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Snots
Colm Fogarty
Colm Fogarty is 29 years old and grew up in
Tallaght, Dublin, Ireland. He has been interested in creative writing and poetry
since his early teens. However, it wasn't until this year that he had his
first short story: Tiny and Whistler published in a Dublin newspaper. The short story,
which is about a homeless man and his tramp dog, will be made into a short film in 2005.
Colm also has a keen interest in painting, particularly watercolours,and he is hoping to organise an exhibition of his work in the near future..
"Ha,ha,ha...this
should be a laugh. Let's see how good his eyesight is really?" I thought to myself, caressing
Snots on the back of the class.
You see, Snots was no ordinary mouse--he was from a
rare breed of mice. He was white and brown with a dot of black, which formed a star in the
middle of his forehead. He was the tamest, sweetest thing ever. He slept with me and basically
did everything with me. I had a tank for him but I saw it as cruel and only used it for the
babies when I was breeding.
Mischief was high on my agenda today--anything to break the
slow monotony of the English class with Mr French. Why not teach French--that would be more apt, I
thought. A smile crossed my lips.
"So Snots, let's see how the boys like you, and if there
were no 'rats' we should be in for some laughs."
When I wanted to hide Snots I just pushed him
| "Anywhere I hid
Snots he, by instinct, tried to get out, thinking that was the game. This was the only time I
prayed he'd stay put." |
through the
buttons in my shirt, leaving him free to roam around my body, tickling me and never failing to
make me laugh.
Anyway, I waited until his class was in full
swing. The lads were all excited and tried their hardest to hide their smiles. Now Mr French
wore the bottle end glasses, roughly about an inch thick, or so it seemed. It was only when
someone was before him that he could make out their faces.
"You," he'd say, "come up here now, whoever you are..."
"Me, sir?" I would say, taking the rap for O'Grady--just
for the crack.
"Yes, you, come here. I should have known it would have
been you."
It was only when I'd be literally inches from him he
would focus in on the face.
"What did you say?" he quipped, cane in hand.
"Sir, I could have sworn there was something running across
your desk," I'd say in my straightest voice.
"Explain yourself, lad," he said and shook me angrily--
fixing his bow tie, as he composed himself.
"I think it was a mouse, Sir." I couldn't contain my smile.
"Get your smirking little face over to the Principal's
office immediately, Fogarty."
* * *
Snots was happily
tucked away in my pocket as I anxiously walked towards Brother Scanlon's office for the third
time that week. Anywhere I hid Snots he, by instinct, tried to get out, thinking that was the
game. This was the only time I prayed he'd stay put.
Fixing myself, I walked into the office of Brother Scanlon.
I waited until I got it before putting on my tie for two reasons: one, if he'd seen me without
it he'd lash me with detention. (French's class was the only class you could get away without
it, because he was blind as a bat.); secondly, I used it to stop Snots walking up my neck as
he always did, closing my top button and putting on my tie.
I was panicking now, and I tightened my tie until I nearly
cut off my air supply. I pulled on my jumper, hoping to block Snots escaping through the button
flaps in my shirt. Thinking I had him well and truly imprisoned, I approached the dreaded
Principal's office.
Brother Scanlon had the sweetest secretary, Rose, an old
woman of seventy years, who had now taken to making me comfortable for a couple of minutes
while I waited my trial. We had struck up quite a relationship--such was the frequent visits
I was making to this overly furnished office. I took up my seat in a beautiful Victorian antique
leather padded chair.
Snots was running riot in around my body!
Rose asked me if I was OK, remarking on how flushed I looked.
"Just warm." I said. I knew it was the wrong thing to say,
for no sooner had I said it than I knew she would say, "Take off your jumper, son."
I stiffled a gasp.
Snots, the little bugger, was determined to escape.
"No, Rose, I'm grand. Sure he," pointing at the Principal's
office, "might go mad if I'm not in full uniform." I was happy with my quick thinking.
"Quite right, son, good thinking. Sure he is in good humour
today."
She said the same the other day and I got a week's
detention!
Brother Scanlon liked to let you sweat it out, usually it
was the same drill: ten minutes of anxious sweating.
* * *
"Come in and close
the door behind you," He barked out behind the closed door.
"Yes, sir, thanks." I tried to be polite.
"So what's it this time? Isn't this
| "Ah, he's
unusual. Fifty pence I'll give yeh," he said, smiling, thinking of his profit. "Fifty pence!
Are you serious? He is worth at least a fiver, Mister!" |
the third or fourth time this week? It's becoming a daily pilgrimage for you. What did you do
this time? And the truth--because I would be hearing it in a minute from your teacher," he said,
matter-of-factly.
"Sir, all I said to Mister French was that I thought I'd
seen a mouse on his desk and I wasn't the only one to see it either."
Snots had devised his escape; slowly he was on the third
button, using them as a ladder--the cunning little bugger!
"A mouse on his desk. Are you winding him up again? Ain't
no mice in this school…there are plenty of rats to scare them away." he said, angrily.
Sweating, I felt Snots work his way up to my shirt. He was
now on my second button from the top. Please tie, keep the little bugger in. This will
definitely be expulsion for me if he sees those beady little eyes!
I felt his nose pushing hard against my neck, my voice went
and I was surely giving the game away when his little head--black start and all--popped
over my collar. Holding my head down I tried in vain to push him back down my neck--useless!
"What's your problem? Look at me!" He ordered, getting up
from behind his walnut desk.
"Sir, sir...it's just my pet mouse," I said, trying to
defend myself.
"A PET MOUSE...in my office? I will give you a pet mouse--a
dead one!" He said, with the blood vessels nearly bursting on his neck as he lunged at me to
throttle me and Snots.
* * *
My exit was aided by
Rose coming in with her silver tea set; on seeing Snots she dropped the whole shebang--tea,
biscuits, sugar--and screamed. I ran as fast as my feet cold take me with Brother Scanlon in
hot pursuit, screaming: "Stop that little brat!" to nobody in particular, running over the
gates and nearly getting a bang of a car and hoping that Scanlon would!
I looked back--he was using the gate to hold himself up
from the exhaustion and smokes. Out on Camden St, I still ran, Snots in my hand, and I made for
the pet store on Aungier St, running through the door to the owner of the shop.
"What's going on here?" the owner said, bemused.
"It's me mouse, Mister. My teacher wants to kill him. You have
to buy him from me. I know he'll do it if you don't." I said, crying as Snots looked at me
unaware of the drama unfolding.
"Give me a look at him. I've dozens of little critters in here.
Ah, he's unusual. Fifty pence I'll give yeh," he said, smiling, thinking of his profit.
"Fifty pence! Are you serious? He is worth at least a fiver,
Mister!" I said, sobbing.
He surely found this funny.
"Not to me, he ain't kid."
Walking out the door, I clutched the dirty fifty pence.
Snots was some snakes dinner.
RIP Snots!
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