A Far Worse Fate

“I’m sorry, your majesty,” squeaked mouse, prostrate in the straw.

The great lion sighed.

“When I saved you, I laughed at your offer. Now I am caught in this cage I can laugh no more.”

“My brothers and sisters will set you free,” promised the tiny mouse.

“This cage is electrified,” explained the lion. “Chew these bars and you’ll die.”

“So you are fated then to be a head on a wall?” wailed the mouse in disbelief.

“No little one,” sighed the lion. “My fate’s far worse.”

The Circus Train gave a shrill whistle as it pulled into the station.

From Guest Contributor Tim Law

Thanks

I cannot thank you,little cat with serious eyes,for your gift of a dead mouse.

I flee from remindersof killing. I am a vegan, and it wouldbe easier if you were too.

But then I would loseyour playfulness and pounce, and turnyou into a timid, nibbling rabbit.

I love you for those things,for your wish to feed me, and foryour love for me, strange as

I must appear to you: so huge,so hairless, so hopeless a hunter. I am thankfulfor what I cannot understand, this strangelove than can span species.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Caesar

Cheryl lived in Paris, Tuscany and Sligo for 25 years; she earned her doctorate in comparative literature at the Sorbonne and taught literature and phonetics. She now teaches writing at Michigan State University. Last year she published over a hundred poems in the U.S., Germany, India, Bangladesh, Yemen, and Zimbabwe, and won third prize in the Singapore Poetry Contest for her poem on global warming. Her chapbook Flatman: Poems of Protest in the Trump Era is now available from Amazon and Goodreads.

Dead Mouse Walking

“What’s that plastic bag poking out of your pocket, Ollie?”

“Nothing to worry about, Jim. Only a dead mouse.”

“I thought there was a pong.”

“Found him in the airing cupboard. Toasting himself, the fecker.”

“Ollie, why are you carrying him around?”

“I’m going to give him a decent burial.”

“You know what I’d have done?”

“What?”

“I’d have served him to Sourpuss. As a delicacy.”

“Isn’t Sourpuss rotund enough?”

“Are you going to part with that mouse, or aren’t you?”

“It’ll cost you, Jim.”

“Pint?”

“G’wan. Done. Here, take him.”

“Barman, two Guinness.”

Plop.

“What the-? My pint!”

“Cheers!”

From Guest Contributor Geraldine McCarthy

The Mouse

Robert and Rebecca arrived home to find a dead mouse on their kitchen floor.

It was an old building, so Rebecca was not surprised there would be rodents. Rather than being grossed out, she began reflecting on her own mortality, wondering if she were better or worse off than the mouse for having knowledge of her impending oblivion. It was a thought that often kept her up late into the night, as she listened to Robert's light snoring and choked back tears.

Robert could only think about the mess that must have attracted the mouse, and began a thorough cleaning.

Turning The Tables

The darkness was like ink, but that did not bother the mouse's keen eye sight, and smell told him where to go for the food. Its tiny heart was racing with fear because its mortal enemy was out and about as well. He’d lost several of his litter mates to that awful feline beast, but tonight things may be different.

Suddenly there was that awful snarl. Behind him its claws slashing through the air, where he’d been just seconds ago. Twisting and turning, he dodged; suddenly that awful snap of the trap! The cat cried out, the mouse scurried away.From Guest Contributor Derrick Fernie

Cat And Mouse

"If I ever see you here again, I'll kill you."

So began their game of cat and mouse. Every night, Owen skirted past the Clover Patch, careful never to show his face where O'Riley might see him. O'Riley kept his shotgun under the bar, hoping for the day Owen crossed the bar's threshold.

Owen lamented he'd never again be able to sip of the island's best stout. It seemed especially unfair, with him being the bar's owner and its chief brewer, while O'Riley was just a bartender. Hiring a belligerent alcoholic to tend bar was in hindsight a poor decision.