by Onyinyechi Ndukaire
Before anything, I need to make things clear: a rat is very different from a mouse. Very different.
Rats are pesky, big creatures that bully other rodents. They have sharp claws, big, hairy, irritating bodies. Oh, their blunt snouts that sniff and snore. Even though we poop more than them, their poop is as big as a raisin, while ours is negligible, like grains of rice. There are still a lot of differences between us, and as time goes on, you’ll spot more differences, something more than poop and tails.
I am a mouse, and every day, I thank the heavens that I wasn’t born a rat. I’ve heard tales from my grandparents and their hostile meetings with the rats. Rats are the reason why most rodents are hated. Humans eradicate us, cats kill us for pleasure, and dogs are raised to kill us at every sight. We were raised to be afraid, to scamper at every noise. All because of rats.
I was born into a lovely family and it turned out I was the only girl. My father, Pa Snout, had a pointed snout and long, curly whiskers. His furs were silver and his snout was pink. Every time my parents shared their love story, my father would go about how my mother was attracted to his pink snout. I happened to take after my mother’s fawn fur with patches of my father’s silvery fur around my ears and beneath my snout. Mother was very much attractive: her big, black eyes glistened in the night when she cradled me to sleep; her smile was wide and unique.
I was a few months old when it happened. We stayed on a savannah with other mice, far away from the grip of rats, cats, and humans. We loved our environment because we could feed on anything we wanted and we could move about freely without being timid. Winter was our worst season because our home would be taken away by the white, bitter cold and we would be left to find our way out, seeking refuge in trees or human’s houses. When spring finally arrived, we would come back to our real house, claws crossed that we would be complete without losing anyone.
Mother didn’t return that spring.
Winter was leaving. I could see the leaves returning to the naked branches of trees, grasses began sprouting again, and I could see the sun smiling down at us. Other animals, too, came out of their hiding spots: snails came out of their shells, rabbits came out of their holes, and squirrels came out of trees; unfortunately, mice didn’t have a natural shelter.
I was happy about spring. There was a lot to eat: grains, nuts, spinach, raisins, and my favorite, cheese. Father and I were the first to return home. Clover came afterward. With our incisors, we dusted away cobwebs and used our little digits to wipe away dirt and debris. Rats wouldn’t have any problem; they were big enough for the big world.
I was nibbling on a raisin when the grass that marked the entrance of our home rustled. I got up from my nest and considered running—that’s what all mice were born to do. But I refrained and walked down instead. Mother wasn’t home yet and she could be here. Gently, I opened up the curtain of grass and the horrendous face of Denver came into my view.
“Denver,” I said, surprised, “how are you? I didn’t know you would be here today. Where is Mom?”
His whiskers quivered and his snout deepened in color. He paced around with fear, making me fidget. He didn’t say anything yet.
“What happened, Den? What about Mom?” By this time, I’d dropped my raisin and all my focus was on him.
“The rats…” he managed to say. My mind raced, my heart beat twice as fast, the fur on my body stood, and I shook in fear. A squeal escaped my mouth. Anything that had to do with rats brought bad tidings.
Father came out of his nest when he heard my cries and so did Clover who was scrubbing his back with a human’s toothbrush.
“We heard noises,” Father said first, scrutinizing both our faces. “Are the rats coming?”
“Or humans. They may be after this toothbrush I took out of a dumpster. Maybe it’s from the lost and found and they want it back.”
I couldn’t even speak. I was on the grass, tearing to pieces. The last time I saw Mother, she told me she would be back after winter, like every other winter. I hadn’t seen a winter before then, so she assured me that all would be fine. Until it wasn’t.
“Can someone tell me what is going on here? Denver? Hatty?”
I turned away from Father to mourn in my way. Even though Denver hadn’t said anything about Mother yet, I was trained to believe that anything placed side by side with a rat meant bad luck or devastation.
“Mom,” he said like he was measuring his words.
“Mom—what? Can you stop being dramatic about this? Where is your mother?”
“She was killed… by a rat,” Denver said and broke down. Squeals erupted from our house, and cries followed. I watched as Father turned white, his face clouded with horror and an inevitable emotion of more hatred for the rats. His bright pink snout shone more, more than enough to pass for a glow stick.
“Sit down and tell us what happened.” Father’s voice was broken, too. We dragged our feet to a big nest and formed a circle like we always did, but today, Mother was absent.
We gave ourselves some minutes to think about what happened, we were allowed to think of what could have possibly killed her, and in what way the rat would have snuck life away from Vibrant Mother. In my terms, Mom was on the search for food for Denver—she always did that. So, just maybe, on that day, she was treading on an empty alley, looking for food in the cold, using her little body to sneak into a dumpster, maybe a leftover Christmas chicken would be found. Finding just a bone, she would have dug deeper for another food, not wanting to see her son go hungry, and after that, she must have found a snack.
“Hand it over to me,” a dirty, lousy, fat, and gray rat must have said with vile authority. Of course, Mother would not succumb to such madness.
She would have dashed off in the slippery cold, the snack clutching to her mouth while the rat would be behind her, taking twice her strides. Still, Mother would not budge, she would run with the snack, not giving up. Dashing through trash cans and traffic, the truth would have still manifested: rats ran faster than mice, and that pesky, whisker-less rat would have caught up with her and snatched it away from her, strangling her in the process, leaving her to die in the cold.
Pesky rats.
“I don’t know how it all happened… I can’t believe she died before my very eyes, and I couldn’t save her.” He brought his hands to his face and cried in it. I also dabbed the corner of my eyes with my hands.
“She was running away from a human who came into her kitchen. Mother was headed for a way out when this rat came up and closed up the hole, blocking the escape route, and allowing the human to have a way with Mother. She took out a rodenticide and sprayed it in Mother’s snout.”
He closed his eyes and more tears trickled down his fur. “She… I knew she wasn’t breathing the next minute. I watched as she struggled for air, for life, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t give her that. And I couldn’t even see her body because the humans dumped her into a trashcan. I couldn’t even get her body; I didn’t get to say goodbye.”
“We all didn’t get to say goodbye.” Father’s soreness was unmatchable. His voice shook, carrying grief and loss wherever it went. I felt it, too.
I sniveled that night. We all couldn’t bring our mouths to taste food, even cheese smelled rancid to all of us. We all hung grief like a cat would wear a bell, and in that midst of grief, there was little space for hatred. Rats.
After Mom’s death, Denver moved away, saying he was going to live in the alley because he couldn’t handle watching us in grief. He was going to kill the rats, and that one or twenty would not be enough to compensate for Mother’s death. He would kill till he dies, or die while fighting.
I tried to move on, I tried to forget Mother but I just couldn’t. I wore her on me and father said I prompted him of her. I tried to avoid it.
I knew I was tramping on a dangerous path, but I had to do it. Walking on the pavement of a highway with flashy lights, big screens, lots of cars that could end me in a jiffy, and a lot of humans—humans that killed my mother, I was resolute to go to a salon where I could get a dye. I was cautious enough to walk at the corner, dodging cars and lids of trash cans. A tall, bearded man with lots of tattoos stepped on my tail with a big, brown shoe, making me squeal in pain. He looked down on me and he saw the pain in my eyes. He felt empathetic toward me, but you wouldn’t trust humans, so I ducked into the alley and watched him walk off.
I picked up my tail and attended to it the way I could. The tip where the man stepped on was numb and on the verge of falling off. Tears stood in my eyes but I had no one to wipe them for me. I was in the outside world where no one had compassion for mice.
Leaving that alley, I got into another busier street. There was traffic, so it was easy to cross the road. In between the bumper of a yellow car and the bumper of a blue one, I crossed, whispering prayers that it wouldn’t be in motion. As for passing under a car, I feared it more than my life.
A big, red sign with different races of women was plastered on a red brick wall. It looked like a place where stay-at-home mums with rich husbands would stay and chat their lives away, not a breeding place for a mouse. I checked around if I could see their trash can, maybe there was a deposit of dye that I could find; I didn’t even care about the color.
Running through chemicals and human hair, I didn’t find any dye content and decided to give up the search. From the window pane, I peeked inside the salon and found three women with one hairdresser. The woman with the long, wavy hair had her hair done already, but her face was dunked into a book and she happened to be laughing. The second woman with an oval face had her hair wrapped around cylindrical pins (I don’t know what humans call them) and she stared at her phone every two minutes. The last woman had her hair in the dryer, so I didn’t have to worry about her. Now was my chance.
First, I scrutinized the place for a small hole. One benefit mice had against rats. It was tiny and almost unnoticeable. Almost. The exterior painting was already peeling so I had shards of red paint on me, which could go as a good disguise. Coming down to the entrance, I found a small hole that I could pass through. Slowly, without a squeak, I passed through. No one noticed, making me release a long breath.
I tried to make my movement as slow and noiseless as ever. The hairdresser seemed to be telling jokes that they laughed too, so I was safe.
I got to an arrayed cupboard of chemicals and watched them one by one: Pinky, a mouse who dyed her fur last summer, gave a description that I would be looking for a long, black rectangular nylon that had a white woman with a sharp hair color tapered around the body; that was what I was looking for.
Spotting a container that looked like it, I climbed further to get it. I planned to nibble my way through it, then rub the paste around my body. It would take a long time, but it was worth it, especially when the humans talked about how far their children had grown.
With my large incisors, I chewed through the polythene and watched as the liquid oozed out, changing my fawn skin to a lighter color of purple. I massaged my belly and went down to my legs, enjoying the color change. Engrossed in the moment, I didn’t see the pair of human eyes staring down at me.
“Rat! Prudy, there is a rat in your cabinet,” the woman with wavy hair screeched.
Another thing I hated aside rats was humans and other creatures mistaking mice for rats.
I pushed the dye aside and ran from the cabinet, my fur mixed with fawn and purple. The owner of the store picked up a mop stick and chased after me, striking the surface close to me. Bottles toppled over, the dye I nibbled fell on the floor and the liquid spilled on her expensive rug which enraged her further.
I had to pass through the legs of other women to get back to the entrance. They raised their legs in fear, chanting “Prudy, take this thing away” at the owner of the shop. I also wanted to get out, too, but the entrance was closed. I was trapped.
I ran under a table that carried makeup and hair fibers. I took refuge in the penumbra of the table.
“Is it gone yet?” one woman asked.
“I think so.”
“Now this place is a mess,” yelled another.
While they were wondering what to do next, I looked for a way out. Turned out that there was a hole in the wall that I could fit in. I dived through the hole, not looking back. I found myself in a dark space, but my whiskers helped me navigate my way through, helping me sense the smallest pebble. Finally, a ray of sunlight hit my eyes and I found my way out, back to the street. Trying to balance the amount of light entering my eyes, I didn’t notice a small pit close to a banana peel. I fell in.
I didn’t know which was worse: trying to be killed by a hairdresser or falling into a dry pit with no escape route. I tried climbing, but my claws were too sore and blunt to help me out. I squeaked and cried and tried, but I couldn’t go out.
Worn out from struggling and crying, I rested my back on the cool earth, inheriting crazy thoughts that overwhelmed me. I looked at my fur and cursed at the royalty of it. I had some patches of silver, a large part of my fur that the dye didn’t get to was still brown, and there was a huge dented purple on my belly. I looked horrible.
“See what this has gotten me into”—I ran my digit through my fur— “I can’t leave; I won’t see Papa again. Or Clover.” I sobbed and wiped my snout, looking up to the blue sky and looking down at the red earth.
“Psst,” I heard from above me.
Raising my head, my eyes met a rodent with a blunt snout. A blunt snout! Fury tripled inside of me. His people were the reason my mother died, the purpose I was trapped in a mouse abyss. I gritted my teeth and peered at his dark eyes. To be honest, he was handsome enough to pass for a mouse, but he was a rat. That made a distinct difference.
“What do you want?” I was no longer sitting and my paws were crossed around my belly.
He stretched out his paw. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to help you out.”
“I’d rather die than allow a rat to save me.” I turned away and hissed.
“You would rather die than take my paw? You must be joking.”
I didn’t turn back to him. “Well, you heard me.”
He got up fully and dusted off his belly. “Fine, I’ll leave. Good luck in finding another help.”
His little ears were terrifying and his tails were longer and bushier which reminded me of my imaginative version of Mother’s death. I felt disgusted. He stood there for a moment, waiting for me to come to my senses, but I’d lost it the day my mother died.
“You still don’t want me to help?” his words carried patience and forbearance.
“Get out of my sight, vermin.” Calling a rodent “vermin” was the height of it all in all rodents. Humans called us that—that was enough, but it was taboo for us to say it to ourselves.
I felt his realization, his hurt, and then, his pain. His black eyes watered and his snout depreciated. He formed his paw into a ball, ready to hit anything that came his way, then he turned to leave.
Was I mad? A spider appeared from nowhere and stared at me with his eight eyes, ready to feed on my flesh if it could. Ego and hate left my body, and I was left with one feeling: survival.
“Please,” I chirped, “please. I didn’t mean to call you vermin. I was angry and I blurted it out. Help me out of here.”
He didn’t turn back to me. “It doesn’t change what you said and its effect on me. Next time, choose your words rightly, especially when you are the one in the bad corner.”
“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know I’d ever apologize to a rat, but I was. Denver would have chosen death.
His pinna picked up my squeak and he turned to me. “Fine.” He leaned over and stretched his paw which I took. It did not take him a lot of work to drag me out. With a little grunt, I was back to the surface of the earth. I was saved. Sadly, by a rat.
The rat looked at me in amusement and I wouldn’t blame him because I looked like a mouse that escaped a tie and dye process. “Thank you,” I muttered through my bared incisors.
“You’re welcome.” His smile was cheeky and his whiskers were long and straight. “I’m Julius Cheeser by name.”
He was waiting for me to say mine, his snout getting pinker every minute. I frowned at him, seeing the killer of my mother in his eyes. “I need to go.” I didn’t wait to look at his baffled face or for him to ask me what was wrong. I scurried back into the dumpsters and found my way back to the savannah—back home.
Home, sweet home.
I forgot all about Cheeser Rat because of the stares and questions I got back at home.
“What happened?” Clover laughed loud when I entered our little home.
“Is that purple on your fur? Do you know how you look?” Clover sneered.
I didn’t say a word to them, instead, I crawled into the nest and fell into a deep sleep, dreaming of life in the city and Mother.
I wanted to go to the outside world again. Father forbade me from wandering that far and Clover made a joke of me saying I’d come back home in another fur color. I didn’t care about them. Mother said I was quite a resilient mouse, which was very unlikely.
The week after, I scampered out of my nest, out of our home, and went to look at those blinding lights I saw on the street. It had a better view at night because of the blending of various colors from different sources, cars seldom moved and the night was a camouflage to me.
I walked at the cranny of the street and passed through alleys to avoid accidents. My curiosity wasn’t deflating, instead, it rose to its peak. I wanted to see more. I passed by an Italian restaurant and perceived the sweet, welcoming scent of cheese, and I had to stop myself from salivating in order not to get killed. Avoiding the gaze of a human approaching the restaurant, I ducked to the corner of the building to catch my breath.
“You shouldn’t be here at this time of the night.” A voice said behind me. It was soothing and carefully picked, even in temper. I recognized the voice anywhere. It was a Julius’.
I stood and didn’t move until I saw him in the light. His small ears stood out and for a second, I thought of them as cute. I fondled my tail whiling away time.
“A cat lurks in this alley,” he piped when I didn’t answer him.
“Holy cheese!” that brought out the timidity in me. I jumped from where I stood and took refuge by his side. I couldn’t believe I could stand a few centimeters from a rat. “Are you sure?” my voice vibrated.
“I’m as sure as ever. He has very sharp claws and canines. And he perceives rats sharper than he perceives fish.”
I was interested and afraid at once. Humans say curiosity kills the cat, but some mice are also prone to it. “How do you know about him?”
“They call him Tom.”
“Because of the Tom and Jerry movie humans watch?”
He nodded. “Exactly.” He turned his back and showed me a scar that lined his neck down to his tail. It was hideous, not only the mark, but the fact I was touching a rat’s body. I placed my hands on the scar and felt as if it was like being in the claws of a cat. “Before Tom kills any cat, he would give the rat a mark that even in the underworld, the rat wouldn’t forget he was killed by Tom the Ratnapper.”
‘Well, I guess he kills only rats since you mentioned he is a ‘ratnapper.’” I say, my fear decreasing with the turnout. I was pleased, too.
“Rats… mice… still the same thing,” he said dryly.
I rolled my eyes in exasperation. He of all rodents should know that rats and mice are not the same. I seethed with anger, and my voice came out husky and bitter. “We are never the same and would not be the same.”
I expected him to turn away, to hate me back for showing contempt. He didn’t. He took my paw but I withdrew it. He still did not mind.
“What is wrong? Why do you hate rats? I mean, I know rats hate mice but I still don’t get it. Starting with you, I want to know your reason.”
My heart melted and all the hate I felt at that moment dissipated. “It’s…”
He placed his paws on my mouth, stopping me from speaking. He turned and sniffed loudly with his snout. He took my paws. “I have a hunch that Tom the Ratnapper is close,” he whispered.
I needed to correct him. “It’s Tom the Ratnapper and Mousenapper since he also hunts mice.”
“Seriously? At this time?”
That shut me up.
We tiptoed with our bellies on the floor, not wanting to risk anything. We heard a cat meow a few centimeters behind us and so we dashed. We were in hot pursuit of a big, black, scary cat. It was hard to see him because of the night, but yet we ran.
We got off that street and onto another quieter street, losing track of him. I turned to Julius who was catching his breath. “You think we lost him?”
“It’s hard to lose someone like Tom. Come on, follow me.” He took me by the paw and we crossed to another street. We walked until we got to a large pipe which Julius encouraged me to get in.
“Are we safe here?”
“I guess. I come here to cool off when I need serenity.”
It was still a shock to me that I breathed the same air as a rat, but everything about Julius wasn’t a rat. He was just… different.
He turned to me and squeaked. “So, tell me, what happened?”
I didn’t even know if I was emotionally ready to narrate Mother’s death to him. I slumped in the pipe and he rested close to me. “My mother was killed by a rat.” I didn’t tell him how she died, instead, I cried into his shoulder.
With compassion, he let me lean on him and he rubbed my tiny head. His fur was soft and warm, comfier than any nest I’ve ever laid on. Funny how I thought the hair on a rat’s body was disgusting.
“My father is going to get worried if he doesn’t see me in my nest,” I remembered, pulling away from his touch. He understood and nodded, allowing me to distance myself away from him.
“Not all rats are the same, I’d never do that to a fellow rodent.” His words were assuring; he just saved me from the clutches of a cat.
I nodded and got up. “I have to leave now.”
“I didn’t get to know your name.”
I turned back and looked at his face. “Hatty. Hatty Snout.” I turned away and slipped out of the pipe, onto the night and allowed the cold night’s breeze to be sponged into my lungs.
Still, my mind wouldn’t get over Julius Cheeser.
My father raised his snout and stroked his whiskers whenever I stepped out of the house. I wanted to see Julius every day, missing his sense of humor, his politeness, and his handsome features. I knew I was breaking the family’s code and Denver was somewhere killing his kind. I felt all that I was doing was wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Denver came home that fall.
He was different: his whiskers were short, his paws were filled with blisters, his snout bore no innocence—as it had smelled blood, and finally, his eyes were masked with pure evil.
Badging into our nest home, I couldn’t recognize him, he had to say his name for me to know I was his sister. Father was stunned, too, and raised an eye at the cannibalism of his son.
During dinner that night, Denver filled us in on all that had happened during his six months of being a nomad. Nibbling a grain, he spoke, “Life hasn’t been easy, you see. Every day I smell a rat’s blood, every day I kill a rat, there is more hunger to kill more, that mother’s death cannot be fully avenged—”
“—then maybe you should stop then. I think it is enough.” I squeaked in terror. I also feared Denver now, of the monster he had become.
His paw slowly released the grain he was holding and he squinted his eyes at me. “Hmm, Hat, don’t tell me you’ve become an ally with the rat.”
I shook my head, but Denver knew I was lying, the thing he didn’t know was the intensity of the lie—that I was in love with a rat.
He picked lettuce now and chewed. “Anyway, before Hatty interrupted, I have killed a hundred and one rats, wishing to pile up more. Even a thousand wouldn’t be enough.
I felt the cold of the night surge all through my body, my furs stood in terror. I wagged my tail to ease myself of Denver’s madness, but I couldn’t.
That night, I tossed in my nest and when I finally shut my eyes, I dreamed of Denver hunting down Julius. I needed to tell him.
At the break of dawn, I scrambled down to town to tell Julius everything and to tell him to go away, that I was just a threat to him. My paws were sore as I ran, pebbles sticking to it and leaving out a sharp pain. I didn’t even stop to perceive the scent of cheese when I passed that Italian restaurant. Julius came first.
I got to the place where we met each other and looked for him, my eyes peering in between trash cans and dumpsters. I squeaked his name, praying that he would come out until I found him—the love of my life.
“Hatty,” he said softly, walking down with ease, his paws outstretched. “How I’ve missed you.”
My eyes watered, my heart melted. My paws stuck to the ground, waiting for him to come to me. I didn’t know how to tell him, or what to tell him. My mouth failed me, I was mute. He took my paw and squeezed it, then he brought his cheek to mine and rubbed it, sending a powerful shock throughout my body.
“You should know how much I love you, how much I’ve been loving you since I found you stuck in that hole. Your purple fur attracted me and I was astonished by your daring spirit—to walk into an enclosed space with humans in it shows how bold you are. You’ve taught me that mice are not timid as they’ve been said to be.” He brought his snout a few inches away from mine. His breath smelled of cheese, freshly made cheese.
“And you’ve taught me that all rats are not vile.”
He smiled, then looked at me again. “You’re sad, what is the cause?”
I took my face away from him and turned it in another direction. “I have something to tell you.”
He took a few steps back and looked at me with compassion. “What is it?”
I searched for words, for how to start it without making Denver look like the bad guy. My mother was killed, too. I looked back up at Julius’s face and I knew he couldn’t bear the news today. Maybe some other time. I pushed up a smile, thrusting my incisors further. “It’s nothing.”
“You sure?”
I nodded.
“If you say so.” He held my eyes and looked into my eyes. “I fancy you a whole lot.”
There was a problem here, too. “You know we are not the same, we can’t have children together, it has been like that for ages.”
“Well, it’s time we change the narrative.”
Our snouts were almost touching that I didn’t realize we had company. I’d prayed every day that the company was Tom the Ratnapper and Mousenapper, but it wasn’t.
It was Denver.
“Denver? You followed me?” my voice shook.
“I had to. My sister was dashing off in the wee hours of the morning, and yesterday she acted all suspicious, why shouldn’t I have followed you? Well, I guess I’m right. You’re here with a rat. What a shame, and a taboo.” He spoke in his most disinterested tone, rubbing the ends of his whiskers.
“He’s your brother? The mouse that goes about killing rats is your brother?” it was obvious he was hurt. “I know what you did. You pretended that you loved me, so you could lure me into the hands of your brother. I cannot believe this.”
My eyes were teary. I shook my head, disbelieving what he had just said. Denver shook his head, too.
“No, no, no. My sister is a pair of goody shoes, she is all lovey-dovey to hurt you, but I will.”
Denver pounced on Julius, all his weight rested on him. With great force, Julius overpowered him and scrambled away for his life, but Denver didn’t give up. He pursued him with everything he had. My world was crumbling.
Soon after, Denver returned, fuming. “I’m going to believe that he brainwashed you, that you didn’t fall in love with the same person that killed your mother.”
He dragged me by the tail and pulled me. I squeaked in pain. “Julius didn’t kill our mother.”
“His people did. I’m not going to trade words with you, but never will you ever come down to this part of town. There are gentlemice close to home you can get acquainted with.”
Father was incandescent with fury when he heard the news. The only thing he did was to turn his back away from me, paws crossed, and said: “It is a shame that my daughter decided to shake hands with the devil.”
I wept in my nest until it became soggy. I thought of how Julius would think of me, would think of any other mouse. He would hate us now, and maybe, he is at his end plunging mice to death.
I tried escaping, but Clover watched me like a mouse would watch a cheese. I didn’t wander far too off, and most times, I was in my nest crying.
“You didn’t cry for Mother as you cry for this rat.” Clover would hiss and leave.
Little did he know I was crying for Mother, Julius, and peace.
I tried to escape Clover’s clutches. He was predictable, so I knew when he went to hunt for food and to watch a mouse’s tug-of-war. I also knew the time that he’d be back, but that was not my problem—I wouldn’t be back anytime soon. Or forever.
I snuck out when Papa and Clover were both gone and I ran as fast as my little paws could carry me. I checked every nook and cranny, every alley, every corner, looking for Julius. I got back to the place where we first met, I still didn’t see him. I ran down to the Italian restaurant and peered at the corner, but Julius was not there. I was confused, tired, and disappointed.
I tried to find out where he could be. I sat down on an empty lid and watched the sun come out. My paws were sore from running, and my eyes hurt from too many tears. I was horrible.
“You here for Julius?” a rat spoke in a rugged, loathed tone.
I turned my back and looked at this gray rat with a missing front tooth. He was overweight and could hardly stand on his toes, taking support from two of his friends.
I wiped my eyes. “Yes, yes.” I got off the lid and walked towards them. I was afraid because they were rats and could kill me anytime.
The hate on his face doubled. “We’ve been on the lookout for you, too. Your brother killed him.”
My heart sank and bile rose to my throat. Everything around me began to levitate and the world spun in an opposite direction. There were no more tears to cry, my mouth was also weak to squeak. I only looked at them dumbfounded.
“Well, well, he said I shouldn’t harm you, that’s why you’ve not met the Grim Reaper yet.”
I smiled on the inside. He had forgiven me.
“This is going to be cracked with my voice, but I’m going to fulfill Julius’s dying wish. I’m going to say it in his own words. Good thing I have an eidetic memory.” He chuckled and cleared his throat.
“‘Hatty, dear, how I’ve loved you. Thank God I got to tell you this before your brother, Denver, caught up with us. You should know that I wouldn’t stop loving you, even though I was hurt by your brother. I got to know one thing: the sins of one person shouldn’t be used to punish another. You are a good mouse, a brave mouse, a lovable mouse, while some other mice will be different, I do not want to hate you because of your brother.
“‘I’m not going into the details of how he found me or the gory things said to me, I’m not going to blame him, either. Death is just temporal. There is life in death, and I hope to see you in that life later on. I’ve bled profusely, all my life spilling in front of my very eyes, and I didn’t get to live my life. Hatty, love, live your life without fear. Don’t miss me too much, I’ll be here, waiting. In this existence.’ I didn’t get his exact words, hehe, but those were all what he said. You should be on the lookout, Tom the Ratnapper is on the loose.”
My lungs were failing; I could feel it. I had nothing to say to the three rats that looked at me, I was stunned. In oblivion, I didn’t even know when they scurried away in fear. Tom the Ratnapper was near.
Like the last time I saw Julius, my leg was plunged to the ground. My brain stopped functioning and the only thing it could process was emotions: grief, pain, loss, and anger. Anger that had always lived. I didn’t see the cat; I couldn’t feel the cat—or hear it—until it caught up with me. I tried to run away, and I did, but Tom caught me by my tail and dragged me, lifting me in the air. I squeaked and struggled, but no one could come to my aid. I fought with the air, trying to reach Tom, but I couldn’t. His grip on me was strong.
He cupped me with his paw and allowed me to roam, catching me when he’d thought I’d wandered too far. His smile was mischievous, his canine protruding out of his mouth. I hated cats.
When he grew tired of watching me trying to escape, his claw dug into my flesh and he dragged it from my neck down to my tail. I felt my blood trickle. I didn’t want to die.
Pain lashed me. I squeaked and begged him in my language. Cats couldn’t hear us, so maybe that was why he didn’t let me go. I grew weaker with every struggle and I felt each breath I drew was my last.
Pesky cats.
When he knew I was tired, he pinned me to the drawer and poured all his weight on his paw down on my neck. My eyelids were heavy, begging for life; Tom didn’t see it.
I didn’t know which was better: death caused by a rodenticide, death caused by a mouse, or death caused by a cat. I envisioned the way Mother and Julius died. I was dying like them, but in different instances, with different imaginations. I didn’t know if Denver would avenge my death as he fought for Mother, he wasn’t brave enough to hunt down cats.
Death finally came. My blood stopped flowing, and air ceased in my lungs. My squeaks died, and I died. Tom the Ratnapper and Mousenapper tossed my body to a corner and went down to feed on stale fish.
Even though my body lay lifeless, I could feel a different wind, a distinct aura. Julius was right: there was life in death.
I didn’t know where to search for him, or how to search for him. I didn’t know if he knew I was dead or if he was searching for me, too, but I knew one thing: for as death lasted, I would search for him till I moved to another existence.
Onyinyechi Ndukaire is a writer from Lagos, Nigeria. Her works have been published in Brittle Paper and Monday Microfiction Magazine. If she isn’t writing or reading a book, she is head-bent in an article on Wikipedia or Scrabbling, or most likely, contemplating a new story idea. Send her mail.
Isonomia Quarterly 