
I wrote this litle story a long time ago. Don't ask me why I write them, because I have no idea.
When the nurse brought Sam into the room and his mother first laid eyes on him, she (like many mothers), exclaimed, "Oh, he's beautiful!" The nurse, having dealt with a few hundred newborn infants (sequentially, not simultaneously), had a contrary view of his looks: she rated him one above the bottom, not necessarily for attractiveness, but for being odd-looking. The one below Sam, who had none below him, had preceded Sam by a few days, greeting the doctor and nurses with snarling and scratching.
Outwardly the nurse smiled her professional nurse's smile, but inwardly she rolled her eyes upward and thought, "The poor kid looks like a mouse." Although, she did grudgingly admit that if he had been a mouse, he would have been a handsome one, with a cute pointy nose, fine sleek hair and beady but engaging eyes.
Sam's father, though unblinded by motherly love, still had his fatherly hopes for Sam. They evaporated on the spot. First his heart sank, then he sighed, then he gave up the thought of he and his wife being supported in their old age by a very large and very rich football player. His final thought was, "They're going to beat him up," since, when he looked several years into the future, he envisoned his tiny mousy son being the butt of many a joke at school.
Right from the start Sam was an adorable baby, one who bypassed crawling and walking and went straight to scampering and hopping. His mother found him terribly amusing, as (to his great surprise) did his father, especially when Sam engaged in such antics as springing straight up in the air and doing backflips. "Let's see your son do that!" he would say proudly to the other fathers, who would suppress looks of annoyance, since their babies could do little more than upend bowls of warm oatmeal on their heads.
Sam's father was immensely relieved, indeed very surprised, when Sam started school and, because of his unfailingly cheerful nature and natural comedic skills, became the most popular kid in class. His father had long since given up his football-player fantasies, and was content to not have Sam's tail pulled or his nose tweaked. In fact, he grew quite proud of Sam, who was so lovable and funny and talented he could bring the class down in hysterics (including the teacher) by doing something as simple as eating a piece of cheese.
Alas, all was not perfect. Unfortunately, there was one student who did not like Sam. Indeed, Toby hated Sam, and did so the first time he looked upon him. "I do not like you, Sam," thought the sullen and surly Toby, although he couldn't explain why. Toby didn't like anyone (Sam most of all), and would stalk through the school halls, aloof and haughty, casting insulting glances at whatever student who chanced to look at him.
Toby had it in for Sam every chance he could get. Very sneakily, when no one was looking, Toby pulled Sam's tail and whiskers, and pinched his ears, and tweaked his nose. Everyone else loved Sam. But not Toby. "Sam's different, but he's funny," the students said. "Toby's different, but he's creepy," all explained, claiming Toby would slink around at night, staring at people.
Sam, who quickly grew to loathe Toby, knew that with his tiny physique he would be unable to defend himself physically against Toby's bulk. Like most students, he subscribed to the Code of Kiddom, which prevented him from complaining to the school administration, or his parents, that some kid was trying to bully him. So, instead, Sam rapidly became adept at zipping away whenever he saw Toby, to hide in whatever hole was handy. "The kids all like me, and no one likes you," Sam taunted Toby, from his hole. "You'll never catch me, ever."
Sam was right on all counts. All the students loved Sam, none liked Toby, and Toby never caught him again all through the school years. Or after school, either, even when Toby went to the immense trouble of building a huge mousetrap and covering it with the fall leaves in Sam's front yard. "That boy's going to be nothing but trouble all his life," grumbled Sam's father, grimacing while he removed the sprung trap from his foot.
Time passed, and everyone graduated. "Goodbye, you creepy Toby," Sam thought, and then, taking his father's advice that everything loose in America rolled to California, moved to that state, which, he hoped, was so full of strange people that no one would pay any attention to a man who looked like a mouse. And he was right.
There, Sam blossomed. Exercising his naturally given talents, he found himself making a substantial living as a stand-up comic. "Amazing!" exclaimed those in his audiences. "I've never seen a man crawl up drapes before! And so fast!" they howled. Sam became, if not a huge success, then a pretty big one.
Life was good for Sam. It got even better when he noticed how attractive was one of the women who worked at one of the nightclubs. "Such smooth sleek hair and dainty little hands!" thought Sam, enchanted. But he was terrified to approach Doreen, wondering how any woman could be attracted to a man who looked so much like a mouse.
Screwing up all the courage that existed in his heart, (there was a lot more than he thought there was), and fighting the urge to hang his head, look at his paws, and mumble, one day he shyly asked, "Hey, Doreen, do you think you might want to go to a movie with me?"
"Oh, yes!" breathed Doreen, looking at Sam adoringly, love shining from her beady little eyes. Her cute little ears even turned pink. "Well, I'll be darned," thought Sam, in shock, "even a man who looks like a mouse can get a girl and find happiness. Will wonders ever cease?" Apparently not, he decided.
For months everything was wonderful. He and Doreen made a perfect pair, bounding around the city and amusing everyone they encountered. Everyone adored them. "What a lovely couple," everyone sighed. Sam made a lot of friends, and also so much money he would have no problem supporting his parents in their retirement. "Such a great son," his father told everyone. "And to think I wanted a football player!"
Then, one day, Sam and Doreen's happiness was punctured by the arrival of Toby at his door. "Oh, no!" Sam said in horror after he opened his front door and saw the grinning Toby standing there. "What are you doing here? Won't you ever leave me alone? You've been tormenting me since the day you were born!"
"I missed you," smirked Toby, still grinning as he walked uninvited into Sam's apartment. "My life's never been the same since you moved away. It's been missing something, you know? A purpose. And you were always my purpose. So I decided to move out here."
Doreen walked in from another room and squeaked when she saw Toby. "How horrible!" she gasped. "Tell him to go away, Sam!" She jumped to Sam's side and clung to his arm in terror. "He's awful!" she cried, seeing into Toby's pea-sized, wizened soul and sizing up his truly cruel nature in an instant.
"Who's the dame?" Toby leered. "Not bad-looking at all! I'll bet she's too good for a pathetic little mouse like you. A dish like that looks like something I might be interested in. Hey, hon, why don't you ditch that loser and come on over here?"
Doreen glared at Toby and wished him, if not dead, then at least folded in half, then folded again.
"Yes, Toby, I think you'd better leave," Sam said quietly.
"Sure thing, Sammy," Toby said, still grinning his cocky grin and running his eyes up and down Doreen's shapely figure. "But you're going to be seeing a lot of me. For a long time. For years. And your girlfriend, too."
Since Toby was looking at Sam as he was leaving, he didn't see Philibert standing in the doorway, and bumped into, and off of, him, or his chest, actually, which was level with Toby's head. Toby gaped at him and went, "Yow! Yow! Yow!"
"What is dis?" said Philibert, standing in the doorway, shifting his toothpick in his mouth and lifting his upper lip to show his quite large and scary teeth. He looked at Toby and his pupils, as they always did when he was annoyed, dilated to huge black dots. His heavy brows beetled and a frown turned down in his heavy, protruding jaws. Toby's eyes bugged out of his head.
"Hello, Philibert," Sam said cheerfully. "This is Toby. Remember him? I think I told you all about him. Oh, and Toby? This is Philibert, my biggest fan."
Toby was too frozen to utter a word, but Philibert said, "Yeah, I 'member youse telling me about dis guy." Philibert stared down at Toby, who stared up at the mountain of muscle, paralyzed, his hair standing on end in terror. "I got a good nose and I smelled somethin' funny over here, so I come over to check it out. Are youse bodderin' my good buddy here, buster?" He raised one huge paw and made a fist the size of a cantaloupe. Toby stared at it, mesmerized.
"I, I was just leaving," Toby wheezed. "Excuse me!" He tried to squeeze by Philibert, but Philibert, who filled the entire doorway, merely shifted a bit to prevent Toby's escape.
Philibert, who was as loyal as loyal could be, wasn't the smartest guy in the world, or even the neighborhood, but he told the truth when he said he had a good nose. A great nose, actually. And he smelled something he found very unpleasant. "Dere's somethin' funny about you I don't like at all," he told Toby. He peered at him, disapprovingly, and suddenly the scales fell from his eyes.
He found himself staring at the black fur standing straight up, the cold yellow eyes, the dreadful claws, the small sharp teeth. . .
"Dang!" he howled, "I know what youse are! A miserable, lousy, stinkin' CAT!"
Philibert was so stunned by his discovery that he missed his grab at Toby, who, hissing and tail bottled, flew between Philibert's legs and out into the hall. Philibert spun around and howling, "Pick on a little guy, willya? I'll murder you, you bum!" ran after Toby.
"Go get him, Philibert!" Sam and Doreen yelled encouragingly and simultaneously at Philibert. From the hallway came crashing sounds, interspersed with hissing and snarling, followed by chomping noises. Then came a rhythymic banging sound, much like something being swung by its tail from one side of the hallway to the other. One of their favorite pictures---that of Philibert, resplendent in black bowler hat and stogie, playing poker with his buddies---fell off of the wall.
"Philibert's my best friend," Sam said. "And I don't think Toby's ever going to bother us again, even if he survives his encounter with him."
"Thank God either way," Doreen answered. "You're my hero." She looked at Sam with love in her eyes and they held paws. Sam blushed and hung his head and looked at his feet.
Posted by Bob Wallace, WHO DOESN'T HAVE A CAT OR MOUSE, BUT A PUG.
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