Of Mice Tails and Bicycles

When Muks and I were kids, we kept pet mice. We took care of them, fed them and played with them. We loved our mice to bits.

On most days, you can find Muks and I cycling around the neighbourhood with our pet mice perched precariously on the handlebars. They seemed to love the rush of fresh air beating down on their cute furry little faces, pink ears pinned back, eyes barely open, big smile.

I wonder what nicknames the other kids in the neighbourhood gave us…

One day, on a lark, Muks decided to put our mice on the washing line poles. They had nowhere to go, so they hung on for dear life, clutching at the metal bar with their little paws and their tails dangling down.

Muks sitting on her bicycle was suddenly inspired, by the sort of inspiration that causes other people to question your sanity, to use the mice tails as bell pulls.

She would circle the garden in her bicycle and upon returning to the base of the washing line, she would reach up and tug the long, dangling tail.

“Ding dong!” She would exclaim with enthusiasm. I can still remember her broad grin today.

I can’t remember how long she kept it up, the whole afternoon, maybe. Half an hour? Possibly.

I am sure you are beginning to feel a little sorry for our pet mice by now, with their sore tails and behinds.

Ah, but bad people will have their comeuppance…

On the final fateful round of tail pulling, Muks gave the tail a good, hearty tug. As she was doing this she felt something wet and warm trickling down her head and face.

!!?!! Hmm. Tastes salty.

She looked up, only to see a mini golden stream of mice pee raining down on her.

Muks leaped out of her bicycle and flew into the house, leaving me to pick everything up, which I did, one hour later after I had composed myself and stopped guffawing.

I have never seen Muks run so fast in my life. I wonder how many times she washed her hair that day.