"Someone kicked me. He sent me across the length of the table, and almost into sight. I heard nothing from them about my gasp when I landed. He said nothing about what he kicked; I must have weighed as much as air to him. I waited with my prize. I dreaded the idea that they would clear the table. But the guests left. There was silence. I climbed up onto the table.
"During my scraps raids, I usually moved quickly and tossed food down to pile up and pull away. Now I dove into the first full glass I saw. It stung my eyes. Red coated my hair, filled my nose, choked my mouth. There was a glass of water, and that was better. I was so thirsty that I opened my mouth and almost tried to breathe it. Then I could focus on food. But I stumbled. I couldn't move well. I thought I was sick: too much food, too fast. After I almost fell off the tall, tall table, I worked my slow way down to the floor. One piece of meat was enough for now. Later I could worry about more water and food.
"I let go of the table leg and dropped to the floor. I turned around and began to walk toward my abandoned ham. I stopped. Of course the mouse was there. Of course it was chewing on my food; it stood between me and my mouse hole. It was bigger than I thought it was, bigger than it had seemed from across the room, or from the sounds it made when it passed in the walls. Its shoulder was even with mine. I could see its ribs, but below them, its stomach brushed the ground. It was emaciated, and fat. And long. Its twitching tail. That tail moved, twitched, while the mouse and I stared at each other. Its eyes were black, black, black, and they gleamed against its urine-tinged fur. I stepped, stumbled, away from it--which meant away from my den. The mouse bared its long, sharp teeth. At some point in the past it had scored the table leg behind me with its bite; what would it do to me? Another step back. I thought the mouse tensed. Would it run? Would it come after me? I was sick. I was hungry, and thirsty. Another slow step. Maybe, if I climbed back up. it wouldn't follow. I had to get back to the table leg.
"One more step was too much for it. Maybe if I hadn't been sick--drunk--and shambling, it would run. But when I stepped back, it leaped. It knocked me down. My head hit the floor; one of its paws pinned me down. It went for my throat, but I threw up an arm. Its fangs sank in deep, and its claws pricked my skin. As I moved, it moved with me, and those claws scored a checkerboard into my chest. The mouse was too big; it had too much reach. When it lashed out again, I twisted. Instead of throat, its teeth landed on my cockeyed face. The top set of teeth went through the left cheek, here, and the bottom teeth through the right. Some parody of its kiss. I think that it meant to shake its head with its teeth locked together through my face.
"Someone stepped inside across the room. The mouse skittered away. The guest or host or cleaning woman didn't notice. I couldn't move, but the woman stopped at the other end of the table where I was still out of her sight. She did something, maybe got more food or filled her glass. She extinguished the candles. When she left, I was afraid the mouse would come back. Then I was afraid I couldn't move. I heard people talking elsewhere in the house. Then, silence. Now it was the darkness of true night. I had to move; if I slept, I wouldn't wake up again. I don't know what they thought about the blood; maybe that someone spilled wine.
"During my scraps raids, I usually moved quickly and tossed food down to pile up and pull away. Now I dove into the first full glass I saw. It stung my eyes. Red coated my hair, filled my nose, choked my mouth. There was a glass of water, and that was better. I was so thirsty that I opened my mouth and almost tried to breathe it. Then I could focus on food. But I stumbled. I couldn't move well. I thought I was sick: too much food, too fast. After I almost fell off the tall, tall table, I worked my slow way down to the floor. One piece of meat was enough for now. Later I could worry about more water and food.
"I let go of the table leg and dropped to the floor. I turned around and began to walk toward my abandoned ham. I stopped. Of course the mouse was there. Of course it was chewing on my food; it stood between me and my mouse hole. It was bigger than I thought it was, bigger than it had seemed from across the room, or from the sounds it made when it passed in the walls. Its shoulder was even with mine. I could see its ribs, but below them, its stomach brushed the ground. It was emaciated, and fat. And long. Its twitching tail. That tail moved, twitched, while the mouse and I stared at each other. Its eyes were black, black, black, and they gleamed against its urine-tinged fur. I stepped, stumbled, away from it--which meant away from my den. The mouse bared its long, sharp teeth. At some point in the past it had scored the table leg behind me with its bite; what would it do to me? Another step back. I thought the mouse tensed. Would it run? Would it come after me? I was sick. I was hungry, and thirsty. Another slow step. Maybe, if I climbed back up. it wouldn't follow. I had to get back to the table leg.
"One more step was too much for it. Maybe if I hadn't been sick--drunk--and shambling, it would run. But when I stepped back, it leaped. It knocked me down. My head hit the floor; one of its paws pinned me down. It went for my throat, but I threw up an arm. Its fangs sank in deep, and its claws pricked my skin. As I moved, it moved with me, and those claws scored a checkerboard into my chest. The mouse was too big; it had too much reach. When it lashed out again, I twisted. Instead of throat, its teeth landed on my cockeyed face. The top set of teeth went through the left cheek, here, and the bottom teeth through the right. Some parody of its kiss. I think that it meant to shake its head with its teeth locked together through my face.
"Someone stepped inside across the room. The mouse skittered away. The guest or host or cleaning woman didn't notice. I couldn't move, but the woman stopped at the other end of the table where I was still out of her sight. She did something, maybe got more food or filled her glass. She extinguished the candles. When she left, I was afraid the mouse would come back. Then I was afraid I couldn't move. I heard people talking elsewhere in the house. Then, silence. Now it was the darkness of true night. I had to move; if I slept, I wouldn't wake up again. I don't know what they thought about the blood; maybe that someone spilled wine.
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