When Heaven’s powdered sugar lightly frosts the puffy forest floor of Hatuga, every reasonable animal – particularly those of the mammalian persuasion – will have long stocked full a burrow of necessary provisions. They are not like the birds, who fly above the weather itself, the fish, protected by chill the deeper they dive, or the reptiles, who dig a hole and sleep through it all undisturbed. No, the mammals remain conscious of winter all season long, drifting in and out of sleep and bouts of hunger. Consequently, they must prepare very early, so as to plan around discomfort – Or, worse, death. The winters are fierce, no matter where you live, and unforgiving to the unprepared.
The amount of provisions accumulated must last until spring, at the very least. Those that slack off or find themselves in error of foraging calculations will usually perish before they even hear the approaching gallop of Spring’s green steed. Mice are of no exception; in fact, at their rate of metabolism and fragile construction, they must arguably be more prepared than any other animal. And there is no arguing that they mostly are – if the only thing to worry about in the world was cold and starvation. But those aren’t the only things, are they?
Beneath a stump in the small field of a secluded clearing lived a small animal and his secluded wife, both of which happened to be mice. The season also happened to be nearly-winter, and the mice and his wife had been preparing all fall for the transition. This involved acquiring food and warmth, naturally, but it also involved setting traps for their enemy: the Asp. The Asp was a cunning Viper, who, instead of building his own burrow, would sneak into someone else’s, paralyze the inhabitants with his posion, and feast on their supplies. Just as the poison would begin to wear off, and the creatures within the burrow saw hope in Spring’s light, the Asp would reach his cruel climax: to poison them once more, and swallow them whole.
The Mouse and his wife had a fear of this viper, which only existed to them so far in rumors. But they were certain they had seen a pitch-black tail here, an emerald eye there – stalking them, softly, in the night. Who would take a chance, risking such a horrendous end despite all efforts to survive? Not the mice; they gathered branches and brambles to hide from sight, peat and flowers to hide from smell, and thorns and mud to hide from touch. Before they even began to gather winter provisions, they fortified their burrow against the threat of this unseen enemy. There was no way the Asp, or any Viper, would find the Mouse and his wife.
Soon, the first frost arrived. The Mouse sat by the fire that evening, engaged in the last newspaper of the year. Suddenly, he felt an unexplained twinge of worry for their stock. He called for his wife, that they might go through the list of supplies they had stored together for good measure. Due to the time expended keeping serpents at bay, they had to take a few shortcuts when it came to meeting their own quotas, but, surely, these shortcuts were harmless – they were just mice, after all. They could do little harm to anyone, and were mostly the ones in danger of being harmed.
The shadow of the Mouse’s wife announced her appearance into the room, dancing off the roots of the burrow by the light of the fire. The Mouse hardly noticed, absorbed in an article on evidence of decay in the forest, wrought by an unchecked slug population. She wriggled into her rocking chair from behind, and the creaking alerted him to her presence. The Mouse folded up the newspaper, and, without more than a brief glance and smile at his wife, got straight to work. He pulled out a checklist written on a trimmed fern (he was very strict when it came to order). Receiving no prompting or agreement from his wife, the Mouse softened the gravity of the chore:
“Now then, my dear, we shall begin the final annual confirmation of our difficult
preparations for winter. I am sure we covered all grounds, but it never hurts to be absolutely sure. If anything, it will ease any worries or unexpected unpleasantries we might expect in the future. Are you ready?”
“Who?”
“Why, who else could I be talking to, my dear? Are you ready?”
“Naturally. Proceed with the precedes, my sweet.”
The Mouse’s whiskers trembled with delight, for his wife had not called him her sweet in a while. But twitterpating can wait for the security of spring. He calmed his fluttering heart and addressed the first item.
“Item 1: Food. Nuts and berries, grasshoppers and grubs, spinach and seeds, Lemon Pie
and Apple Strudel – all preserved in ice to keep them fresh. We were far behind in our projections, thanks to a late harvest, but Mister Rabbit lent quite the helping hand. I presume he is missing a bit from his stores, but not enough to cause him trouble.”
“Who?”
“Mister Rabbit, my dear. Surely you remember our cherished, fleet-of-foot next-door
neighbor, gifted far more than us in the art of acquiring produce? Much of what we have is thanks to him.”
“Is that right?”
“Of course it is right! We need the nourishment more than him. Besides, he steals all of it anyways from that stingy farmer over the grassy knoll. But he did do well to accumulate these things for us, so we must set aside a portion of the seeds to grow a bit of produce for him on the side – once we have the capability.”
“Naturally. In fact, one would say that he and his kind keep us full all year, my sweet.”
The Mouse thought his wife might be a bit lavishing of her praises to Mister Rabbit, but his tail twitched with joy to be called her sweet again, instead.
“Item 2: Bedding. Fine, soft hay, roots and hair warmed by the massive body of Chaplain
Badger, who gathers the vegetation and foliage delicately and precisely in order that each hibernator might be ensured a proper winter’s rest.”
“Who?”
“Chaplain Badger, my dear. Surely our loyal, gentle, burly leader of the Church, who
burrows deep underground in search of the best thermal bedding, has not slipped your mind? And thank goodness he gathers so much, or we might freeze to death.”
“Is that right?”
“Of course it is right! We need the warmth more than him. Not only are our bodies frail and small – suggesting that we require more bedding to stay warm – but we were so very far behind in our estimates. Besides, he was giving it out freely, so why not take as much as we could carry? I mean…in seven or eight trips, at least.”
“Naturally, my sweet, I would never forget such an esteemed gentleman, who brings courage to roam through the woods into young critters’ hearts.”
Though the Mouse thought his wife’s words peculiar, he thought nothing further of it. His toes simply tippy-tapped at being called her sweet again.
“Item 3: Branches. Sturdy, firm branches to board up the entrance into the burrow, lined
with thorns and flowers to deter investigation. Important for keeping out snow and snakes alike, lest we catch our death from the sting of either the cold or the fang.”
“Who?”
“What is the matter with your memory today, my dear wife? I speak of the villainous
Asp. Have you forgotten the dangers of his tempting tongue and luring coils? These dangers are the precise reason for our being in such short supply of food and warmth!”
“Unnaturally, my sweet husband.”
The Mouse paused, as if he did not hear her right the first time. His wife had always been the first to squeak at the mere mention of that viper. Now, she hardly seemed fazed, the flames reflecting off her glazed, glassy eyes.
“Unnaturally? What do you mean by that? We have always survived the winter in fear of the Asp!”
“Who-who?”
“See here, I am exasperated enough today by the change in weather. The last thing I need is your willful ignorance.”
“…Are you sure it is not your ignorance?”
The Mouse looked up from the fern for the first time, to study the expressionless defiance of his wife.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The Asp does not lurk in this part of the wood. Too damp and mucky – a disagreeable climate for a chest-crawler.”
“I see! And how is it you come by such necessary information?”
“Naturally, I must always on guard against such dangers, possessing such an ignorant husband.”
At first, such bitter words caught the Mouse off guard and wounded him. When he got over himself, a realization finally dawned, slowly by the light of the fire: the voice of his wife did not sound not like his wife in the slightest. Peering harder, gradually able to catch the glint of a hooked beak and vacant eyes in the flame, the Mouse discovered that his entire burrow was crowded with the ruffled feathers of Barn Owl. The young bird looked without sympathy down at him; she had disguised himself as the Mouse’s wife the whole time. On the tip of her claw was a puppet, dressed like his wife to a T, but clearly not her when one noticed the button eyes and patchwork skin.
How did Barn Owl fit in his burrow? How did she manage to fashion such a likeness as Mouse’s wife? How was the Mouse so blind to realize the puppet was, in fact, not his wife? Where was the Mouse’s wife, exactly? How would this affect winter preparations? These questions and many more passed through the Mouse’s head. They paralyzed him – worry for the future in general kept him rooted to his chair. He really should have focused only on escaping instead of what could have prevented this intrusion as Barn Owl pounced.
But since the Mouse was so worried about so many different things, he failed to see the danger most near. So focused on surviving the Mouse was, that his mind, once a safe-haven, became a trap just as his burrow had.
Barn Owl, on the other hand, had a very relaxed and well-supplied winter’s reprieve. She would always appreciate the organized resourcefulness and narrow-minded selfishness of vermin.
You now have witnessed the paradox of a Mouse and his wife, and why, guarding their natural state, they were left so unguarded. Remember that preparing for the vipers of tomorrow leaves you vulnerable to the owls of today, and your burrow shall surely last the winters.
Morning's Early Dark 