The Mighty Mouse

If you abhor stories with mice and chamber pots in it, then skip this one.

It all began when I woke up one day all woozy from my staying up late the night before. I headed straight for the chamber pot, as the call of nature was exceedingly unrelenting.

[At this point, you might be wondering, why the hell do I keep a chamber pot? (Of course, you know what a chamber pot is, right?) Well, first, rest assured I keep the malodorous vessel as far away from my bed as possible. Second, the nearest restroom in the house is a good floor away, and as a person with slight bladder problems, I need to, yes, pee in the quickest time possible. Chorus ala Catholic responsorial psalm: Ooh, this is humi-liaaa-tiiiiing.]

Anyway, back to the story. So there I was, relieving myself of the burden, when I caught a glimpse of something black and round in the, uh, ‘liquid’. Being lightheaded and all, I absolutely disregarded it, replaced the lid on the chamber pot, and staggered to the bed.

That was 11:30 AM.

Fast forward to late evening. I was preparing to go to bed. I opened the chamber pot to relieve myself one last time before eight hours of sleep filled my bladder to the brim. The noxious smell which greeted me enlightened me to the fact that I had failed to, uh, ‘empty’ and ‘clean’ the notorious chamber pot (or at least, tell the maid to replace it with a second one).

But before I could, um, ‘perform my act’ (repeat chorus: Ooh, this is humi-liaaa-tiiiiing), I noticed something black and round in the ‘liquid’ move. I peered more closely despite the lethal odor.

By Jove, it was a snout of something, rather, some animal, breaking through the surface of the ‘liquid’!

That was 11:45 PM.

Disbelief swamped me. My puny mortal logic told me that whatever the poor thing was, it had been drowned in urine for more than twelve damn hours. I thought the thing was already dead, but then it moved again.

And so then awakened Corsarius the Animal Rights Activist, the noble one who lets cockroaches live, the noble one described by friends as “the fool who loves animals more than he loves humanity; ergo, he is a base animal unworthy of being called human” or something to that effect.

Corsarius fished out the poor thing with something OTHER than his hands (that I assure you; repeat chorus: Ooh, this is humi-liaaa-tiiiiing), and laid it gently on the wooden floor.

Guess what the poor thing was? A young, little mouse, its fur really really soaking wet with my pee. (Come on, sing to him: Ooh, that’s humi-liaaa-tiiiiing.)

And what’s cute is that the first thing the mouse did was to clean itself, sitting up and rubbing his tiny hands onto his nose. I nudged it away from the chamber pot, and patiently waited until it skittered into its shadowy domicile (which I believe was under my bed). Better that he grow up to nibble at my shoes than being dead and floating on an unforgiving sea of urine.

*****

Now, that’s one Supermouse. Twelve hours with the lid closed and your nose barely breaking the amber ocean’s surface? Panalo!

Here I’m supposed to give some moral of the story, but I don’t actually know if this anecdote has a lesson to it. Oh well.

Final chorus: Ooh, this is humi-liaaa-tiiiiing!

Adieu for now.


*image from Neil Beck's Mighty Mouse Home Page.