One of Many Mice

Narrow alleyways and dim darkness was all he knew and most of all he'd gained from a life of scuttling through the rotting walls and floors. If he'd learned anything else it was stealth. He could steal a coveted crumb from underneath a fellow's nose just as easily as he could flee from a angry boot.

He had no name. At least none that he knew of besides 'dadgum rat' or a piercing shriek. A proper title might be nice, but the thought had never really occured to him, so occupied was his mind with the never ending task of survival. It was this instinctive nagging that urged a quick scamper across the floor to collect a small pile of crumbs most likely off of a piece of bread that the master had had on hand when he'd last come to the back room to check his stock. But it was this trip that his well-known stealth failed him.

For there, in the doorway, was a cat hungrily licking its furry chops.

The End

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