| If you give a mouse a cookie, he's probably going to want some milk to go with it, and if you give him some milk, he may think he's a cat. Cuz cats like milk. Almost as much as they like washing the dishes. And if you let him wash the dishes, he may notice the soap bubbles drifting in the air, and that will remind him of days long gone by when he used to sit under the willow tree lanquidly blowing bubbles and drinking his tall cold glass of lemonade, and he would daydream about floating on his back in the swimming pool, feeling the warm sunshine and cool water, relaxing while listening to the sonic booms from the numberless jets flying overhead. After 3 hours of this, there was a hole the size of a small cat. Oops, too big! Now what? Well, just fill it up again. To accomplish this, one will have to accumulate enough borax to kill all the mice. "Hell, Betty," Dad said, "There's enough borax here to kill an elephant, or at least a raisin or a chocolate chip. But there was no food left to be found, not even a bagel crumb, or a mashed pea, not even an infinitesimal speck of dust on my floors!" And if you let him sweep, then he'll want to shake the rugs outside. And if he goes outside, and doesn't take an umbrella he will probably be drowned in the torrential downpour. One can never be too careful. For example, if you are going to take a ride in a car, you should always wear your mouse fur coat. 300 mice died to provide you with that stylishly avant-garde attire, and don't let them forget it. Every time they see you they'll turn around and moon you, and I mean every time! They are so rude. They must have learned how to do that from reading Soldier of Fortune magazine. I mean, these rodents were *organized*. They were always one step ahead of us, always anticipating a gourmet delight, complete with linen napkin, real silverware, sparkling crystal goblets, and soft relaxing heavy metal music. I listen to it nice and loud, and it rocks me to sleep, no pun intended! But the mice hate it. The mice also hate it when their fur is rubbed the wrong way. Fortunately for them few creatures including humans ever get the chance to do this. Only one person is the exception to this rule, and that person would be Mr. Martin, the postman. "Hello, Mr. Martin! Do you have any CHEESE?!! We want CHEESE!! We ain't had nothin' to eat for three stinkin' days but this moldy bread. Yeah, and we need some meats! And to go with that some milk!" And if you give him some milk, he will lap it up very delicately all the while holding his little pinky high in the air. THE END! |