HE REALIZED THAT HE WAS PROBABLY ABOUT TO DIE- IT WAS A SHAME, REALLY, seeing that he had only started to realize things, such as an epiphany about the truth of contemporary rodent relations, arguing that North American mice were made to believe they were these all powerful and independent machines, heroes working to break out of Superman pods, when, well, mice tried to scurry a certain way, or squeak a certain way, all based on an idea of cool that was created by a mouse they hadn’t even met. Wasn’t very heroic… Six minutes. He thought he’d miss that- the whole coming to realizations thing.
I’m not some bitch-ass Mayfly! I’m an American white-foot, motherfucker!
Wasn’t the best trap: Left you with just enough time to over-think things. But then again he thought about many things. At any given minute he might think I don’t wanna die don’t wanna that deer mouses’ hair was crazy where do I know her from OH Steve’s party I’m hungry cheese. There was something beautiful about living a long life, and having kids, and growing old with mice you loved, or so he thought. But how would he know, seeing that he hadn’t grown old, or had kids, or grown old with mice that he loved. Maybe friends just died off, and left you. That thought gave him some solace.*