I open my eyes, wipe away the excess fur, and take a deep breath. It’s a new day. I kiss my loving wife and son goodbye, and head out to do my job- terrorizing the students of Woodrow Wilson High.
You might ask why I choose to spend my days doing this profession. Do I love watching humans scream? No. Is the economy falling apart and I need to take any job I can get? Yes. Don’t hate the player, kids. Hate the game.
The bell has rung. Let us begin. I start the day by going to the 4th floor. A target has been spotted: the girl’s bathroom. I crack my neck, shimmy my rear end, and go. I emerge out of the wall, tail flowing gracefully behind me, feeling the cool floor underneath my hands and feet. Into the bathroom I go. The first victim of the day is applying (a wonderfully scented) deodorant. When she sees me out of the corner of her eye, she immediately shrieks. The pee-shy girl in the stall shrieks next, unsure of what to do with her feet. I decide this situation is too dangerous, as I am in prime stomping territory, and scurry out.
I decide to hit six classrooms over the span of the next two periods. Classroom one is a blast. I scare em’ big time, and hide behind the smart board. Once all eyes are on the board, BOOM. Out I go. The kids scream at first, followed by laughter. A shaggy haired boy in a yellow t-shirt thinks it would be funny to lure me to his desk with pieces of the cheese from the cold slice of pizza that he had shoved in his lunchbox.
One of the stresses of the job is having to play dumb. If I went over to the guy and bit his toe, followed by a sprint out the door, he might get suspicious. Instead, I creep over to the cheese, take a nibble, and am satisfied by his curious grin. I scurry away.
Classrooms two through five are pretty much a repeat of classroom one. I am lured with a cracker, a chewed up wad of gum, pepperoni, and pencil shavings. Hey, points for creativity right? I sigh with relief. It’s lunchtime, my favorite part of the day. I head on over to the cafeteria. I run out of the kitchen, my number one favorite thing to do. The mere sight of my tiny body exiting from the KITCHEN is enough to make six kids scream within a four foot radius. I chuckle. Ah, the joy of watching humans squeal. I’ve never understood why they’re so afraid of us. We’re an honest, hardworking kind. Nothing to be scared of! Not to mention the fact that we are the size of one of their hands…
The rest of the day passes by slowly. Nothing too exciting. A scream here and there, a few attempts to catch me with a binder, the usual. Finally, the last bell rings. I wipe the sweat off my whiskers, blow my stuffy nose into somebody’s forgotten algebra 2 study guide, and take the elevator up to the third floor to go home. (Give me a break, my feet hurt.) I slip through a crack between the two lockers . Home at last.
PHOTO COURTESY OF WIKIMEDIA
