It’s More Than the Cheese

I swear they came in hordes––completely out of nowhere, it seemed, with their loud feet and piercing voices. Shouts of “Merry Christmas!” and “Happy Holidays!” echoed between them, which only means the cookies left on the stove were indeed not for me and for these creatures instead. How unfortunate. I’ll just have to dive between their feet and scrape up the crumbs they always drop with their slippery fingers. If the two oblivious creatures I’ve been living with have not yet discovered me, I doubt these additional humans will. Hmm, well, maybe the little girl who is closer to my eye level will. No worries, I don’t think she can speak yet, so it shouldn’t be a problem. 

I skitter underneath the sofa and across the floor to the floral armchair where the entrance to my den rests. I’ve had three litters in this space and have yet to be detected. Luckily the dust mites serve as a barricade of sorts. Moving might be necessary if they ever decide to clean, but I’ll take my chances with their track record. I drop a few crumbs I’ve collected inside my kitchen before heading back out to watch the party. If I’m not on my game, I’ll miss the opportunity to store up for winter. The humans always have bread around this time of year, but I like to add some variety to my diet and it’s quite difficult in these cold months. Just ask poor Melvin. Well, you can’t ask him anymore. 

Gazing around the room, I take stock of where the humans are and where I need to avoid. There are only four or five active children, and most of them are huddled around the Christmas tree in the corner playing with the train that is constantly running. Although the noise sometimes gets to me at night, it is quite fun to take a spin on now and again. Thrilling, one might say. A group of men with solid stomachs and various lengths of facial hair spread themselves out among the couches, focusing on what looks to be a game of catch the brown log on the television. Each one has a can of liquid something and not any food to go along with it. Sad. Guess I won’t be catching any of their droppings this evening. The women are gathered around the dining table, noshing on delectable cheeses and olives, slices of bread, and, oh boy, roasted hazelnuts, my favorite. I should be able to follow the path along the back of the couches and skitter underneath the hutch next to the table. I’ll have to wait for them to move to the living room, but surely they won’t sit around this table the whole evening, right? These humans never have people over. I wasn’t even sure they knew how to socialize with others. 

An unusual scent has me scrunching my nose, my whiskers flicking back and forth, trying to find the direction of the smell. It’s cheesy while also smelling a little earthy. Possibly some apples thrown into the mix? Before I need to seek out the smell further, my light and view of the whole party is instantly blocked by some small child throwing his bottom down in front of my chair, his back resting upon the seat. Well, how rude. 

I scurry to the foot of the chair and do my best to peek out at the boy without being caught. He’s a young boy, maybe five or six, with bright blonde hair and plump, rosy cheeks. He’s not playing with anything or trying to entertain himself. He’s simply watching the other children play, a look of longing in his eyes. I take a few moments to watch the other children. They’re all immersed in the train, completely unperturbed by this boy sitting over here by himself. Left out. Even the adults aren’t paying him any attention. 

The little boy fiddles with the corner of the rug, twisting loose fibers of a strand back and forth between his fingers, eyes continuing to long for the children playing in the corner. Why is he here? Why does he not join the kids himself? 

My nose catches a whiff of something delectable. Goat cheese spread on sourdough toast with a drizzle of honey. Delicious! I twitch my nose to find the direction of the scent and spot one of the women bringing the mouth-watering treat to one of the seemingly immobile men. He fumbles with the bread as the woman passes it over, and a huge glob of cheese plummets directly to the floor, right next to the man’s foot. Neither of them noticed. The man simply shoves the treat in his mouth and mumbles a thanks as the woman walks away without even hearing his words. 

The cheese! I must get the cheese!

Ugh, but this little boy is blocking my view of the whole party. One wrong move and my presence is known. I must use the underground system to get to the other side of the room by the fireplace. It’s risky, with the children playing, but it’s the only option. If only my own children hadn’t made themselves a home in the attic, then I’d have more help with my operations. Their loss though. They have to leave the house to get food and I don’t. 

I skitter back underneath the chair and enter my den, pushing away dust mites that have floated in through the entrance, and make my way to the corner where the wood doesn’t quite meet the wall and, therefore, makes a perfect hole to enter underneath the floorboards. I follow the path along the floorboards, using the voices above to help navigate my way. I don’t run this route often, but it’s easy enough to follow. Before I know it, I pop out from underneath by yet another hole in the wall near the hutch. At some point these humans might want to consider how many holes are in their walls, but their ignorance is my gain. 

I place myself next to the foot of the hutch, peek out to see where the humans are in the room, and quickly dart across the floor underneath the sofa before they can scout me out. My heart beats in my chest as I wait to see if I was noticed. Five, four, three, two, one. Nothing. I made it. I run over to the man’s foot, quickly snag the piece of cheese, and hide back under the sofa in record time. I don’t even have the willpower to save all the cheese. I split it in two and take one glorious half, devouring it to pieces. I tuck the other half under my arm to save for winter. 

I make my way over to the edge of the sofa, scouting out any potential crumbs while also planning my route back to the hutch. The children’s shrieks of joy filter through my ears, reminding me of the boy in the corner. I make my way back towards the man’s foot to see if the little boy is still there. He is. From this view, I can see his eyes have the red hue of someone who is trying not to cry. He quickly wipes his nose with the back of his hand as if he doesn’t want anyone to notice he’s trying to keep it together. 

I don’t understand. Why is he by himself? 

I go back to observing the children. I don’t hear any poor talk of the boy or malicious intent being planned. They’re simply unaware that he’s by himself. Maybe he has a hard time putting himself out there. Maybe he’s just having a tough day. I’m not sure why I feel so drawn to the boy, but something about him sitting all alone there while the rest of the heathens attend to their own egos has my attention. The boy needs help, and it looks like I’m the only one paying attention to give him any. 

I make my way back underneath the floor and into my den undetected, coming out to sit next to the little boy who has now made quite a tear in the rug he’s been fiddling with. The room continues to abound in joyful chaos as the little boy looks on. Suddenly, he jolts at a voice calling what I assume is his name. “Jimmy!” 

He lets go of the rug at once and looks up at the voice. A woman sitting at the end of the table looks over at him, a slight worry in her eye. She waves him over. He doesn't budge; simply shakes his head “no” in response. She proceeds to get up and make her way to Jimmy, shimming herself down to sit next to him. I scurry deeper underneath the chair to avoid detection. 

“What are you doing over here, honey?” the woman asks, her voice soft and gentle. 

“Nothing.” 

“Don’t you want to play with the kids?” 

“I do, but they didn’t seem very interested in playing with me.” 

There’s a slight pause in the conversation before the woman continues. “Did you give them time, or did you just give up right away?” 

The boy hesitates before responding, “I gave it some time,” he mumbles. 

“Well honey, sometimes you need to give it more time. It’s the first time you’ve met them. It doesn’t mean they don’t like you. They just need time to get to know you. Why don’t you give it another try?” 

“Maybe in a little while.” 

“Okay, take your time. Do you want something to eat?” 

“No, thanks.” 

The woman pats the boy's knee and gets up, making her way back to the chattering table of women. 

So, this boy is simply the newbie. He’s shy. I can work with that. 

I scurry back to my den and make my way to the far back where I keep my non-food stockpile. 

I sift through the things, pushing aside items I don’t think will work: a lone matchbox car, an old dog bone, a dog ornament, a pen, some tape, play-doh, some cards to a brightly colored game––wait a minute. That’s perfect! A game they can all play together. I rummage through the rest of my stack, pulling out the other pieces of the game I’ve collected; brightly colored cards and some gingerbread characters. Small enough for me to easily carry in my mouth.  I was fascinated with the colors when the humans brought it home. They played with the characters on a maze board with a little spinner attached. I thought it looked like something children should be playing, not grown adults. 

Hmm, but where did they put the game? 

I carry the pieces to the board game in two trips and place them under the chair. Peeking out at the party, I search all over for the game, hoping to glance its neon pink edges. Aha! There it is. I spot it resting on a bookshelf right next to where the children are playing with the train. Perfect. 

It’s go time. 

Scurrying underneath the floorboards, I make my way across the room, again, and skitter over to where the bookshelf is. Thank goodness these humans are so focused on their talk and drinks. If there was any less noise, I would’ve been called out by now. I pop through the hole in the back of the bookshelf and climb up each shelf until I reach the game. I have to time this perfectly to make the game noticeable while also protecting myself. 

Glancing around the room, I wait until everyone is looking elsewhere before running out, pushing the game out and over the shelf with my nose, and scurrying back behind a book through the hole and down the bookshelf before the game hits the floor. 

Thud! 

The children shriek in surprise as they try to figure out what made that noise. I don’t have any time to dwell on their reactions because I need to be back underneath the chair for part two of my plan. 

For the fourth time today, I make my way underneath the floorboards and pop up underneath the chair. I take a small moment to eat the other half of the cheese I stored away for winter because, by golly, I am using up a lot of calories. This is really not what I need to prepare for winter. 

I make my way underneath the chair just in time to hear, “This is such a cool game, but where are all the pieces?” Which is my cue to push the pieces out from underneath the chair until they hit the little boy's hand. 

He looks down at his hand and gasps in surprise as our eyes meet. He doesn’t yell or scream but simply looks at the game pieces. I push them closer to him once more before backing away. His mouth hangs open in surprise, but I don’t wait to see what happens. I scurry back underneath the chair. 

A few seconds pass before I hear the little boy hesitantly say, “Uh, I think I have them here.” 

I hear the stampede of little feet as the rest of the children run towards the boy. One high-pitched voice says, “Awesome! I wonder how they got separated. Do you want to play with us?” 

“Uh, sure,” he says, pushing up off the floor to make his way towards the coffee table where the children are going to set up to play. 

I make my way to the edge of the chair and watch the children play for a few minutes. There are squeals of laughter and cheer, and Jimmy has the brightest smile of the bunch. As if he can sense me watching, he stops momentarily and glances across the room at me. I know he can see me here, but he doesn’t say anything. He gives me a little nod before going back to his game. 

I listen to the cheer, the Christmas music, and the overwhelming presence of too many humans in one room, and I feel exhausted by today’s ordeal. I decided I’ve had enough and will have to wait until tomorrow to gather more leftovers. 

I make my way to the nest, cozying myself in newspaper and fluff before drifting off into a deep sleep. 

The next morning, the house was quiet, and the party was clearly forgotten. A delicious smell wafts through my den. Scrunching my whiskers, I stand up and stretch my achy bones before exiting my den, stopping short when I stumble upon a huge plate filled with cheeses, crackers, breads, and many many hazelnuts. This will give me a stockpile well into spring! 

I don’t even have to think about how this ended up here. My heart swells at what is clearly a thank you gift from Jimmy. Living with these two humans, I truly thought they were useless creatures wasting their human potential. But maybe, just maybe, they’re not so bad after all.