Imagine walking through a forest, beneath a canopy of trees taller than a house, and all at once the trees start running around. You’re so small, compared to the trees, that you wonder if the trees know you’re down there, and you hope like crazy that they won’t step on you, and you can’t get out of their way fast enough. That’s how it was for Philip. Except the trees were the legs of humans, and those humans were desperately trying to get away from something. He was scared, but not so scared that he didn’t know what he should do and where he should go. He zoomed to the corner, where the end of the wall met the narrower wall that was the entrance to the fitting rooms. People wouldn’t step on him if he was tucked away in a corner. It would be a safe place for him to wait for the commotion to die down.
“I never thought I’d see something like that in a store like this. What's wrong with people?” he heard a teenager say.
He assumed she was talking about Rodie, for who on earth would ever expect to see a guinea pig in any kind of store, never mind the expensive place where Mahmee worked? His assumption became a possibility when he caught a scent that was faint but familiar: Rodie.
Philip was terrified that the humans would step on him and squish him because they didn't know he was there. But he believed that the danger Rodie faced was greater than his, because the humans knew she was there, and they would try to get rid of her. Silently daring the marauding legs to bowl him over again, he crept from the corner and into the fitting room area, guided every inch by the whiff of his beloved friend.
The trail brought him down a carpeted hallway that was bordered on one side by a prettily papered wall and on the other by a row of small rooms. Each room had a door, and most of the doors were open, showing clothes hanging from the walls or heaped upon the floor.
Fortunately for Philip, the door to the room where he found Rodie was open. (He had no idea what he would do if the door was closed!) A pile of clothing was in the corner on the far side of the room. Rodie was hunkered under a heavily padded bench that was covered in rich, rose-colored tapestry.
She popped up and down on all fours when she saw Philip (something that guinea pigs call "popcorning") and licked the tip of his nose. "I'm so happy to see you! We've got to alert Mahmee!" she cried.
"We can't do that," Philip said, wiping his nose with the back of his wrist. "Mahmee will be angry at us for leaving Ant Kandiss's office."
"No, you don't understand," said Rodie, stamping her little foot. "Something bad has happened here. Can't you smell it?"
Philip sniffed the air. "All I smell is you."
"That's not me, you silly little piggie! There! Over there-" she pointed toward the mound of clothes on the floor.
Philip didn't know what she meant. "What is it?" he asked innocently.
Rodie straightened her shoulders, looked him square in the eyes. "I'm not touching it. You go through it and find out for yourself."
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
Three
Never before had Philip encountered a hole. But he had heard about them, of course. Rodie had told him they were powerful pools of black air that carried creatures from the earth into your home. On more than one night he had awakened to the sight of Mahmee in her PJs, whacking something under the kitchen table with a rolled-up newspaper. (“A centerpede,” Rodie always whispered knowingly.)
Once he was all the way into the hole, Philip stood very still. He had expected to be transported to a destination in the blink of his eye. But nothing was happening. He wasn’t lifted up or pushed or made to float through the air. The floor was hard and cold against his paws.
As he wondered what was wrong, his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and he could see that he was in a narrow passageway. A slat of wood covered the wall at eye-level and about two hairs’ breadth away from his nose. His rump kissed the edge of the hole.
“I must be in the wrong position,” he said to himself, for it occurred to him that his bulk was preventing the air current from taking him. He edged to the left, so he was crouching along the hole, instead of across it.
A short distance away, the gloom faded into blackness. There came a sound that reminded him of a leaf cartwheeling across the lawn. The sound stopped. Squinting into the murk, he saw a dark gray blob with four skinny legs and an incredibly long, skinny, hairless tail crouch down, jump up and crouch and jump again, like a playful puppy that just woke up from a nap. The blobby figure was, in fact, a well-fed, highly enthused mouse. It was giggling so hard that Philip could hardly understand a word it was spewing.
“Hey, HEY, HEY, a visitor, a visitor! What are you, a gerbil? Wow, I’ve never seen a gerbil!"
“Well, you STILL haven’t seen one,” Philip said, annoyed that he could be mistaken for a much smaller, insignificant rodent. “I’m a guinea pig."
“A guinea pig! I’ve heard about your kind. You guys eat your poop!”
Now Philip was vastly indignant. “I beg your pardon! My mahmee would never, ever feed her pets poop!”
“Just trying to be sociable,” said the mouse, not at all offended by Philip’s manner. “Did you ever have an elephant walk into your home, huh, huh?”
“Of course, not!” replied Philip.
“Well, if you did, you’d know how I’d feel about seeing the likes of you here, in my living room,” the mouse replied, obviously trying to make Philip feel bad for treating him as if he, the mouse, were beneath him. "Where'd you come from, huh, huh?”
Philip had no time for chit-chat, but he believed the mouse was friendly, alone, and stuck in a place where he’d rather not be—just as Philip was. “I’m not here to visit, really,” Philip said earnestly. I’m trying to find my friend.” He explained about Rodie as fast as he could.
It was probably the most exciting bit of news that the mouse had ever heard. He pranced around the passageway, gleefully whipping his tail and begging Philip to let him come on the quest. Philip, however, thought such a helper would be a nuisance. Not because he would be in the way, but because Philip would feel responsible if anything happened to him.
“Maybe you’d better not, ” said Philip, trying to sound as kind as he could. “People are afraid of mice.”
The mouse’s feelings were hurt, but he knew too well what people who don’t like mice can do to his kind. Not in the mood for being swatted by brooms or chased by vacuum cleaners, he admitted that Philip was right and asked if he could at least show him the way back into the store. Philip gladly followed him to an opening around slender pipes that belonged to a water fountain.
The mouse stood aside, flicking his tail toward the light fanning in through the hole. “We’re near the elevators,” he said furtively. “When you go out, turn left. They’ve got jeans hanging from a long bar against the wall. Stick to that wall. The jeans will hide you.”
Philip regarded the opening with trepidation, for it seemed to him that he was a bit large to fit through. “Where do I go from there—assuming that I get out, of course.”
“Don’t panic, man, use your nose! But if you need help, just call me.” He gave Philip an encouraging slap on the shoulder and would have scampered away had Philip not called, “Wait! What’s your name? I don’t know your name!”
The mouse let out a sound that reminded Philip of the noise Mahmee made whenever she saw a centerpede in the cottage. “Er, that’s it?” he said, puzzled. “Do you have a nickname—something shorter, perhaps?”
The mouse giggled. “You’re so funny, Mr. Philip! That’s what everybody calls me. At least, that’s what they say when they see me!” With that, he happily dashed up the wall, toward another part of the store.
“’Don’t panic, man, use your nose,’” Philip mimicked. “Use my nose, my backside! Do I look like a bloodhound? Silly rodent. Guinea pigs aren’t famous for their sense of smell—Or their eyesight,” he added upon hitting his nose on the wall near the hole.
Patient, filled with the determination that fuels us when there's no retreating from something we must do, he squeezed between the edge of the hole and pipe, reached, set one forefoot onto the marble floor and listened. he thought he heard rising female voices, but as nobody was nearby, he carefully stepped completely out of the hole. He perceived that the water fountain was indeed near the elevators, and that the elevators were set back in a large alcove.
The voices were getting louder. He heard a noise of people running. Curious but careful, he stuck his nose around the edge of the alcove. He saw the wall of pants legs that the mouse had told him about. Some of the legs swayed sharply, as if disturbed by a strong gust of wind. Philip felt himself being bowled over and over and over, until he was almost flat against the wall beneath another line of jeans. He forgot who he was and what he was supposed to be doing. He fluffed up and crouched stiffly, the perfect image of the guinea pig that is scared or hurt, waiting for danger to either pass or end his misery.
Once he was all the way into the hole, Philip stood very still. He had expected to be transported to a destination in the blink of his eye. But nothing was happening. He wasn’t lifted up or pushed or made to float through the air. The floor was hard and cold against his paws.
As he wondered what was wrong, his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, and he could see that he was in a narrow passageway. A slat of wood covered the wall at eye-level and about two hairs’ breadth away from his nose. His rump kissed the edge of the hole.
“I must be in the wrong position,” he said to himself, for it occurred to him that his bulk was preventing the air current from taking him. He edged to the left, so he was crouching along the hole, instead of across it.
A short distance away, the gloom faded into blackness. There came a sound that reminded him of a leaf cartwheeling across the lawn. The sound stopped. Squinting into the murk, he saw a dark gray blob with four skinny legs and an incredibly long, skinny, hairless tail crouch down, jump up and crouch and jump again, like a playful puppy that just woke up from a nap. The blobby figure was, in fact, a well-fed, highly enthused mouse. It was giggling so hard that Philip could hardly understand a word it was spewing.
“Hey, HEY, HEY, a visitor, a visitor! What are you, a gerbil? Wow, I’ve never seen a gerbil!"
“Well, you STILL haven’t seen one,” Philip said, annoyed that he could be mistaken for a much smaller, insignificant rodent. “I’m a guinea pig."
“A guinea pig! I’ve heard about your kind. You guys eat your poop!”
Now Philip was vastly indignant. “I beg your pardon! My mahmee would never, ever feed her pets poop!”
“Just trying to be sociable,” said the mouse, not at all offended by Philip’s manner. “Did you ever have an elephant walk into your home, huh, huh?”
“Of course, not!” replied Philip.
“Well, if you did, you’d know how I’d feel about seeing the likes of you here, in my living room,” the mouse replied, obviously trying to make Philip feel bad for treating him as if he, the mouse, were beneath him. "Where'd you come from, huh, huh?”
Philip had no time for chit-chat, but he believed the mouse was friendly, alone, and stuck in a place where he’d rather not be—just as Philip was. “I’m not here to visit, really,” Philip said earnestly. I’m trying to find my friend.” He explained about Rodie as fast as he could.
It was probably the most exciting bit of news that the mouse had ever heard. He pranced around the passageway, gleefully whipping his tail and begging Philip to let him come on the quest. Philip, however, thought such a helper would be a nuisance. Not because he would be in the way, but because Philip would feel responsible if anything happened to him.
“Maybe you’d better not, ” said Philip, trying to sound as kind as he could. “People are afraid of mice.”
The mouse’s feelings were hurt, but he knew too well what people who don’t like mice can do to his kind. Not in the mood for being swatted by brooms or chased by vacuum cleaners, he admitted that Philip was right and asked if he could at least show him the way back into the store. Philip gladly followed him to an opening around slender pipes that belonged to a water fountain.
The mouse stood aside, flicking his tail toward the light fanning in through the hole. “We’re near the elevators,” he said furtively. “When you go out, turn left. They’ve got jeans hanging from a long bar against the wall. Stick to that wall. The jeans will hide you.”
Philip regarded the opening with trepidation, for it seemed to him that he was a bit large to fit through. “Where do I go from there—assuming that I get out, of course.”
“Don’t panic, man, use your nose! But if you need help, just call me.” He gave Philip an encouraging slap on the shoulder and would have scampered away had Philip not called, “Wait! What’s your name? I don’t know your name!”
The mouse let out a sound that reminded Philip of the noise Mahmee made whenever she saw a centerpede in the cottage. “Er, that’s it?” he said, puzzled. “Do you have a nickname—something shorter, perhaps?”
The mouse giggled. “You’re so funny, Mr. Philip! That’s what everybody calls me. At least, that’s what they say when they see me!” With that, he happily dashed up the wall, toward another part of the store.
“’Don’t panic, man, use your nose,’” Philip mimicked. “Use my nose, my backside! Do I look like a bloodhound? Silly rodent. Guinea pigs aren’t famous for their sense of smell—Or their eyesight,” he added upon hitting his nose on the wall near the hole.
Patient, filled with the determination that fuels us when there's no retreating from something we must do, he squeezed between the edge of the hole and pipe, reached, set one forefoot onto the marble floor and listened. he thought he heard rising female voices, but as nobody was nearby, he carefully stepped completely out of the hole. He perceived that the water fountain was indeed near the elevators, and that the elevators were set back in a large alcove.
The voices were getting louder. He heard a noise of people running. Curious but careful, he stuck his nose around the edge of the alcove. He saw the wall of pants legs that the mouse had told him about. Some of the legs swayed sharply, as if disturbed by a strong gust of wind. Philip felt himself being bowled over and over and over, until he was almost flat against the wall beneath another line of jeans. He forgot who he was and what he was supposed to be doing. He fluffed up and crouched stiffly, the perfect image of the guinea pig that is scared or hurt, waiting for danger to either pass or end his misery.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
