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In Defense of Mice

Caricature of Steve

“I’m troubled by mice,” John remarked sadly.

“It’s not that big a problem,” I consoled, “my pest control company is…”

“Maybe a cup of today’s coffee special Jamaican Blue Mountain will ease your mice malady,” waitress Beverly suggested as she poured a sample in two cups.

“Do mice drink coffee?” I wondered aloud before my first sip.

“No, no, no!” emoted John. “I don’t have a mice infestation. I have mice compassion.”

“Hm…mice compassion. That’s a new one on me,” I whispered while searching Google on my cell phone. “Well, I see there’s mice remorse but I don’t…”

“Mice and men, sigh,” Beverly shook her head in resignation.

“Look, I’m talking about cruelty to mice,” he sat upright in his chair after a swift first swallow of his Blue Mountain. “They are tortured in lab experiments. It’s inhumane!”

“Canada, right?” Beverly realized.

“Must be,” I nodded in agreement. “We’d never violate rats rights in the U.S.”

“Canadian mice not rats!” John clarified earnestly. “Scientists are torturing Canadian mice in the name of science!”

“Probably in Quebec,” I continued my Google search punching Expériences de Souris au Canada slowly on the keypad.

“Look at what mice have suffered in labs right here in the USA!” John dropped a ream of paper on the table dramatically, that vibrated his cup, and spattered coffee on his document.

Beverly swiped up the drops with a towel in one hand as she refilled our cups from the pot in the other. “Go on. I’m all ears,” she squeaked and winked at me.

“Har, har, har,” sneered John. “This is serious stuff, friends. Scientists have scraped mice stomachs to fine microbes that influence how we eat!

“Say that cinnamon roll looks good, Beverly,” I salivated.

“Comin’ right up,” Beverly saluted.

Researchers are giving heart attacks to mice to test new medicines,” John animated.

“Uh…is that gluten-free, Beverly, my doc says I’ve got to watch my health?” I swallowed slowly.

“And now we’ve found ways to extend the life of mice.”

“Well, that’s good isn’t it,” I suggested.

“Not if they’re imprisoned in a lab!” countered John.

“Especially in Canada,” contributed Beverly as she returned with two rolls.

“What’s even worse,” gesticulated John with a slight dribble of Jamaican Blue Mountain from the left corner of his mouth. “Researchers have actually connected the brains of mice in two separate countries to create a super-smart mouse!”

“Maybe that would work if we could link the brains in Congress  and the White House,” I imagined hopefully.

“I’m not sure that would be enough,” Beverly returned with a fresh pot.

“Look, I’m forming a group of anti-mice research activists,” John pounded the table. “Are you ready to join me?”

“Well, we need a catchy name,” I noted.

“How about Rage Against Torture for Science or RATS,” Beverly extemporized proudly.

“No! This is about mice!” John roared.

“Uh…Mitigate Invasive and Cruel Environment …MICE,” I pounced cautiously.

Come on, it’s got to be a real attention-grabber, uh. uh… like Many Organizations Urge Safe Environment or MOUSE?   On second thought…”John reconsidered.

“I got it!” shouted Beverly. “Community and Nation Against Defenseless Animals!”

“That’s great!” agreed John.

“Yes, and the acronym will be…” I anticipated.

“CANADA!” Beverly walked away.

“What…” I startled.

“Rats!” John expleted.

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