Anonymouse Says:

(pretend, dear friends, for
just a moment that the charming illustration of
pussy giving mousie spoon
rides before dinner is just
above these paragraphs. thank you.)

O MUS DOMESTICUS
ANOMINE ET
INAMORATA MEA

a matins devotional
in the style of
St. Katze-Hibernia

Well, not really. It does
get their attention though.
I remember when I lived on
stale zwiebach fragments and dried la leche league drops in the glass-enclosed
mother and infant pew at old Holy Name, and Father
Flaherty went all broody about going over to the
english mass and drank a
whole gift jeraboam of
Connolly's Rye that the
refectory sisters were holding back for Christmas
and the Bishop had him taken to St. Meinrad's downstate to dry out and the two young Jesuits who
drove him scared him half to death with their dark
glasses, shoulder holster
bulges and stinky Gauloise-Bleu cigarets.
Fading in and out of reason in the back seat,
trying not to panic from the strait-jacket under his shoulder-draped black alpaca topcoat, he begged:
"Please, bhoys..good bhoys y'are naow..oi really
hav'ta wee. Won'tcher stop
for me an' loose this restraint a whoil? Any gas
station or corner store
would do as well..pleese?"
When they finally did stop at the crest of a deserted rural hill on the steep bluff side and undid
the crossed hand-pocket ties behind Father's back,
the two Js were behind him and he thought sure and he heard the full-back hammer-cocking click of a Walther-P.38. Shuddering in terror he sank to his knees and clasped his vestpocket rosary between his hands and blubbered:
"Ohhh sweet Mayry an'
Jaysus! Don't ye do it,
bhoys! Don't ye be after
shootin' me naow! Oi swear
oi'll nivver take anuther
drop so long as oi live! With the celebacy an' all it was me only comfort for
forty years but oi can leave it off! Soady pops an' buttermilk, that's me
from naow on t'Judgement!
Oh say a word naow, won't
ye? Just one word o' relief of the shootin'?? Oi'll be good! On the Sacred Heart of Mayry oi
will!"
Jesuit one looked with
a wry smile of recognition
at the Zippo in his hand
which he had just snapped
loudly shut, took a rancid
draw on his Gauloise and gently said, "Aw come on now, Father..let's get back on the road. Just stand up and take your whizz, will you?"
Now I'm only a mouse.. and an anonymous mouse at that..but I swear you can
have a narrative pause that is as full of imposed indignity and chargrin and embarrassment as any stated sentence. And at the end of it, Father
Flaherty looks up at Jesuit one with a face like Tiddy O'Faolin caught in the poorbox and he says miserably:
"Oi..done it, arready."