The Taming of the Rare Beast...

Is it true that a little Mouse can ever triumph over a big, snarly, scary all powerful Rare Beast with exceptionally large, stampy feet?

My encounter with The Rare Beast (come on, keep up, it's at least two posts ago) had left me feeling rather shaky of paw and whisker.  I pondered and worried and nearly drove myself furless trying to work out how to win and maintain the trust of the Farmers and the Cheese Suppliers.  And then I came up with a plan.

Do nothing.

Literally, to not care.

The Rare Beast liked this approach. With no little Mouse getting under his great big feet he was free to go and do whatever he pleased with the Farmers. 'You will like me, Farmers.  I am a Rare Beast and I am all Powerful.'

'Where is our cheese, Rare Beast?' (and where is that nice little Mouse who is quite sweet and funny?)

'Never mind your cheese.  There are rules.  Here are the rules.' (Hands over a long list, headed 'Rules', and typed in tiny font, using all kinds of complicated words).

'Mouse, we have a problem.'

'Sorry, Farmers, you have to ask The Rare Beast.' (And back I go to making pretty coloured charts for my office wall).

This goes on for a few weeks. I meet with The Rare Beast every week and he gives me updates.  He looks fraught and is speaking very quickly.  I am relaxed with my feet paws up on the table and a cocktail in my paw.  Okay I might be fibbing about the cocktail.  And the paws on the table.  But I am relaxed.

The Rare Beast's confidence is not dented - he talks about a new, far less Rare Beast who works with him now who 'is not as robust as me, Mouse. Nobody is.' But I notice his feet look a bit smaller.

And then I went on holiday.  It was lovely.  I went in a tent with my small boss, Edie, and played Super Mouse games for two weeks. 

I come back for my meeting with The Rare Beast and he knocks on my door (that's new - he used to charge through it).  He looks weary.

'Mouse,' he says, 'I am glad you are back.  I have been TOO busy.  The Farmers are continually asking questions and the Cheese Suppliers aren't speaking to me.  Even the Cheese Integration Co-operative, who I work for, are not speaking to me.  The Farmers are speaking to me.  Well, they're shouting at me.'

I look at his feet.  They have shrunk.  Small.  Tiny.  Teeny, weeny little feet that a baby Sparrow would have trouble hopping on.  That's what happens when you kick too many creatures too hard, I suspect.

'I got in a bit of a muddle, Mouse.  I mixed up an order for 500 Gorgonzola with an order for 3000 Edam.  And I delivered a consignment of extra strong mature cheddar to the Farmers' Annual Rugby event wrapped in pink tissue by mistake.'

I don't break a smile.  Not even a twitch of the whiskers.

'Okay Rare Beast.  Would you like my help?'

'Yes please, Mouse.  Although not really too much, as I am actually very very clever and quite Rare...'

'Whatever, Rare Beast.  Whatever.'

As for Super Mouse, the picture is of me in my sleeping bag, with my Super Mouse headband on as a necklace.  I hope you like it.

With Smiley Squeaks,

Mouse xx