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Ted relishes the idle quiet at the Dog Track, when everyone is focused but there’s still proof of life in the locker room. Right now, everyone is getting changed out of their practice kits. The shower runs distantly, he can hear the players chatting while they get dressed, and there’s classical music playing quietly from Roy’s office while he reads over a list of player reports.
It’s enough activity that Ted knows he isn’t alone, but not so much that he’s distracted from the task at hand: reading the latest Telegraph writeups about Richmond, and trying to remember which British newspapers are actually news, and which are more about celebrity gossip than the truth.
He’s thinking through the list, counting off reporters by where they sit in the press room, when three things happen at once.
One: there’s an ear-piercing shriek from across the desk.
Two: Beard topples out of his chair, book flying through the air and landing on top of his foot.
Three: A gray streak flashes across the corner of his eye.
“Coach!” Ted jumps up and offers a hand to pull him up. “What the heck was that? I know what my momma always said about chair tippin’, but you’ve got better balance than that.”
“Oi!” Before Beard can answer, the door to Roy’s office swings open. “Who the fuck just died while they were playing a fucking recorder?”
“Ooh, very specific sound description there, Roy,” Ted gives him a thumbs up. “But you’re a little off the mark. Our good buddy Beard here fell off of his chair.”
“I did not!” Beard protests. “I just saw a mouse run across the floor and … wanted to examine it more closely.”
Ted opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, hubbub rises from the locker room. It begins with a scream to rival Beard’s. All three coaches go out to investigate; as they step into the room, Colin ducks in front of them and out the door.
“Bye, Colin! See you tomorrow!” Ted calls after him. He chuckles when Colin shouts something that sounds like “we’ll see” as he runs down the hallway.
Ted turns to the rest of the team. “Was that about the—”
“Mouse, yeah.” Isaac confirms, hoisting his bag and Colin’s over one shoulder. “I’m gonna … go after him, Coach. Training tomorrow, yeah?”
“Your regularly scheduled Tuesday programming, for sure, Captain.” Ted waves him off. “Now, who saw which way the little guy went?”
“Colin? He went out the door, Coach.” Jan Maas points down the hallway.
“Good observation, Jan, but I actually meant the furry little guy who’s causing a stir in everyone’s afternoon. I assume he’s grey? Ooh, I shouldn’t assume. Uh, they’re grey?”
“That’s right, Coach,” Sam confirms. “A little grey mouse. They were moving very fast, but I imagine they’re pretty adorable.”
“Fuck that,” Jamie groans. “Mice ain’t cute. Puppies, now there’s a cute animal.”
“Ooh, or kittens!” Zoreaux adds. This sets off a discussion that quickly turns heated, as everyone argues about the relative cuteness of their favorite animals.
“OK, alright, let’s settle down.” Ted waves at the group. “We’ve all identified some real adorable critters just now, but I think we’re losing the task at hand. There is a mouse in this house. What are we going to do about it?”
A murmur ripples through the players, then Dani looks up. “There is only one solution: we must set fire to the building, before the evil creature has the opportunity to escape.”
“Alright, uh, a little violent there, Dani, and maybe a little bit of overkill. But hey, thanks for getting the ball rolling. Any other suggestions?”
“We should set a humane trap to catch it,” Sam offers. “With some mouse-friendly bait. Then, we can look for a local wildlife sanctuary.”
“Ah, a humane trap, yes.” Dani nods. “Then, it will know what is coming when we kill it. Preferably with fire.” He grins. Everyone stares at him, until Jamie breaks the silence by moving to sit next to Dani on the bench.
“Maybe you and me just get out of here, Muchacho.” He slings an arm around Dani’s shoulders. “We can go back to mine, play some video games? Not that I’m afraid to be here with a mouse around,” Jamie adds, addressing the group. “But, uh, I think maybe Dani shouldn’t be alone right now. He might … arson something or whatever.”
“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea, Jamie. The two of you go enjoy your evening, and hopefully this’ll all be taken care of by tomorrow.”
“If it is not, please let me know before training.” Dani requests, and Ted nods. “I will come prepared for a fire. And s’mores.”
Jamie follows him out of the locker room, but stops at the door and turns around. When he speaks, his voice shakes, and Ted wonders if he’s leaving for Dani’s benefit or his own. Either way, he smiles at the young man.
“Uh, maybe don’t call him tomorrow? I don’t know if I can actually keep him from startin’ a fire.”
“Noted. Have a good night, Jamie.” Ted pretends not to notice as Jamie bolts out of the locker room, then turns back to everyone else. “Anyway. Ideas? I agree with Sam, we should make sure that whatever we do, we prioritize the little guy-or-girl's safety.”
“Why?” Jan Maas raises his hand. “It is not like the mouse is worried about protecting us. Mice carry many diseases: hantavirus, lymphocytic choriomeningitis, typhus. Oh, the plague.” He shrugs.
“But many mice have been domesticated as pets,” Sam argues. “And either way, they are a living creature and should be treated with respect.”
“Mice are incredible animals.” Richard nods slowly, a grin creeping across his face. “They reach sexual maturity in 35 days.”
“You know what, I think that’s enough fun facts.” Ted shakes his head. “I’m not even going to ask why y’all know so much about mice; quite frankly, some questions are better left unanswered. Besides, we still have to figure out what we’re doing to catch the darned thing.”
“A shoebox?” Sam suggests. “We have plenty of them in the boot room, and there’s nothing that would hurt a mouse inside.”
“Hey, now we’re thinking! Did anyone see which way they went?” Everyone points a different direction and Ted sighs. “Yeah, I thought that’d be too easy. Alright, anyone know what might lure them out of wherever they’re hiding?”
“Mouse nuggets.” Everyone turns to look at Roy. “Fuck off, I’m serious. Got some in my office; Phoebe is pet-sitting for school this week and wanted Mr. Barnabus Squeakerton III to see the Dog Park, but her ‘social calendar was too full to accompany him.’” Roy folds his arms. A moment later, his eyes go wide. “FUCK!”
He turns for his office, then comes back muttering a litany of profanities. “I cannot lose my fucking life at the hands of a group of fucking 9-year-olds. We find the fucking mouse, and we do not hurt a fucking fur on his tiny fucking head!”
“You heard the man! Welcome to the inaugural – and hopefully final – meeting of the Taskforce Dedicated to the Location and Recovery of … Roy, you said it was Mr …" Ted trails off.
“Mr. Barnabus Squeakerton III. Apparently the generational suffix is critical.” Roy says.
“Recovery of Mr. Barnabus Squeakerton III,” Ted finishes with a straight face. “We are dedicated to finding this treasured pet and bringing him home safely.”
“Her.”
“What’s that now, Roy?”
“Bringing her home safe. Mr. Barnabus is a girl.”
“Alrighty. Never underestimate the creative and inclusive prowess of elementary schoolers.”
“Primary schoolers.”
“Y’all’s education is weird.”
“Yours is American.”
“Fair enough. Anyway, let’s divvy up and start canvassing. Roy, if you’ve got those mouse nuggets, they could be mighty handy right about now.”
Ted divides everyone up into pairs, but quickly realizes there are an odd number of people left. Before he can suggest calling Rebecca for reinforcement, Bumbercatch raises his hand.
“If it’s all the same, Coach, I’d rather search independently. My outside experiences may prove fruitful in a way that will not be aided by an amateur search party. No offense.” He looks around at the group; everyone shakes their heads, admitting that they’ve never been in this particular predicament before.
“Well that made the math mighty easy then. Roy, four servings of mouse nuggets, please.”
“And a handful of the cage lining,” Bumbercatch requests.
Supplies in hand, the groups break off for different sections of the locker room, the boot room, the showers, and the coaches’ offices. Bumbercatch closes the door to the boot room, but everyone else can be heard calling Barnabus by her full name. Mouse nuggets bounce off of the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs as the remaining Greyhounds check every nook and cranny, anywhere a mouse could fit.
“Have we considered that she might still be on the move?” Ted asks, when he and Beard have completed their first lap of the showers. “I mean, it could be that as soon as we finish looking somewhere, she moves into that place.”
“Sure, but that would be cheating. The rules of hide and seek are very clear.”
“I’m not sure if mice play by the same rules we do, Coach.” Ted pauses for a moment, then continues hesitantly. “Ollie ollie oxen free?”
They both freeze, watching closely for any movement.
“Ah, damn,” Beard says, when nothing happens. “I was hoping it’d be that easy.”
“Nothing worthwhile ever is,” Ted replies. They look around the showers again, to no avail, before deciding to join Roy and Sam in the coaches’ office.
They haven’t had any success either, so after another check with Ted and Beard as fresh eyes, the four of them end up in the main locker room, helping inspect the last few lockers.
“Is Moe still in there?” Ted nods toward the boot room, slumping down on the bench when they finish checking underneath.
“The door has not opened,” Jan Maas says. “But I suppose he could be in the ventilation system. If he found the right path, he could be anywhere by now.”
“Well, that’s reassuring.” Ted’s voice suggests that he doesn’t actually find it reassuring at all. “If he’s not out in 10 minutes, I’ll go knock.”
Everyone nods, and the group waits in silence. It’s comfortable, but they’re all tired after practice, and even more so after the great mouse escapade.
Ted counts off the minutes in his head, a little bit more than eight and a half of them, until there’s movement inside the boot room. The door handle twists, and Bumbercatch emerges. He’s got his sweatshirt sleeve pulled down over his hand, and he’s completely ignoring everyone in favor of murmuring at the cuff of it. There are bits of the cage bedding stuck to his arm.
“That’s right, you’re a good girl, Mr. Barnabus Squeakerton III. Even if you gave us all a scare, I’m sure you’re still just excellent.”
“Moe?” Ted interjects softly. “You found her?”
“Oh, yeah.” He looks up, like he’s only just remembering that there are other people around. “It wasn’t difficult, but I got lucky that she was hiding in the boot room.”
“The fuck did you do?” Roy stands up, moving closer to check on the mouse. “Crawl into her fucking cage?”
“Nah, just laid out a little nest of food and bedding, then waited quietly. She’s shy, but she came out for a snack. Then I moved down to the floor and let her come over to me when she was ready. Easiest trap in the book: making friends.” He strokes the mouse’s head with one finger. “She’s a sweet girl, yeah?”
“Somethin’ like that,” Roy mutters. “C’mon, get her back in the fucking cage so we can go the fuck home.” He holds out the enclosure and Moe slides the mouse inside.
“Goodbye, my little friend,” he whispers as Roy does up the latch.
“Fuckin’ dropping her back off at my sister’s on the way home. The hell she’s getting loose in my house if this shit happens again.” Roy grumbles all the way back to the office, where he shrugs into his leather jacket before bidding everyone goodbye.
“Well. This was certainly an adventurous afternoon,” Ted says, when the door has swung closed behind Roy. “Coach, a pint?”
“You got it, Coach.”
“Alright, the rest of y’all, in the words of Semisonic, ‘you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.’ We’ll see y’ns in the morning.”
Everyone says goodnight, then Ted stops halfway to the door.
“Oh, Sam?”
“Yes, Coach?”
“Uh, maybe go ahead and text Dani. I don’t want him buyin’ any flammables tonight.”