LILA THE ABETTOR

The streetlights lit the floor before her, and into the space she placed a clean mousetrap with a shiny, fresh piece of cheese. Cheese, she had read, would overheat a mouse’s blood.

In the light, she could barely read the words written on the face of the old-fashioned spring-loaded trap: in block letters on the bottom right-hand corner, simply “Mousetrap,” and above it in curlicued cursive style the brand name Abettor! Lila sat on the linoleum, writing invisible Abettors in the dust on the floor.

I have only one type of handwriting, she thought. That’s no surprise... everybody does. Everyone writes in the same style all the time. So boring!

She moved back slightly and stifled a yawn.

Always the same handwriting…I can write three letters to three different people in a week, and they all look alike. I mean, I really enjoy Tammy’s company, but Roger…oh boy…

She shifted her knelt-on legs.

I’ll bet if I reread all the letters I wrote to Roger in the past ten weeks I’d be shocked. Shocked at all those half-truths. But he’ll never know. It’s all just me talking. He’ll never know even if he steals one of my letters to Tammy and puts his and hers side by side. Deceive you? ME? Never, Roger! Look, here’s the proof. You see?...a “the” is a “the,” a “what” is a “what”...a “dear” is a “dear,” my darling.

She sighed.

And it’s too bad, too, because he writes such nice letters in return.

“Pathetic,” she said aloud, and then slapped her hand on her mouth.

She looked across the floor. There was no sign of activity from the mousehole.

Oh well, she thought, and she reached across the floor, took the cheese, and ate it.