Three Drunk Mice

They bravely approached the rickety old card table like they owned the place. As mice, I am supposing that they really did own it, as no one, I am told, had visited their dark, dungeon-like world in three or four years and that’s generations to a common field or church mouse.

At first I didn’t see or heard them as they joined me at the table. Nor did I realize they were even there till one was bold enough to move to my right to see what it was that I was scribbling in my note book.

“Nothing of interest,” I imagined him saying as he rejoined his small posse.

Now that I knew that they were there, I couldn’t help but eye-ball them from time to time, to see what they might be up to or interested in. Fortunately for me I didn’t have any food, or I might have found myself swarmed like the rats did to the various humans in the movie, ‘Willard.’

Unfortunately, from my tres amigos, I had liquid reproof in an all-purpose metal flask tucked in the side pocket of my bib over all’s. And while I had intended it for medicinal purposes only, I saw no harm in sharing a small amount with my new friends.

The first dribble from the flask into the metal lid went down fast with all three. Now they grew excited and raced across the table, over my hands, over the newspapers and my notebooks.

I offered a second dribble, filling the lid as full as possible.

Again it was met with a certain greedy haste. And again, all three three mice sprinted from here to there and back again.

I couldn’t help but laugh a their carnival show-like antics jumping, flipping. spinning, and bouncing to-and-fro.

Then the smallest one of the three, sat up on his haunches and shook his head so vigorously that he toppled over the edge of the card table to the rocky floor below. While I jumped up to see if the poor thing was okay or if the fall had broken its neck, I swear I heard the other two, as they looked over the precipice from where their mate had gone, laughing and guffawing.

By the time I got to where the mouse had fallen, it was gone, and by the time I returned to my seat, the other two had vanished as well. The furry little miscreants, while in their throes of hilarity and cuteness had also robbed me of the lid to my flask.

A quick walk around the table and I found it where they had dropped it in their panicked flight to avoid the foot steps of the invading human.

“Jus’ for that,” I chided them with full gusto, “No more for you!” and I turned the flask end up, downing the content.

I never saw my old chums again, concluding that blind drunk, they were sleeping off the effects of my gift, which serves them right.

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