Harriet

"Harriet."

She said it again.

"Harriet." Twirling her whiskers she added a deep trill to it.

"Harriet." Next she made it climb like an ascending scale.

"Harriet!"

Harriet was a mouse. I should say "Harriet IS a mouse" because she's still alive and thriving. Today she was particularly thriving. Standing in front of a little chip of mirror she was rotating to see all of herself. And, it must be admittied, it was a fine thing to look at. She had the glossiest coat- all brown and satiny. While her little brothers and sisters were out scrounging for extra crumbs, Harriet preferred to comb her silky fur. The eyes that looked back at her in the mirror were large and brown with little golden threads sparkling here or there. And her whiskers were of the appropriate droop and length. In short, she was about as attractive as little mice come. Very nice.

However, as she stood before the mirror today, Harriet was not happy. No. Not at all.

"It's no use." She exhaled noisily and sank to the ground so all that could be seen in the mirror were the tips of her tiny velvet ears. "It's no use at all. I'll never have it. Aunty Marge is right. Some people are born with it. Some aren't. I must be an aren't."

Aunty Marge was a mouse who had travelled, and had seen the world! Her life had been one enormous adventure after another. But we're not talking about her. This is not her story. This is Harriet's. Aunt Marge just kind of starts it.

Harriet had been listening in on and adult conversation last night, and while listening she had heard Aunt Marge say, "There's this flare, this sparkle which sets some of us apart. Which destines us for greatness. An inner fire that makes us dare and do... and LIVE!" (Harriet's parents laughed) But Harriet thought it sounded wonderful. Ah! to live such a life! Her eyelashes flickered in nervousness just thinking about it.

When she woke up this morning, Harriet had immediately jumped out of bed. From the time she got up until midmorning when she sat down in front of the mirror chip, she had been practicing being a sparkle. She had brushed her fur to its highest gloss. She had waxed her whiskers so they drooped just right. And then she began to practive being "destined for greatness."

She decided that entrances and first impressions are extremely important. So she practiced moving down the stairs in her house with grace and poise. Now, it must be explained that however glossy her fur was and however perfect her whiskers, Harriet had a problem with balance. Harriet had a problem with coordination. In all reality, I suppose you can't have a problem with something that you don't have, but Harriet did. She was clumsy. And after falling down the stairs four times, sliding down them two times, and stubbing her paws eleven times, she decided that she had just better hope that when her time to sparkle came- there would be no stairs involved.

Next was culturing herself. She figured that if she was going to go out and live in the world, she had better know what was going on, so that she could present a very concise, educated, knowledgeable view on a broad range of subjects. Aunt Marge could do this, and (it was rumored) Aunt Marge had stood before kings. Harriet wanted to stand before kings. So she went to her library. Unfortunately her family was fond of books. The only reading material they had was stripped away from an outside of a cereal box because her mother wanted to know what was in the cereal since her little brother was allergic to whey. (There was no whey in this cereal.) But Harriet dutifully memorized all the ingredients on the box, because you never knew when a king would suddenly have the urge to know exactly what was in his Frosted Flakes.

Then she had gone to the mirror. She wanted people to be impressed with her. And, since she couldn't enter a room gracefully, she decided that the next best thing would be to do introductions really well. So, she practiced saying her name (in a way that would inspire devotion, respect, awe, love, etc.). In all honesty she practiced a lot. But she couldn't seem to get it just right.

Quietly, shoulders humped, with her eyes glazed over looking at the ground, Harriet sat there drawing circles in the dust with her toes.

"It's no good. I wasn't born for greatness. I'll never have adventures. It's just not in me. I must be a sparkle-less mouse. I did so want to be great...."

Hunched over and discouraged, Harriet had no idea what was coming.

(The Adventures of Harriet.... to be continued.)