The moss grew thick in the habitat for inhumanity known as a porsche one day, or perhaps several years. Much like a fallen tree, it became an apartment for some, but for that particular porsche, it became a condominium for a group of pretentious mice (save for a few) as well as a warm and friendly environment for some mice to hang their tails and eat properly. No garbage at this condo, just a lobby serving complimentary casseroles. Status does not exceed the minds, hearts, and stomachs of mice. Evidently, they chose cars over logs and couches on any given Sunday.
Under unfortunate circumstances, Mary and her husband, Denny, proprietors of the house, were once burdened and forsaken by selling a car. This car had been in the family for years and had taken on a far more important purpose for living or being driven; it lived for a family of rodents, and the car notoriously became known as the Mouse Condo.
Have you ever heard of a Mouse Condo? Neither had I. Evidently, it comes in the form of a 1974 914 Porsche with a 2.o something I can’t even describe. I’ve only known two of them. One sat in a backyard, yearning to be stolen, and the other sat in a garage for ten years as a halfway house for those lovely pests we refer to as mice. This is where Mary and her husband, Denny, enter this epic story of Mice and Porsches.
Some cars consume your soul. For Denny, its initial owner, this was no exception. Denny maintained, so to speak, one of these female mice chasing vehicles for many years. When the option of selling came for practical reasons, out of the greatness of his heart, he refused to let go of it, even considering the rust, flat tires, exploded engine, people or parasites willing to take it off his clutch cold feet and hands. He considered it a habitat for mice. Denny’s heart weighed more than the porsche those days.
Let’s back up a bit and consider why Denny was so kind to allow his model of nostalgia to be rented by cheese eating squatters. After selling their cabin, Mary and Denny imported the mice from a very special place called Diamond Lake by way of a couch. Denny’s wife, Mary, vehemently opposed the mice infested couch to migrate from their cabin and enter their house, but according to Denny, the couch was worth some money. Mary’s only solid debate, since Denny did purchase the couch and cabin prior to their wedlock, was that the mice didn’t have Visas required to legally transport them from the country to the city. Denny’s reply was, “Neither do Cubans! Have you seen any major league baseball players being deported?” Mary’s ammunition was depleted because she loves and respects the game of baseball, Cubans and yes, mice.
So, now the couch enters the garage just in front of the Porsche 1974 914 car whom nobody gives a yankee dime about with the exception of Denny and mice.
The couch, much like the porsche, never entered their house, but did move on up to the City in a garage. And, just like all mice will do, they took full advantage of that vintage Porsche in the garage. Much live a fictional novel, both the porsche and the couch became living and snoring creatures. They haunted Mary when she was asleep, and they haunted her when she was awake. Kind soul that she was, Mary had to come up with a plan and cure for her sleep deprivation. That’s when, on the seventh day, Mary, created the casserole, and everyone rested on that day too, except the mice. Affectionately, throughout the land, both humans and rodents, deemed Mary, The Queen of Casseroles. Negotiating with the mice, it was finalized by Mary and Denny only allowing three of them to enter the house on Sundays.
Most of the mice in the porsche needed leaders. As everyone knows, mice are very diplomatic so they voted on who the President, Vice President, and Chief Economic Advisor to the President would become as the first trio to manage this District of Worthless Vehicles as well as provide them all with ample sustenance. Since mice only have first names, the uneducated mice voted only on their names (much like horses) and their lake of origin. They voted in Dusty, Dorris, and Dottie from Diamond Lake.
Mary’s casseroles were so good, she developed a way to make everyone in the house happy….including the mice. When her husband, Denny, found that Mary was welcoming three kind mice into a home worth far more than his porsche, she was definitely close to resting, and resting her case of casseroles as well as a derelict vehicle.
The kind and keen mice developed a sense of what was wonderful in this house, and they embraced it. Progressing from a couch to a condo was quite a step up for them.
The different personalities of these three mice are most intriguing, considering they were siblings. The male was the oldest and the strongest, and the two following him, female mice, were the cutest and most clever.
Mary first welcomed “mice one” to her family introducing him to her husband, Denny. It was a shrewd move on Mary’s part. Denny was not just interested in cars, but also very interested in sports. Denny and Dusty hit it off immediately. Baseball, basketball, football….it didn’t matter, they were joined at the sofa. This provided time for Mary to make her casserole.
Mouse number two: Dorris: If you research mice, some of them are capable of giving birth after two months of being born. Dorris was no exception. They are also willing and quite capable of providing for them after their birth. Dorris was shrewd, much like the owners of the house, knowing when casserole Sunday came around on the calendar. For the other mice who were not allowed to enter Mary and Denny’s house, thanks to Dorris, it was much like going to church, but skipping the boring sermon, and going straight to the wafers at communion, followed by eating leftovers in a clean cafeteria with the other pious souls. Dorris, however, was not one to ration, and mice will eat until the food supply runs out. This created issues between Dorris, Denny and Mary, because the only thing Denny cherished more than sports were Mary’s Sunday casseroles. Poor Denny would end up with porridge after a hard day of watching football with President Dusty. The third mouse came up with a solution.
Mouse number three: (Economic Advisor, Dottie) Dottie recognized that President, Dusty, and Vice President, Dorris were ignoring the important details of maintaining a nation of mice if they were to survive in the Porsche Condominium. It was a simple and rational solution. Dottie knew how to fiscally make everyone happy; well almost everyone happy.
Using mathematics, Dottie devised a plan where they could divide the casserole, and all may not be happy about the proportions, but certainly would see the light of the next day. “One quarter of the casserole should go to the three of us. One quarter of it should go to the freeloaders in the garage who don’t say please and thank you. The other half should remain with these humans. That way, we all survive, and can look forward to many more Sunday brunches.”
President Dusty and Vice President Dorris couldn’t disagree with logic. It was settled in a private meeting in Mary and Denny’s attic while Dorris was giving birth to another baby. Like all meetings should, it lasted less than five minutes.
So, life went on, and for several months, everyone was fed properly. However, the peasant porsche freeloaders were beginning to rebel against the regime of Dusty, Dorris and Dottie. “Why can they watch T.V., drink tap water, use sophisticated bathroom facilities, while we are crapping in a porsche, now being referred to as the Porsche Porta Potty?”
They were calling for the impeachment, or imcheesement, of the President.
This is when a President loses all sense of judgment and just wants to please the rodents. Even without Dorris and Dottie’s approval, Dusty invited all the mice in for a Superbowl of Casserole Sunday party. Denny wasn’t present that day. He gained knowledge of the party via Dusty, who had become a very nice companion for Denny, and Denny wanted no part of this cheesy party, because he knew exactly how it would conclude: A Mary Fondue Meltdown.
With a semi-genuine smile, Mary welcomed the mice for just this one day of fun. She had the usual appetizers all mice would enjoy such as crackers and cheese as well as the breadcrumbs she had spilled upon the floor from her main course. She also provided the tap water for all of them. That was her last mistake. While initially quite affable mice, after drinking the free tap water, some of them went from jovial to surly. The jovial ones weren’t just drinking the water, they were diving into pools of it, whether it was a bowl on the kitchen floor or a sink or a bathtub. The surly mice began to fight over some of the breadcrumbs creating a natural kitchen room brawl. Tails were flailing, teeth were chattering, and one particular water tapped out mouse had the indecency and audacity, to look at the hand which was feeding him and said, “Are you going to fight too? No? So you’re a Mary, not a mouse?”
Laughing, President Dusty knew where Mary was heading. Mary walked into the pantry, closed the door, grabbed her broom, and came out of it as the infamous super housewife, Meltdown Mary. Flying out of the pantry on her broom, the mice witnessed the Hell which was coming with her. Upon landing, Mary started swinging the broom in the air like a baseball bat. They scattered and shuffled to find any place for shelter. Most of them scuttled beneath the door to the garage where they could retreat to the porsche. The mice remaining, not quite understanding the wrath she was bringing with her were provided a harsher tone. With a booming voice, Mary bellowed, “ALL YOU OTHER RATS, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE, AND THAT INCLUDES YOU THREE, DUSTY, DORRIS AND DOTTIE!”
Now you have to understand that calling a mouse a rat is very offensive to mice since mice are much smaller. They have smaller teeth, smaller noses, and of course, smaller tails. They hate being called rats since rats have been making fun of them for centuries. That was it. There were no casualties, but they left and never returned.
That same night, Mary was having terrible thoughts. She knew some of the mice would come back to apologize for their deplorable behavior, but she wasn’t ready for an apology. Therefore, she devised a plan. The next casserole she was to make would be doused with strychnine. Perfect. No more mice. Luckily, for the mice, Mary slept on that idea.
The next morning, Mary herded twelve little toes with tails between their legs scurrying into her room. Actually, it was more like a saunter. Dusty, Dorris and Dottie came to ask for forgiveness on behalf of all their idiot rodent friends. Mary did indeed forgive them, and nary a mice was poisoned. However, she asked that they never return again. Sadly, the three kind mice understood and left the room without a crumb.
Thoughtfully, after interacting with mice she had grown fond of, Mary felt remorse. She knew her emotions had taken over, but also needed to set mice rules. Late that night, when Meltdown Mary transformed back into the loving, caring, and generous Mary, she was missing Dusty, Dorris, and Dottie. While all the mice were sleeping, Mary snuck into the garage to carefully awaken her three kind mice. Not to awake the others, she simply took them in her hands, transferred them to a warm blanket and tucked them in using Kraft American cheese singles. Mary knew that since the other mice had absolutely no desire to ever enter her house again, the three contrite mice would awaken to breakfast in bed because it was lying right on top of them. Then, after breakfast, her three mice could silently go back to their porsche where they belonged.
Months later, the porsche was sold to some fool who also agreed to take the mice with him, providing Mary show up with a casserole every Sunday. She agreed to the deal. Then, she celebrated, and secretly told Dusty, Dorris and Dottie, they were welcome to return anytime and could even bring their children. Denny agreed.
We all remember something about our first day of school. Anxiety, friends, homework, rulers, (whether it’s the teacher or the measuring device) throwing up during the bus crash, and maybe even your teacher’s name. A few days ago, it took a little toe headed neighbor we will refer to as “Peanut” to conjure memories of my first day of kindergarten.
