eenie meenie miney mo

"Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a snackie by its toe..."

"What's a snackie?" asked my sister, Mason.  "I've never heard of that before."

I looked at Mason and rolled my eyes. "Clearly, it's a made-up word.  I needed to add a second syllable in order to make the rhyme work.  MOUSES!"

Mason thought about this for a moment before asking, "What kinds of snacks have toes?  Mice?"

"No," I informed her.  "Well, they do but they're not on the menu tonight.  There are two bags of treats up here on the island and a plate with some cheese.  Some orange cheese and some white cheese. I'm trying to decide whether to go with the treats or the cheese and if the cheese, which kind."

Mason hopped up onto the island next to me and after snatching one of the treat bags with a claw, she jumped back down onto the floor.  "I'd go with the treats," she called behind her.  "Snacking on cheese gives you those weird dreams about Mouseland and the Canadian Cheese Consortium."  Her voice trailed off as she headed into the family room with her bag of treats.

"No can do.  The rhyme just eliminated the last bag of treats.  Besides, I'm not sure Mouseland is a dream," I added even though Mason was now out of earshot.  "Now where was I?  Oh yeah, eenie meenie miney mo..."

                                    ************************************************

After scarfing down several chunks of the orange cheese, I headed into the family room, myself. Snacking on cheese always makes me sleepy, you see.

"Psst...  Cat.  Psst...  Cat.  PSST...  CAT!!!  Are you awake there, Mr. Cat?"

"Well I am now," and I stared into the eyes of a little grey mouse.  "What do you want this time?"

"Your assistance..."

"Yeah, yeah, my assistance is required.  Mouseland needs me again.  Yadda, yadda, yadda. MOUSES!"  I waited for the grammar mice police to chime in with their usual grammar lessons regarding the plural of mouse but heard nothing.  Nothing but silence.  "What's up with the grammar mice?" I asked the little grey mouse standing before me.  "Cat got their tongues?"

"That's why I'm here, Mr. Cat," answered the little grey mouse.

"You mean a cat really did get their tongues?  MOUSES!"

Again, nothing but silence.  Truth be told, the absence of the grammar mice police was somewhat disconcerting.

The little grey mouse glared at me, pursing his lips, signalling his disapproval.  "Follow me, please. I'm on a tight schedule."

I rose from the chesterfield, stretching first my front legs and then my back.  After giving my head a bit of a shake and letting out a loud yarn, I obediently followed the little grey mouse.  There was no use arguing as the mice of Mouseland are well known as being a rather persistent lot.

As expected, when we turned the corner and entered what should have been the kitchen, the air turned thick and hazy.  Rainbow coloured threads swirled before my eyes and the space-time continuum was altered as the kitchen morphed into the great hall of Mouseland.  But the hall was different, this time, for other than the little grey mouse who had come to summon me, there wasn't a mouse in sight.

"This way," the little grey mouse called as he led me down the center of the hall until there, right before my eyes, he disappeared in a poof of light.

"MOUSES!" I cried and stopped dead in my tracks.  I inched my way forward, sniffing out the mouse's tracks and then, all of a sudden, a little grey paw reached out of nowhere, grabbed me by a whisker and pulled me in.  I felt myself falling.  Down and down and down I fell, picking up speed as I went.  It seemed like I was falling forever and goodness knows how far I fell until finally, I stopped, landing with a thud.

"Ouch!  Get off me, you big lug!!!" cried the little grey mouse as he struggled to crawl out from beneath me, looking a little worse for the wear.

"Sorry about that," I apologised.  "Didn't see the floor coming."  I stood and brushed off my fur.  Looking about, I found the room to be empty save for a small group of mice, huddled around a table.  I counted and found there to be eleven.  "Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a snackie by its toe..."  I stopped myself short. Probably wasn't a good idea to be talking in such a suggestive manner.  I quickly changed the subject and asked, "So what's with the table of mice?  Are they having a meeting or something?"

"Yes, this is the Council Chamber of the CCCCCGMPF and this is their monthly council meeting."

"The CCCCCGMPF?  What the mouses...?"

"The Canadian Cheese Consortium County Council Grammar Mouse Police Force," the little grey mouse explained.  "They gave themselves a name that would make them feel important."

"MOUSES!"

"Exactly," sighed the little grey mouse.  "But as you can see, they're in the midst of a meeting. They're discussing an amendment to the Mouseland dictionary whereby they would..."  The little mouse stopped mid-sentence.  "Hold on, they're about to vote," and I could sense the mouse holding his breath so I held mine as well.

"All those in favour," one of the grammar mice cried and I watched as eight little mice held up their paws.  "All those against," the grammar mouse continued and the three other mice held up paws. "That's it, then.  Eight to three in favour of NOT amending the Mouseland dictionary and changing the plural form of mouse to mice. "

"MOUSES!" I cried.

And as if echoing from the very council chamber walls themselves, I heard, "Mice, the plural of mouse, is mice."  Oddly enough, the familiar sound of the grammar mice attempting to correct my grammar was somewhat reassuring.

"Ummm..." and I whispered to the little grey mouse.  "They do realise that MOUSES! isn't meant to be the plural form of mouse, don't they?  It's more of an expression, really.  It's like...  Uh...  Well... It's just MOUSES!  It's what you say when you're frustrated or excited or you just want to add a little emphasis to something.  It was never meant to mean more than one mouse.  MOUSES!"

The little grey mouse shook his head.  "Sadly, no.  They think your brother Nerissa the Cat invented the word to mock their love of grammar."

"Well that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," I explained to the little grey mouse, somewhat indignantly.  "Nissy mock grammar?  Why, he was a grammar fanatic!  Nissy loved his grammar! He always made sure to use I and me correctly, not to mention lay and lie.  And he never ended a sentence with a preposition.  Okay, sometimes he did do that.  Being a stickler with the preposition stuff can make a cat appear a little pretentious at times, if you know what I mean.  But the bottom line is this.  Nissy truly loved good grammar.  He loved it almost as much as he loved inventing words and, of course, using run-on sentences which he freely admitted to doing, not ever denying it one bit.  MOUSES!"

"Mice!" the grammar mice shouted as they stared pointedly at me.  "The plural of mouse is mice."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," and I waved off the mice as I approached them.  "Look, you've got it all wrong. Firstly, mouses doesn't mean a bunch of mice," and I held up a paw before they could attempt to correct me.  "Secondly, look around you, you mice.  This is the twenty-first century and the world is a-changing.  All the major spell-checks on the Internet are accepting MOUSES! as a word and it's only a matter of time before Oxford and Websters do, too.  THIS IS THE FUTURE.  You have it within your grasp to be a progressive grammar council, leading the way to a new tomorrow.  A tomorrow where the word MOUSES! is as acceptable as cream cheese."

The mice gasped in unison.

I saw I was making headway and so continued my spiel.  "Listen up, you mice.  We can all see you're just digging in your heels, here.  Digging them in until you can dig no further.  But do you know what happens when you dig in your heels?  You end up digging a hole for yourself.  A hole for yourself so deep, there's not getting out of it. You think that by admitting you're wrong about this whole mice versus mouses thing, you'll somehow be viewed as being weak in the eyes of the mice of Mouseland.  But you won't!  Owning up to our mistakes only makes us stronger.  Owning up to our mistakes shows the world we have character.  Resisting change is what reveals us to be weak."

I looked over at the little grey mouse who had summoned me to Mouseland and could see him smiling from ear to ear.  Clearly my speech had pleased him.

Turning back to the council I added, "And now, my little Mouseland friends, what do you say we take another vote, huh?  I think that sounds like a good idea."  But the members of the CCCCCGMPF continued to simply sit around the table, stone-faced.

"Okay then, we'll play it your way," I said.  Pointing a claw at each of the little grammar mice sitting at the table and with a gleam in my eye, I chanted, "Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a snackie by its toe..."

muzzled

"What to do, what to do..."  Lying on the floor of the sunroom, Seville busied himself by counting dust bunnies under a wicker chair. After running out of claws upon which to count them, he gazed about the room, looking for something else to occupy his time.  He watched a lone spider cross the floor in front of him and brought a heavy paw down on top of it, smiling with satisfaction.

"Oh great, Seville," commented Mason as she passed by the room.  "Now it's going to rain."

"Been raining since Sunday, Mason," Seville called after her.  "DON'T THINK KILLING ONE LITTLE SPIDER WILL MAKE A DIFFERENCE!"

Bored with dust bunny counting and spider hunting, Seville headed into the kitchen to see if there were any snacks lying about.  Finding nothing but dry kibble in the dishes, he jumped up onto the kitchen island.  "Maybe the peeps left something tasty up here," he thought aloud.

As luck would have it, Seville found a container of grated Parmesan cheese.  He flipped open the lid and knocked it on its side, causing its contents to spill out.  Licking a paw, he touched it to the cheese on the counter before drawing it up to his nose.  He breathed in heavily.  "Mmm...  reminds me a bit of Valerian Root," he whispered.

"Someone mention Valerian Root?" Mason called from the family room.

Seville ignored his sister.  Mason might have the hearing of a parabolic microphone but she also had the memory of a sieve.  She'd forget about the mention of Valerian Root soon enough.

Seville tasted the Parmesan cheese on his paw.  "Delicious," and with that, he licked up all that had spilt onto the island counter.

He then trotted into the family room and hopped up onto the kitty condo.  He would have liked to have taken a nap on the big chair but said chair was occupied by Anderson, who lay there, sound asleep and snoring like a bear.  Peep #1 was on the couch reading and the television droned on in the background.  Seville doubted he'd be able to nap with the noise of Andy's snores and the television but thought he'd give it a try, anyway.

"Er-hm."

Seville batted a paw at his ear.

"ER-HM."

He batted at his ear again and this time, opened one eye.  Before him stood a little grey mouse, clutching a clipboard to his chest.  Seville stared at the mouse.  The mouse stared back.

"Excuse me, Mr uh...  um...  Mr. Seville?  Is that your name?  You're Seville the Cat, brother of Nerissa?  Nerissa the Cat?  Is that correct?"

"I.  Don't.  Believe.  It."

The little grey mouse held out a paw.  "M1 is the name.  I'm here to brief you on the latest happenings in Mouseland.  Please follow me.  Your presence is required."

The mouse then turned on his heal, jumped down from the kitty condo and onto the arm of the big chair, walked right past Anderson who was still snoring, completely unaware of the presence of a mouse in the house, and then down to the floor, where he scampered across the room and into the kitchen.  Seville followed, obligingly.

"Whoa!" Seville cried, stopping dead in his tracks.  The air in what should have been the kitchen had turned thick with smoke and haze.  Coloured threads appeared before his eyes.  They swirled about his head, this way and that.  "Is this some sort of spacial-time distortion?  Like a wormhole?" he asked M1.

"Mouse hole, actually," answered M1.  "Please follow me.  I'm on a tight schedule."

"Mouse hole,  Makes sense," shrugged Seville.  "Then uh...  you must be from the Canadian Cheese Consortium, huh? Nissy told me all about the consortium and all the troubles you've been having with The Big Cheese and stuff." Seville paused for a moment before adding, "I never really believed in any of it before but now..."

"Oh, you can believe it, all right," said M1.  "We're here now.  Please take your muzzle and come this way."

"MUZZLE!" Seville cried with indignation.  "Muzzles are for dogs! MOUSES!"

"Mice," several mice cried, seemingly out of nowhere.  "The plural of mouse is mice."

"Grammar Mice.  Heard about them from Nissy, too.  MOUSES!" and he held up a paw before the Grammar Mice could reply.  "I know...  I know...  MICES!  No such word though, mice.  The word at paw is mouses.  MOUSES!"

The mice sitting in the great hall which Seville and M1 had entered looked at one another, obviously confused by the conversation.

"So what's with the muzzle?" Seville asked M1.

"The Big Cheese has informed us that all scientists, Consortium employees and um... Oh, I have the list somewhere here."  M1 glanced down at his clipboard and started flipping through papers. "All...  Well it doesn't really matter," explained M1.  "Bottom line is, you need to hold onto the muzzle."

"Scientists, huh?  Is this because of my research into Eggbeater-Whisk Time Travelling-Teleportation Physics?" Seville asked of M1.  "But Nissy worked on that, too, and Nissy never said NOTHIN' about wearing no muzzles."

Gasps could be heard from about the hall as Grammar Mice squeaked out cries of "Double negative!" and "He's using Fleaspeak!  HE'S USING FLEASPEAK!"  Seville rolled his eyes.

M1 looked sternly at Seville.  "There's no need for that kind of language here, Mr. Cat."

Seville looked down at his paws.  "FINE.  But I'm not wearing this muzzle and there's no way you can make me."

The little grey mouse nodded in agreement before adding, "The muzzle isn't required to be worn.  It's merely a symbol.  And it's not because of your teleportation physics thing.  It's because the last time Nerissa the Cat was here, he used the words..."

M1 scampered right over to Seville and climbed up on one of the big cat's paws.  Standing as high on his tippy-toes that a little mouse could stand, M1 beckoned for Seville to lower his head.

Seville eyed the mouse.  Was this some sort of trick?  Some sort of mousicidal entrapment?  An attempt to tempt him with a mousy snack?  He lowered his head while forcibly clamping his jaw firmly shut as to avoid temptation..

"Global Warming," M1 whispered under his breath.  "We are forbidden to use those words here or anywhere else within the Big Cheese's control."  M1's eyes darted back and forth, making sure no one had heard him but Seville.

Then all of a sudden, loud noises could be heard at the other end of the hall.  The Big Cheese was making an appearance.  Wearing a long golden robe, he glided down the centre of the hall, majestically.  Scurrying alongside him were two smaller mice, Masters Pomp and Circumstance, according to the name tags they wore.

Seville used his free front paw to lift M1 by the tail, up and off his other paw.  Setting him down on the floor he whispered, "What's going on?  What's with the...  the...  the whatever is going on over there?"

"Just watch and listen, Mr. Cat," said little M1.  "And remember.  Remember all that you see here today for sometime in the near future, you'll need to draw upon this information to solve the greatest unsolved mystery this land has ever known."

Seville's eyes grew wide in amazement.  "You mean, who let the dogs out?"

M1 slapped a paw to his forehead.  "Not that, cat.  I'm talking about the case your brother was working on.  The conspiracies at play in the Canadian Cheese Consortium.  Watch and listen, cat. One more piece of the puzzle lies before you."

The Big Cheese was less than a tail's length away from him now.  Seville could smell ripe cheese on his breath.  He wondered how Nissy had been able to resist the temptation to...

"THERE you are," and Peep #1 scooped Seville up and into her arms.  The kitchen lights shone brightly, causing him to squint his eyes.  "You wouldn't happen to know anything about this empty container of Parmesan cheese on the kitchen counter, would you?" the peep asked.

Seville blinked slowly and looked around.  The mice were all gone.  M1 and The Big Cheese were nowhere to be seen.  No sign of the Grammar Mice, either.

Pushing his head up against the peep's chin, Seville began to purr loudly.  He needed some time to think.  Think about all that he had seen in Mouseland and also to come up with an excuse for having eaten an entire container of Parmesan cheese.  An excuse or better yet, someone else to blame.  Hmmm... If he could track down just one of those mice...  Mice were known for their love of cheese.  Brilliant. "MOUSES!" he squealed with delight.

And as if coming from inside the walls of the house, Seville could hear cries of, "Mice.  The plural of mouse, is mice."

"Darned Grammar Mice," Seville muttered under his breath.  Luckily for him, the peep hadn't heard the mice over the loud noise of his purr.