The Superior Mind
I've never thought of myself as a brave man, but it's nice to
know if you'll be able to handle yourself in a dangerous
situation. One morning on my drive to work such an occasion
occurred. I was cruising down the road and singing off-key to
the radio when I suddenly had the gut wrenching feeling that I
wasn't alone. I could sense the presence of evil even before I
saw the black, beady eyes and the long, fang-like teeth that
would have chilled the blood of a navy seal.
I swerved the car like a madman, not caring about my own
well-being or the safety of others as I tried to disgorge from
my car this demonic creature from the depths of hell. But the
brute held on! Clinging to my wiper blades like a trapeze artist
was a mouse. And I'm not talking Mickey Mouse here, this mouse
was mean, evil and cunning. I could see it in his eyes.
Once I'd gotten over my initial panic I knew I had nothing to
fear. I had the superior mind. Besides, he was on the outside
while I was safe, entombed within a metal fortress. I locked the
doors and prepared to do battle.
If I couldn't shake him off, perhaps I could flood him out. My
fingers wrapped around the control to the window washer and I
chuckled softly to myself, knowing that this mouse had met his
match. I plunged the button down and water cascaded over him in
a furious waterfall while I laughed the laugh of the victorious.
But then the creature lifted first one leg and then the other,
and I swear he slowly washed under each armpit. Then, with a
final twist of his tail, which I knew in rodent language had to
be an obscene gesture, he slithered under the hood and out of
My morning at work passed slowly as I waited for lunch to
arrive so I could continue my bout with the creature. Armed with
an ice scrapper and an umbrella, I popped the hood and prepared
to do battle. The cowardly beast had fled. In his haste he had
left behind a scattering of acorn shells, leaves and pine
needles. I took great pleasure in brushing his meager
possessions off of my engine and onto the cold, dark pavement.
This rodent hotel was closed. We both knew who had the superior
mind - until I got home that night and cast a final glance at
the battlefield, that space between the hood and windshield
where the wipers come to rest. There, staring up at me with
demonic lust, were those black, beady eyes.
We both knew he was looking for a fight. For him, it would be
revenge; for me, vindication. Showing absolutely no concern for
my own safety, I grabbed my weapons of choice, my trusty ice
scrapper and umbrella, threw open the hood and prepared to
confront the monstrous beast.
Oh, how that ninja mouse led me on a merry chase! Jumping and
scrambling from engine part to engine part, the cowardly fiend
was afraid to stand still and fight me like a man. Meanwhile, I
followed always a second behind, banging from air filter to
carburetor, my weapons a blur of angry motion. I worked myself
up into a frenzy and couldn't have banged any faster had I been
playing a drum solo in a rock concert. In desperation, the beast
dove down a small crevice and disappeared into the bowels of my
A lesser man might have gloated over his victory, but I had a
more important task before me. In a total disregard for the
Geneva Convention's ban on chemical warfare, I forced mothballs
into every crack and opening I could find. I crammed five pieces
down the crevice into which the coward had fled.
It's been two days now and there has been no further sign of
the evil beast. He has met his match and instinct has taken him
to haunt a new location. I was free of the rodent, the only
reminder the pungent smell of mothballs every time I turned on
the heater. I didn't mind, it was the smell of victory.
This morning the little boy who lives next door came by to
visit. He was sad. It seems that a couple of days ago his pet
gerbil got loose and ran away.