a view from under the pew: the holiday cheese run-off

Gary Mitchell: Religion columnist

amos the churchmouse:

a view from under the pew

Editor’s note: Amos is a churchmouse, who types by hopping on a computer keyboard, but he can’t operate the capital shift, and he shuns punctuation marks – except hyphens and dashes.

the holiday cheese run-off

boss i guess you heard

about my holiday cheese

binge the mouthy magpies and

busybody blue jays can t

seem to find anything

else to talk about this week

they could chirp and

chortle all they wanted to

about my eating habits

boss and it wasn t a problem

for me until just the other

day when i nearly got stuck

in the mouse hole in the

corner of the choir loft

it was an ugly sight

boss my rear end was shakin

to beat the band just to

get my body unstuck from

that hole in the wall

i finally did get unstuck -

thanks to louie the songdog

who lassoed my foot and

yanked with all his hairy

might i m not sure boss

but i think my left hind

leg is now a bit longer

than my other three i feel

a little like the drunk guy

walking along the curb - one

foot in the street and one

on the curb - and wondering

why the world is tilted

i tell ya boss i needed to

go on a super-duper

exercise program one that

would trim and tone my

little fat mousy hide

i recalled flashbacks

from the past - running

around a mousetrack in

high school - scenes of

fellow runners cavorting

in the bugtussle marathon -

what scintillating specimens

of athletic prowess exclamation

point here boss

so running became my goal

in life i was going to get

in shape no more flubby

tubby for me i had visions

of myself as a supercharged

lean mean mouse machine

come on boss humor me

at least quit snickering

under your breath

early the next morning

i donned my cheesecloth

jogging suit and charged

around the loop in the

church s fellowship hall -

for about twenty paces

that is - i tripped over a

wadded-up church bulletin

and landed smack dab on

my chin whiskers

so i decided to run a

loop around the church s

rose garden but i kept

being bombarded by a

band of nose-diving

mosquitoes i ran harder

but it was no use i was

too easy a target

i cowered behind an

old dead tree stump

and tried to retrieve

my breath and any

movable muscles i can t

make it i muttered to

myself when i thought

no one was listening

about that time sammy

salamander waddled by and

says why don t you try what

the indians used to do when

they ran long distances

what s that says me in

a wheezing whisper

each runner would put a

small smooth round stone