Fantastic Variations on an Old Rhyme - ~A Pastiche~

Fantastic Variations on an Old Rhyme

~A Pastiche~

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

There it was again: a faint scrabbling sound. Gert exhaled loudly, flipped her pillow to the cool side, and pulled the quilt over her head.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

She could still hear it. A mouse in the wall, no doubt — and there lay Siminy, tidily curled at the foot of the bed, unjustly sleeping the sleep of the just.

What time was it? 

Bonnnggg… The Clock struck One.

Gert was too hot. She flung the covers back to feel the breeze from the fan. 

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

The cat’s white face was tucked under her black tail, just the selvage visible in the half-light. Gert thought about rooting her off the spot and reminding her that dereliction of duty was a serious infraction, but she didn’t want to risk waking Gus.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

She pulled the covers up again.

Bonnnggg… Bonnnggg… The Clock struck Two.

Hickory Dickory Dock, thought Gert, her fuddled brain visualizing mice running up and down the workings of the grandfather Clock.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

Gus rolled onto his back and flopped an arm across Gert. She let out a “Whoo…” of discomfort and scooted a few inches away, shoving the quilt aside.

Gus snorted and emitted a loose-lipped “Phhlllll…”  

Gert felt a droplet of spittle land on her temple, and tugged the covers back over her head.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

Giving up, she slid slowly out of bed — trying not to disturb Husband or Cat. Husband mumbled something indistinct, and Cat wrapped her tail more firmly across her nose.

Gert needed a Plan.

Scuffing down the dark hallway, she pondered her options. She only came up with one.

Mousetraps? Did they have any? Where would they be?

She flicked the kitchen light switch on, squinting in the harsh brightness.

Junk drawer, said Left Hemisphere. That would be logical.

Left Hemisphere was right. Three mousetraps sat neatly stacked in a corner.

Enough for three mice, noted Left Hemisphere sagely. Right Hemisphere giggled and started humming a tune.

Gert shook her head, but the tune wouldn’t go away.

Three blind mice,

Three blind mice,

See how they run,

See how they run…

Ridiculous rhyme! Not helpful.

She unwrapped a mousetrap and tried to throw away the filmy plastic, but it stuck to her fingers. She flapped her hand.

Krink. Krink. Krink. Finally, the wrapper floated down into the trash can.

Bait. Cheese? 

Gert opened the refrigerator door. 

“Mrrrp?” 

That got Siminy’s attention! How had she moved so fast? 

She wound around Gert’s legs, purring at the prospect of a late-night snack.

Bonnnggg… Bonnnggg… Bonnnnggg…

The Clock struck Three.

Hickory Dickory Dock!

Three blind mice,

Three blind mice…

“Aaaughhh! No!” Gert grumbled. Siminy stared at her.

Where was the cheese? She was pretty sure they had a block of good cheddar; shame to waste any on a mouse though. It was an expensive artisan brand called The Farmer’s Wife.

Gus better not have finished it off!

Ah – there, pushed to the back of the otherwise bare shelf. 

Gert mentally apologized to her sleeping spouse and reached in to grab the cheese.

The cheese stands alone,

The cheese stands alone…

“Stop it!” she commanded Right Hemisphere. 

Siminy pawed at her leg. 

“Just a minute!” Gert whispered hoarsely.

A knife. She’d need a knife.

There was one next to the sink, bigger than she needed. It was a carving knife — but it would do.

She only needed a tiny piece of cheese for each trap. She could trim the ragged edge from the block.

She cut off their tails with a carving knife…

They did look like little tails, those scraps of cheese. 

Where was she getting these morbid, gruesome thoughts? 

Lack of sleep, Left Hemisphere shrugged.

“Meee —”

“Oh, all right. Here you go, Siminy!”

Gert dropped a small handful of Cat Treats — Plink! Plinkety-plink! — into Siminy’s dish. She hadn’t noticed before… they were shaped like tiny mouse heads. 

“Taunting me,” she muttered.

Now, where to put the baited traps? 

She didn’t want Siminy messing with them. They’d have to be tucked away.

She shoved one between the refrigerator and the wall. That left two.

The Clock stood sentinel in the living room. Too dark to read its face. Gert trudged past, toward the bedroom.

Leave one behind the Clock! suggested Right Hemisphere, ever whimsical. Just in case!

“Oh, all right,” Gert agreed. “Can’t hurt, I suppose.”

And of course, one in the bedroom, Left Hemisphere reminded.

“Of course.”

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

As soon as Gert entered the bedroom, she heard it. She moved, quiet as…

A mouse? suggested Right Hemisphere.

Not funny, Left Hemisphere snarled. This is not the time for jokes.

What time was it now, anyway? Gert wondered.

Bonnnggg… Bonnnggg… Bonnnnggg… Bonnnggg…

The Clock struck Four.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

Gert set the mousetrap near where the sound was coming from, and crawled back into bed.

Yawning, she pulled up the quilt once more and scooted herself over, this time close to her innocently snoring husband. Partly to atone for her earlier thoughts, and partly because it was comfortable. 

Gus draped his arm over Gert and snugged her up to him. Ah, nice… She felt herself drifting…

Foomp!

Siminy landed lightly at the end of the bed, soft-footed forward, and settled herself against Gert’s belly. 

“Tuna breath!” Gert whispered to her, and pulled her closer.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

Siminy purred.

Gert smiled drowsily and went to sleep, sandwiched between Husband and Cat.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

Gert didn’t hear it.

Morning came. Gus woke at dawn’s early light, carefully moving away from his soundly slumbering soulmate. 

“Phooo, phooo…” she breathed.

And then he heard it.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

He waited.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

Siminy slept on, unconcerned.

Tiptoeing around the bed, Gus stopped to listen again.

Scritch-scritch-scritch.

Ah. There it was. 

He stooped to pick up a piece of paper that had fallen to the side of Gert’s nightstand, and was rustling in the draft from their slowly oscillating fan.

Rrrr… said his gut. Hungry!

Gus headed for the kitchen. Gert was sleeping so soundly, he didn’t want to disturb her. Breakfast could wait.

He was pretty sure they had a block of good cheddar. It was an expensive artisan brand called The Farmer’s Wife. 

He opened the refrigerator and reached for the cheese just as —

Bonnnggg… Bonnnggg… Bonnnnggg… Bonnnggg… Bonnngg…

The Clock struck Five.