboard. When my aunt broke the news, I was, mind you, horrified. Who would watch me, feed me, love me? However, being the eldest in our litter, I realized that I would have to find food for the others, not knowing that that was already arranged with some relationships. So, being rightly terrified, I stepped out from under the warm stove, into a new, strange, cold, bright world. It was so bright that I didn't know how they—the Landlords— stood it! I was found rigth away, of course, being new to thsi sort of thing, and not having a parent to guide me. I was scooped up by something brilliantly white, which later turned out to be a paper plate, and dumped, unceremoniously, into a pair of warm human hands. I was oohed and aahed over and examined closely for some time, but I knew that I was trapped, and was overcome with terror. 

A child's voice began to whisper loudly, “Mother, can I keep him? Please? I promise that he’ll stay in my room. Oh, please?” 

“Good gracious, child, of course not. It's unsanitary! I will immediately dispose of it.”

“Mother.” The girl,—Rose, I believe—wailed.

“Rose. I said no. And that’s that.”

And so it was. I was set down in some frightfully cold water, there was a loud roar that filled my ears, and I was sucked into The Drop, thinking that I would never see anybody or anything again. But, as the water filled up inside of me, drowning me, dragging me under, I was pulled into a tunnel that was somehow dry— I never did manage to discover how—and right in front of a…door? Shocked out of any sense I had, I just lay there, choking and gagging up water, when I realized that someone was leaning over me. I couldn't believe it. A mouse? Here? Impossible. Correct? No. Someone was there, helping me through a door, sitting me at a chair, giving me bits of food. From then on I remembered nothing more. 

When I awoke, a young female mouse was bending over me. 

“Oh, you’ve finally awoke! My name is Jungle. How are you feeling?”

Jungle, a pretty brown mouse, wearing a daisy patterned frock and funny slippers, padded over to a long, horizontal pipe, on which something was smoking slightly. 

“Hungry yet? Here's some vittles, hot and piping.” She laughed gently over her little joke, giving me some of the substance on the pipe, which turned out to be a piece of steaming hot mango. I devoured the delicious fruit, never taking my eyes off the other mouse that was sitting across the room. She was chattering on about the duct temperature as of late, and from what I gathered it was too hot.

“Don’t know what they're thinking lately. Heat in April. Ridiculous, if you ask me.” 

I must have drifted off again, because the next thing I knew a delicious scent was wafting my way. Cube was cooking what must be breakfast, and I was ravenous. 

“Oh, good, you’re up again. Have some luncheon.”

 Cube peered down at me, a small smile curling up her cheeks.

“Luncheon?” I said, quite blankly.

“Yes, of course. I always eat lunch between breakfast and dinner. Don’t you?”

“Oh—er—yes. Of course. I do.”

“Hmmm,” she said, frowning suspiciously at me. “Well? Aren't you going to eat?”

That day an older mouse, came in, wearing a worn jacket over a rather large bag. He started to pull out an assortment of food, various scraps of cloth and string, and a small canteen of something that later turned out to be delicious, though I never did discover what it really was. I believe the contents were a family secret, so I only inquired once.

“‘Ullo Jungle! Guests? Hmm, I see. And you are—?”

“Lucky, sir.”

“Lucky—Lucky! Pleasure to have you! I’m Isosceles. ‘Er father, I am, that is. Matthias, you know.”

He smiled at my confusion, but offered no explanation for his strange comment.

I stayed with that family for a couple of days, though they pressed that I stay longer. However, I insisted on taking leave so as to not let myself lean upon them. I offered to bring them along with me, but only Jungle took up the offer. Isosceles was left humming placidly to himself, with a quiet smile slipping up his face, and the fruit smoking wildly on the pipes. 

When we set out into the wide, strange ducts, —though not as strange as they once were— we did not expect any trouble. But…not everything goes as planned. For the first part, I was very inexperienced with ducts, and I took a left turn, instead of the correct way, that is, right. And if Jungle hadn’t noticed my mistake, who knows where I would be now? Dead, most likely. Well, for better or for worse, the right one was found, but troubles didn’t end there. And why not? Because of a measly water rat. We ran into him at the corner of Fiberboard Ave and Aluminum Rd, and he scared us out of our senses. Improper of him, if you ask me. Well, that ended in a terrible argument, for he insisted that he eat us. But we disagreed so strongly that he decided to quit asking and begin crunching. But, as I believe I told you, not everything goes as planned, even for measly water rats. You see, he was in a pipe, and not a duct—the water runs so fast through the pipes that it doesn’t trickle into the ducts beside it—and at that moment the shower started—the rat must have been too occupied with us to remember the time—and washed him clean away. Pretty lucky for us, and not for him, thank heavens. But Jungle was so terrified by the rat’s appearance she had snuck down another duct without me realizing it, and I had no idea which one. I considered calling for her, but there was always the possibility that there’s a big ole measly rat family somewhere around, just waiting for the sounds of lunch. So you see, I could possibly be eaten by a rat reunion; it interferes with my schedule, and then I’d be late for dinner. It was simply out of the question. I chose a narrow duct called Slipstreams Lane—ignoring the one named Water Rat Road— and hoped that Jungle was down it. I found her hunched by some old pipes, shaking and muttering about Big, Fat, Rude Water Rats, calling them all sorts of names one never wants to hear about oneself.

“There you are! Jungle, please hurry. Oh, and don't be frightened. The rat won’t hurt you. He’s gone.

“WHO’S SCARED OF A WATER RAT?!”

“No one, of course,” I hissed, making frantic shushing motions. 

“Then what are you waiting for? I’m awfully hungry, you know.”

The rest of the way home was rather uneventful, other than Jungle’s ceaseless chatting. When we finally climbed out of the Forgotten Duct the basement, I pointed out various, important sights: The Water Whirlpool, The Burning Whirlpool, The Fire of Death, The House Of Ice. Jungle was actually awed into silence when she peeked into the moving Water Whirlpool, a moment I’ll never forget.

We clambered up from the basement stairs into the kitchen, where the Black Market—a word we picked up from the Landlords that was decided to mean market day at night— was working. Shrieks ascended from the crowd: 

“Lucky! Eeek! A ghost! Lucky Ducky Boy! How are you? LUCKY!”

(No one had ever survived The Drop, to the mice’s knowledge).

We were welcomed heartily, though mostly everyone just stood there, staring at Jungle, who was already telling some youngsters about her “terrific fight with the Big Bad Ole Measly Water Rat.”

When she had heard my sad orphan story, Jungle immediately made it her job to be my mother. 

“Why, you poor little thing! Enduring all you’ve gone through! I’ll have no one in my home go hungry! The very thought nauseates me! Imagine, ten little mice, hungry! Unthinkable!” But, I wondered, and I wonder still, what has become of Isosceles?

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And that is my story. I must be going, for it is nearly dinner, and Jungle absolutely will not stand tardiness. Goodbye, for now! I shall come back tomorrow for another tale. Oh! Yes, yes, don’t fret, Jungle! I’m coming!

This copy is to be printed out especially for my Good Mother, Jungle. Thank you.

 Yours Truly,

Lucky Durittle, Mouse.