The Superior Mind -- Man vs. Mouse
Below is a MRR and PLR article in category Arts Entertainment -> subcategory Humor.
The Superior Mind: Man vs. Mouse
Who Truly Holds the Superior Mind?
I’ve never seen myself as particularly brave, but it's reassuring to know how you'd handle a tense situation. One morning, as I drove to work, I faced such a moment. Singing off-key to the radio, I suddenly felt a chill run down my spine. An ominous presence lingered, and then I glimpsed them?"black, beady eyes and sharp, threatening teeth enough to send a Navy SEAL diving for cover.
I swerved wildly, not caring about my own safety or that of others, determined to eject this malevolent creature from my car. Clinging stubbornly to the wiper blades like a trapeze artist, though, was a mouse?"no ordinary mouse, but one fiercely cunning! Its eyes spoke volumes of its sinister intent.
Once the initial panic subsided, I knew I had nothing to fear. I possessed the superior mind; after all, I was safe within my metal fortress. I locked the doors and prepared for battle.
If shaking it off wasn't effective, perhaps I could flood it out. I seized the window washer control, chuckling at the thought that this mouse had met its match. Water cascaded down like a torrential waterfall as I laughed in triumph.
However, the mouse, unfazed, lifted one leg, then the other, appearing to wash under each armpit. With a defiant twist of its tail?"an obvious obscene gesture in rodent language?"it vanished under the hood.
The morning dragged on as I eagerly awaited lunch, ready to confront the creature again. Equipped with an ice scraper and umbrella, I popped the hood to face my foe. The coward had fled, leaving behind acorn shells, leaves, and pine needles. I took delight in brushing its meager belongings off my engine. The rodent hotel was closed, and I knew I had the superior mind?"until I reached home. Peering at the battlefield, that space between hood and windshield, those black, beady eyes once again met mine.
He was ready for a fight. For him, revenge; for me, vindication. With no regard for my own safety, I armed myself with my trusty ice scraper and umbrella, threw open the hood, and prepared to battle the monstrous intruder.
Oh, how that ninja mouse led me on a merry chase! Leaping from engine part to engine part, the cowardly fiend evaded every attempt to stand firm and fight. I followed, always a beat behind, banging from air filter to carburetor, my weapons blurring in furious motion. Worked up to a frenzy, I couldn’t have moved faster if I’d been playing a drum solo at a rock concert. Desperate, the beast dove into a small crevice and vanished into the innards of my car.
A lesser man might have gloated, but I had more pressing tasks. Ignoring the Geneva Convention's ban on chemical warfare, I stuffed mothballs into every crack and opening, cramming five pieces into the crevice where the coward had fled.
Two days have passed without further signs of the evil fiend. It seems instinct led him to haunt a new location. I was free of the rodent, with only the pungent smell of mothballs as a reminder of victory.
This morning, the little boy next door came to visit. He was sad. A couple of days ago, his pet gerbil ran away.
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