A Gathering of Mice
[Originally written: 2025 January]
LETTERS TO NO ONE #1:
A Gathering of Mice - ?
Earlier, my elderly landlady called for me. She sounded tense, so I came quick. I asked what happened and she whisper-shouted with much urgency, "It's the mice, [Name]. The mice are angry with me!"
Now, I didn't question the presence of the mice. The house we share was built in the 70s, back when my landlady and her late husband got married. Spacious and sturdy with plenty of space for the mice. And we are used to the mice; she, I, and the other tenants are all easily frightened by bugs and rodents. Not violent, though. We just avoid them or chase them away without hurting them so as not to invite revenge, but it's not just that.
My landlady, a retired elementary school science teacher, does not approve of rat poison. She says the poisoned remains of dead pests are all soaked into the water and soil and eventually come right back to the animals and plants we humans eat or use. She also dislikes traps, as I learned when I first moved in, because, "Why should I waste my time and money collecting and disposing of all those corpses when their own kin already do that for free? I'm an old woman, not an undertaker."
All in all, our relationship with the mice is not cordial but also not hostile. We will shoo them away if they're disruptive, try to steal or damage things not theirs or not garbage, or get up too close in our business, but that's it. If the mice mind their own, we'll mind ours.
And so I wondered, why would the mice be angry today? I asked her for more details so we could crack this puzzle.
Apparently, while my landlady was cleaning outside and tending to the garden this morning, she noticed all the mice were more active and noisier than usual. At first, she ignored it. That just happens sometimes and we're all used to it. Most often, the mice and other animals (and even people for that matter) act up because the weather is bad or unpredictable. Normal stuff.
However, January here is nice and mild, probably the most comfortable month of the year. No typhoons, but not too hot either. The weather's perfect, so it must be something else.
My landlady carries on explaining. At first, the mice were noisy, and then very noisy. They also kept flitting around the house in a hurry, sometimes even in small groups, too fast for her to see if they carried anything and much less figure out why they seemed so busy.
Over the course of the morning, she went from idly curious to actively annoyed until the big mess finally happened. She was sitting outside in the sun, reading the morning newspaper leisurely among her plants. Then, she noticed a few entirely foreign mice from down the road.
At this, I interrupted her story to ask how she knew these were different mice. Mice in our whole region all kinda look the same to me except for stuff like age/size. I can't even tell apart male and female mice and I know no other human in this house could either.
My landlady huffed, "Believe me, those were different mice. Our mice know better than to try and ruin my garden!" And I was like... oh. Her precious garden. I should've figured.
See, another thing about my landlady is she is infertile and cares little for pets like cats and dogs. However, she loves her plants like children. The tall old mango tree, planted by her husband in the backyard, is sacred above all. Next come her flowers all around the house, then her tomatoes and red chilli peppers, then the miscellaneous bushes, shrubs, and other stuff.
She tends to them every day, speaks to them like old friends or precocious kids depending on her mood, mourns them if they become damaged or diseased, and removes with surgical precision any invasive plants that might harm them.
Thus, it did not surprise me at all that my landlady snapped. She aggressively shoo'd away the newcomers. She assessed the damage to her garden and it only made her angrier. She went around the house to all the mice's usual spots and lectured them furiously as if they were her rowdy elementary school students. She told me she doesn't know what they're up to or why, but she's certain our mice must have somehow invited those foreign fellows and let them trample through her garden.
I asked, so are the mice mad at you now because you went full 'angry old teacher' telling them off? She answered with an emphatic yes.
My landlady asked me to look around and, sure enough, I saw the biggest mouse in the house just... there, watching us. I asked, "Are you scared? Should I go to Sir Noel for help?"
Sir Noel is a local district councilor and the bravest, most serious neighbor we know. My landlady thought for a bit, then agreed.
Before I left for Sir Noel's house, she stopped me and asked, "You agree the mice are in the wrong, don't you? They're the ones who brought strange mice over to ruin my garden. I'm the one who deserves to hold a grudge, not that huge fellow who's stalking me now!"
At first, I was about to reflexively agree with her and offer some comfort to ease her anxiety, but then I stopped to think for a moment. Mice... this reminds me of those old songs.
Instead of anything polite, I fake-gasped at my landlady and blurted out, "Well, no wonder the mouse patriarch is begrudging you now. His guests ruined your garden, but YOU ruined his daughter's wedding!"
My landlady shook her head in disapproval. "You're not funny. Just go already. Shoo!"
I smiled apologetically, nodded, and finally went to fetch Sir Noel. And yeah, maybe my joke was really bad, and I have no idea if the biggest mouse is male or female or if mice even do weddings, but hey. For once, I had considered the plight of mice, not just men.