Mandy accepted that she was a grumpy cat. A very grumpy cat. She felt her grumpiness was justified because being a Norwegian forest cat in a middle-class suburb wasn't easy. At noon, she got up, explored her house, looked for mice, and then ate. When it got dark, she played with her owner to keep spirits high, and then fell asleep.
A very busy schedule, then. It's no wonder she was grumpy all the time.
Nonetheless, even Mandy could appreciate the pleasures of her lifestyle now and then. Her favourite games included hide-and-seek, hide-the-key, and hiding from her owner. That last one wasn't always so fun but gave her plenty of chances to pounce on mice. Whenever she was dealing with mice, there was one aspect of her job that she found enjoyable. There was a mouse in particular that Mandy could not kill, no matter how bad it was when he was grating. A mouse named Pat.
Pat was the only mouse Mandy never devoured. She wasn't quite sure why. Her first encounter with him took place in the kitchen, where she had gone to look for food. She saw him and froze. He was eating an apple that was lying on the floor. At first glance, Mandy thought he was a ball of lint or something, but that was impossible. The mouse was completely real, his fur white and fuzzy. His eyes were black and beady-eyed. Mandy definitely did not think he looked adorable. Nope. Not at all. She didn't care for him at all.
Mandy remembered staring at the mouse—she had never been so close to a mouse before.
At this point, she would normally have pounced at the mouse, but some unknown quality about it prevented her from doing so. Rather, she approached him, slowing down to avoid startling him. The closer she got, the faster her heart beat. Her breathing became laboured, as if she were running up a steep hill. Upon getting close enough to touch him, her eyes widened.
Seeing her, the mouse turned back to face her. Inquisitive rather than fearful, Pat squeaked. Mandy was speechless. She wanted to scream, "What are you doing? Get out of here!" Instead, she reached out and scratched him behind the ears.
Another squeak came from Pat. There was happiness in his eyes. The same was true for Mandy. Never before had she felt so... good.
As a result of that first encounter, Pat had become Mandy's friend. While Mandy would never call Pat a dear companion, he was undoubtedly one of the very few she could stand. His nature was gentle. Playing was his favourite activity, and he always kept his tail tucked. Manny would occasionally scratch Pat's ears and the back of his neck, which he loved enormously.
It was obvious that Mandy had quite the crush on Pat, despite her admissions to the contrary. There was something about his innocence that made her want to look after him. Pat was the most innocent mouse she had ever known. He was also, unfortunately, the only mouse she knew.
It had been a while since they had played together, and Mandy was growing irritated.
From her favourite vantage point in the living room, she watched the light filter in from the nearby window. The time was noon. In a matter of moments, Pat would make his way from the kitchen mouse hole to her, squeaking. They would play until sunset, then Mandy would get up and explore her house for the next three hours, then come back to the living room and snuggle up with Pat.
It was a beautiful day. But there was something missing. Her mouse—Pat should be here by now.
Where was he? While her exterior was cool, her heart was worried and hoping he wasn't ill or hurt in any way. Since she didn't see why he should not be around, she was going to be upset if he wasn't. Well, more upset than usual.
"Squeak!"
Pat