Rodent with a Stick
by Regis Boff
You peed on my Disney slippers. You rang my doorbell with a stick, and you peed on my new Disney slippers. Stop chewing on that and mumbling, Of course, you are mumbling. Spit that grass out or I am closing the door. Flowers? Those are my flowers in your mouth? Then spit my flowers out and stop cleaning your whiskers. What’s the matter with you? Yes, I do clean after I eat, and, by the way, I do not pee on, just out of their box, Disney slippers either.
I can see the stick; you can’t hide it by sitting on it. How did you find out about doorbells anyway? You are muttering again, try to pay attention and clean those ears later. If you need to clean something start with your nose. Why is it covered with dirt? Always? Stand up straight I can’t hear you down there. You dig a lot? One would think with all this fidgety face washing you would be more presentable. My daughter has something like you on her bed. Hers is much cleaner.
Don’t be so stupid; no, Disney is not the name of the animals on them. His name is Mickey, and the other one is Minnie. They are not alive. I did not kill them; they came that way. Not dead, sewn, and they are rodents or rather mice. Just why am I talking to you anyway?
What do you mean they are yours now? If I wanted to keep them, I should not have let you to pee on them? What the hell does that mean? I didn’t let you pee on anything. You surprised me.
You want to belong to me? I don’t want you. Protection from what, who tried to kill you? Could you please stop eating and put those back down? Dog is not an answer. Of course, I know about the dog, and he is not ugly. He cost me a thousand dollars. I own him. Yes, just like I own the slippers. He is not sewn for God’s sakes; he is alive. Look, where are we going with this? Please get to the point; my feet are getting cold and yellow.
Well, he does live here you know. Your yard, why is it your yard? Ah! Hold on to your whiskers everybody, I got it, because you peed on it. Right? You, my dear rodent, have been spending far too much time underground. Marmot? No chance I am calling you that, fine, woodchuck then.
What’s going on with your eyes? Please don’t tell me you are crying. You aren’t are you? Holy whistling pigs, I can’t kill the dog. Because I love him, that’s why. He is in that yard peeing all the time, as much as you at least, why don’t you just go and get filthy somewhere else? Do you always smell like this? I am surprised my dog wants to eat you at all.
Well, digging tunnels under my lawn explains the way you look but not why you stay around. You’re dug in? Is that supposed to be a joke? You pick up those flowers again, and I’ll feed you to that dog myself. That was funny, I guess.
No, dog stays. Next? You’re kidding? Pee on you? Why? Then you’re mine and the dog will leave you alone? I doubt that dog will fetch that.
Right, no time to waste, move back a little and close your eyes, and spin around slowly. It can’t feel that good for crying out loud. You can turn down the moaning just a notch, no need to alert my neighbors. Your very welcome, now try to steer clear of that dog and don’t forget your stick in case you need refreshing, mornings are best for me. Here, put these on. Front paws I think. Wait; stay there till I get my camera. No one will believe this.