Of Mice and Muscadine Wine

Though the unusual smells and unusual location of the human bodies discomfited the mouse, he made bold and dashed from the gap between the machines known to the humans as the refrigerator and the dishwasher to a more central location under the one chair in the kitchen that was still standing. The other three were scattered about, the first two having been flung aside by the two bodies on the floor in the excitement of their meeting, though the mouse did not know this. Neither did he recognize the variously colored cloths bedecking these chairs as the clothing of the two humans who were currently on the floor. He recognized the smell of the small body as one that inhabited the same house as he did, but he was unfamiliar with the larger human.

Speaking of the two humans, they had been extremely close to one another, in fact touching, when they’d been interrupted, and though they had fallen in different directions, their limbs were still intertwined. This could be considered tragically romantic or sordid, depending on one’s preconceptions, but the mouse did not consider it at all. He was interested in, had been drawn from his usual domain by a sweet, slightly citrusy scent which was entirely novel to him. There was a pleasing if confusing bite to the smell, which our small friend did not recognize as coming from the alcohol that made up ten percent by volume of the muscadine wine spilled on the floor.

Had the mouse scurried up the leg of the chair under which he sheltered, continued up its back, hopped to the table, and dashed to its edge to peer over it, he would see that besides their intertwined limbs, the two supine humans were linked by overlapping pools of blood. The puddle of wine lapped up against these intermingled puddles, and, where the two fluids interfaced, diluted the blood slightly. The mouse was not interested in the blood. And after a few tiny, timid mouse sips, decided he was not interested in the wine after all. It burned his tongue. He did not long dwell on his disappointment, however, for an abundance of cheese and quite a few crackers had landed on the floor next to the wine. The mouse tucked in to his unexpected feast. He ate with such vigor that he barely noticed the faint respirations from the larger human had ceased. But the mouse did not mind, and soon his belly was swollen, his cheeks full, his front paws covered with flecks of cheddar and Triscuits. He was so full, in fact, that he entered a state of torpor right there on the kitchen floor. 

Our overfull friend was soon roused from his daze by the sound of boots on the porch outside. He executed a slow, four-legged waddle back to the safety of the gap between the appliances as the door opened and a large human whose smell the mouse recognized entered the kitchen carrying a roll of heavy-duty garbage bags and several rounds of duct tape. As the man set about cleaning up the mess, the mouse scampered behind the refrigerator and through the hole in the wall, where he let loose a very small, very quiet, mouse-sized burp.


Prompted by margaretgrantnovelist (chair, mouse, kitchen).

Prompt me with a comment including an inanimate object, a living thing, and a location, and I’ll write a story based on it.

Photo by Joshua J. Cotten on Unsplash