“Run, Toby, run!” I heard my dad’s voice behind me. Dad had come to my rescue again. We were scouting for food in a new yard when suddenly a big black-and-white puppy, mostly black, barked. I knew she was young by the clumsy way that she ran. Also, she was relentless.
Many times, before, we were chased by boy dogs. They were different; they did a lot of posturing, growling, and loud barks, but once they were sure that we slid under the fence, it was over.
The girl type, to the contrary, roamed around longer to make sure we would not come back. Even hours afterwards, they would come back around, just to be sure. For them, it was “personal,” as humans say.
“Dad, hurry up, there’s a big door!” I yelled, stopping to catch my breath. “Crawl under the fence,” he said. Dad loved repeating what I had said, making it sound as if it were his idea. Anyway, that’s how we moved inside the garage at 130 Mulberry Lane.
It was the closest place to paradise. It was cluttered, with a lot of wooden boards, wires, bags of fertilizers, and old toys. But the most comforting thing was that it was damp, dark, and had plenty of hiding spots. I felt at home immediately.
I can’t tell how long we lived there, but for sure, we became familiar with the humans living on the other side of the garage. We figure there was a man because they tend to be larger, have a deep voice, and wear short hair. Also, there was a woman with longer hair, a nasal voice, and a youngster. I knew he was young by the way he moved. Like me, he also seemed distracted and just wanted to have fun.
The family yelled a lot. Often, the man, with his deep voice, said, “Damm Junior, can you stop watching T.V. and take the garbage out!” The man’s voice, like thunder, was terrifying to me. “When I was your age, I used to do a lot of things around the house.
Junior’s father, Clyde, reminded me of my father always lecturing, “Toby this, Toby that. You’re lucky, because my dad was not as easy on me.”
I like Junior’s mother, Yolanda. I figure she was Junior’s mother because after each of the mean man’s sermons, she would say, “Junior, you know how your father is…just say yes to him.”
II
Time passed, and we felt at home. We ate well, slept, hid in comfort. Occasionally, I ventured out if it was not too cold. Otherwise, we did what our kind does: hide, observe, and wait.
One day, we heard Junior’s mother tell the mean man, “Clyde, when are you going to clean the garage?” He did not answer.
I enjoyed listening to their conversations. I had secured a spot under the steps leading to the laundry room. In a way, they sounded like my family.
One morning, Yolanda was in a rare mood and confronted Clyde. “It’s not like Junior is failing school; he gets Bs and only two Cs this marking period. What do you want from him? He’s just a kid?”
I got scared then. It was like I heard a boom in the skies. “God damned Yolanda, when are you going to stop being such an enabler?!,” he yelled. I watched the whole scene through a little peephole I created.
Clyde was furious, and his ears were red, like burning. I heard his heart pounding where I was.
“It’s not like you do a lot of things around here. Remember, I told you about the garage,” Yolanda answered. Clyde could not control his rage any longer and rushed out of the kitchen. I am not sure, but I think I saw Yolanda smile.
The one thing I miss about 130 Mulberry Lane was how wasteful they were. It became like our ritual. Clyde would come down the steps twice a day with a large bag of trash, and I had to hide. Cold days were the best times because Clyde would not walk out of the garage and often left the trash bags there.
III
Dad was constantly nagging me, “Stop running around, Toby, they’re going to know we’re here. My parents were traumatized by the sighting of humans. To Dad, humans were worse than cats.”
“Toby, they have ways to kill us that you can’t imagine. Dad was terrified of the women because they feared us and disliked us most. And fear begets the worst type of violence.
“Toby, don’t let your dad scare you. Most humans don’t even care or are afraid of us and run away,” my mom would say, which further infuriated my father.
I was like mom, adventurous, and fun-loving. Dad, on the other hand, was always worried about going hungry, having a place to stay, or cats or dogs.
For Dad, the world is full of cats, dogs,…and humans. For mom, the world was full of opportunities and delicious food.
“Son, you’ll see if you get cornered by a cat, or worse, a human.” You’ll see then. At that point, I agreed with Dad a little bit, because he had proof. Since his last encounter with a human, he has lost a piece of his tail.
One day, something strange started happening. Clyde was only hauling the trash once a day. We were no longer finding abundant rotten meats, spoiled eggs, or my favorite cheeses.
About the cheeses. I became very fond of Clyde because of his love for cheese. Yolanda, in a weekly routine, yelled, “Clyde, you bought that damned blue cheese again.” His answers were always the same: “Stick to your provolone, woman, and let the real cheeses to the connoisseurs.” I learned that his cheeses were one of the few sources of happiness in Clyde’s life.
During those few months we lived in Mulberry Lane, I also became a cheese expert—Camembert, Brie, Asiago; the different blues, Stilton, Rochefort, Gorgonzola. But my favorite of all time became the Limburger. It pains me to admit that, like Clyde, I became a cheese addict.
IV
We had come to believe that Mulberry Lane would be our permanent home. Finally, we were the royalties that we knew to be. We were not dark-colored, scruffy, grungy-looking, but white with pink noses. Other mice despised us, saying, “You’re not one of us. I did not care. I had mom and dad.
One night, I decided to stretch and run around the garage. Suddenly, the laundry door opened. I froze and looked up. My eyes locked in a glance with Yolanda. “Clyyyde, there’s a mouth in the garage!” I ran and hid inside an old grill.
Their war started. “I told you to stop keeping the garage door open,” said Clyde. “God damned, you never listen.”
“Now I must go to Home Depot,” said Clyde.
My Dad was also furious, “I told you to stop running around the garage. Now we will have to move out!” Dad knew that very few words were more ominous than Home Depot, Lowe’s, or Tractor Supply. It was guaranteed that Clyde would return with an arsenal of poison, traps, and mouse-killing gadgets.
“It’s a matter of life or death!” said Dad, terrified. “But Dad,” I said. “We have it so good here.” I have never seen Dad be so angry. “Enough, Toby, we’re leaving!”
In dangerous moments, Dad was like another guy, not preachy, but focused and strategic. “Let’s hide under the mulch by the door.”
We waited for the night and soon left. Luckily, we did not cross paths with any stray cats. We did not go too far, though. We hid under the deck, roughly 15 yards from the garage.
Soon thereafter, we were all hungry. Mom appeared angry. “I told you to wait. There was no way that he was going to move all that rusted equipment. Again, she tried being the voice of reason, but Dad was in survival mode. I did not know who to believe.
I was hungry, and I wanted to take my chances. My Dad went berserk, “We’re not going back, Toby… case closed!” My mom signaled to me to be quiet. I knew better than to continue arguing. Dad’s temper was worse than Clyde’s.
Anyway, I disobeyed. A few hours later, I headed back to the garage. Dad was right. Clyde had turned the garage into a poisoned war zone. Yet again, when one is hungry, one can be relentless.
I ventured further into the garage.
Not a moment later, a whiff of blue cheese almost knocked me out. “No, stupid, that’s not blue cheese…that’s Limburger.” I was in heaven. Then, right after the glorious scent, the laundry door opened. “Yeah, yeah, Dad, I’m bringing the trash out now,” I heard Junior mumble.
Our glances crossed. It was Junior, the lanky boy with puffy hair and acne, who always sat on the couch. I was shocked. I couldn’t move. “What a cutie!” Junior said, then picked me up rapidly. Quickly, then, he put me next to his cheeks and rubbed me around in funny ways. In hindsight, I think my whiskers tickled him.
I looked back at the garage door, and I saw the terror in my father’s eyes as he stood helplessly. My mother, instead, calmly said to him, “Tobey is okay. He found a brother.” Then, I heard a human voice on the steps. It was Yolanda.
I was surprised to see her smile. I did not believe what she said.
“Junior, just make sure that your father doesn’t see it.”
P.R. Thompson
December 14, 2025
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