Cage No. 42
No. 0/2025 Humorous short story sample
This story is dedicated to every mouse and every other living creature that quietly and willingly helps us understand the world through their existence.
Our knowledge would not be what it is today without your sacrifices.
With gratitude and deep respect, the author.
A story by Rowan Rubus, originally published in The Capsule Chronicle (09.09.2025)
In a laboratory lit by the harsh, sterile glare of neon lights—the sort that fails to convince anyone they’re in a remotely cozy place—two mice met in cage number 42. Their story was a tapestry of mysteries, experiments, and a deep, if often horrified, understanding of the strangest creatures in the world: humans.
The Creator, who fashioned humanity with an obvious sense of morbid humour, likely figured it would be cruel if mice were smarter than their test subjects. And so He left them to their sweet ignorance until the advent of progressive science. Fortunately for the future of mouse laboratory experiments, every once in a while, an individual appears among humans who is a little bit smart. In most cases, however, it’s just a truly lucky coincidence.
Professor Mac Mouse, a veteran with a beard weathered by countless runs on the “training wheel”—a device which mice generally called a “hamster” and which resembled nothing so much as a small, rotating torture device—had just finished his daily ritual when a new figure appeared in cage number 42. It was one of those characters whose main goal in life was to find out what was happening beyond the limits of the mice’s vision and what people did when they weren’t in the lab. And such a goal, of course, required a thorough education in ethology.
“Welcome, colleague, I could use some help! I am Professor Mac Mouse, at your service,” he announced jovially, as if he were the captain of a cruise ship about to set sail into unknown waters. “I’m up to my neck in work. It’s as if our scientific community relies exclusively on my ethological research... which, of course, it does. Our field is just like theirs. We have to do it ourselves, since no one else will.”
The younger newcomer, with wide eyes and an uncurled tail, bowed humbly. His tail was a special mouse compass, indicating that Magister Miky was indeed just a beginner in the mouse scientific world.
“Magister Miky, at your service, sir. I can’t believe I’ve made it to you, Professor. Your name... it’s a household name in the world of mouse science. It’s... well, it’s like finding out the trap with the fragrant cheese isn’t actually set.”
Mac Mouse waved a paw as if to dispel the scent of exaggerated compliments and said, “Don’t exaggerate, young man. Instead, tell me how you got here. And worse, why?”
“I study the ethology of human individuals in laboratory conditions, sir,” Miky replied proudly. “Your works were required reading for all students—something like a human bible, except that ours is true. I passed the audition. Dozens of candidates, round after round of tests and mazes... it was harder than finding cheese in a sterile laboratory. But in the end, they chose me.”
“Congratulations,” nodded Mac Mouse. “You must be quick-witted. And now, if you don’t mind, let’s get straight down to business. Not that I want to tire you out, but work calls, and you’re here to advance your experiments, and I’m here to do my job.”
Professor Mac Mouse, with the gravitas of an old university wizard, pointed to a desperate young man in a white coat who was wrestling with his computer. The struggle was visible to all, a battle against a giant where one right move wins the day and one wrong move spells defeat. The professor, with the gravitas of an old magician who knows what he’s doing, whispered:
“Look at him. I taught him that whenever I press this button with my muzzle, he will run here as if on command. Then, of course, I have to pretend to ignore him and scamper around these colourful buttons on the floor. Then he runs to that glowing box on the table and starts tapping on it feverishly. It’s a real ethological triumph. He can handle three conditioned reflexes at once. The other mice always laugh when they see it.”
Miky’s eyes widened in amazement. “That’s incredible, Professor! That’s why you’re a legend! Your experiments are known all over the world! It’s like... like looking in the mirror and seeing something that doesn’t remind you of your work, but rather makes you think about what it is that makes you who you are.”
Or at least share it with your friends so they can enjoy it too.
They definitely need it!
“And that’s not all,” Mac Mouse smiled. “If you’re interested, I can arrange a tour of the laboratory for you. From a bird’s eye view, so to speak. We mice know that it’s just a perspective, but we don’t tell humans about that.”
Miky shuddered. “Professor, isn’t it dangerous? The road is long and unprotected. No bushes, not even any fallen scientific literature to hide behind. And my physical condition... well, it’s more academic than athletic. Although, to be honest, neither is sufficient.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve trained them for this,” Mac Mouse reassured him. “Just do exactly what I tell you. Lie on your back, belly up, paws stiff. Breathe slowly, almost inaudibly. You’ll see. And when you want to come back, start moving your paws slowly.”
Miky obeyed. And then something happened that he would never have expected in the normal mouse world. An alarm went off in the laboratory.
“Oh my God, it’s dying!” squealed one assistant, who was, if you will, one of those who treated the mice like their own children. And as such, he was particularly sensitive to them.
“Take him to the table immediately!” commanded the second one, who pretended to be important, but was really just another mouse slave.
They gently lifted Miky, carried him across the endless laboratory, and placed him on a table full of strange objects. Looking around from his position, Miky thought it looked like a sightseeing flight over a land of giants, except that these giants were wearing white coats. When he had sufficiently surveyed the landscape, he began to slowly move his paws.
“He’s recovering!” rejoiced the assistant who was carrying Miky. “It’s a small miracle!”
And before he could protest, they gently carried him back to his cage.
“That was amazing!” squealed Miky. “I’m fascinated by how you trained them! It’s like training a dog, except that dogs do it for food and people do it out of some strange habit, even without a reward.”
“I admit, it was challenging. It took patience and subtle psychological pressure,” explained Mac Mouse. “Some of our methods are, of course, controversial. For example, we found that if we pretend to be dying long enough, they bring us food that isn’t just those nasty crunchy pellets. We managed to teach them to bring us cheese! Amazing, isn’t it?”
“Well, Professor, what you’ve done with them is nothing short of miraculous,” Miky gushed.
The next day, a new young scientist appeared in the laboratory. Miky, with the keen eye of an ethologist, immediately checked her out.
“I smell a young female in heat, sir,” Miky stated with a strictly scientific expression. “And judging by the size of her mammary glands, I’d say she’ll be a productive mother. Unless, of course, she finds some clumsy partner.”
“Excellent observation skills, young man, you will make a good ethologist,” praised the professor.
And then Miky had an idea worthy of a mouse scientist with a touch of cheekiness.
“Professor, I bet you a day’s ration that I can dance with her! And I know I’ll win, even though she, unlike us, has no dancing skills.”
Mac Mouse frowned. “Dancing? Magister Miky, scientists do not distract themselves with entertainment. Dancing is too unpredictable and based more on instinct than on cold, rational thinking. And what is the ethological value of it? None, unless you do it for scientific purposes. And you know I won’t argue with you, because I know you’re wrong, but on the other hand, what would mouse science be without a little fun?”
“Exactly, sir! For scientific purposes! I want to observe her reaction to an unexpected stimulus,” Miky embarrassed the professor.
“Hmm. All right, then. I’m sure I’ll win, but if you can dance with her, you can have my share,” said Mac Mouse.
Miky waited until the scientist was alone. Then, with the expression of a mad scientist and the confidence of an experienced dancer, he assumed the position his professor had taught him. Belly up, paws stiff, mouth open, tongue out.
The young scientist screamed and immediately took him out of the cage. Miky didn’t hesitate and crawled under her shirt. And then the real ethological madness began. The scientist squealed, thrashed around, and tried to catch him. Miky moved across her body with surgical precision and lightning speed, running across her chest, her hands, her hair... It was a real ethological choreography. The sounds of squealing and throwing chairs echoed throughout the laboratory, which, as it turned out, was just another form of ethological research.
When the situation calmed down, Mac Mouse just shook his head and said, “Well, okay. It was more like St. Vitus’ dance than a tango, and it was like an ethological version of an extra-fast ballet, but I’ll give you the win. Here’s your share.”
When Miky caught his breath, with the importance of an ethologist who had discovered a new law, he said, “Professor, I have another scientific theory for you. That young assistant who caught me—I noticed that he is ready to mate with that young assistant.”
“And how did you figure that out?” asked Mac Mouse, curious about the new facts that, as it turned out, he had missed.
“When he grabbed me and groped that assistant under her shirt, I could smell oxytocin and testosterone coming from him. And besides, when I ran my hands over his body, I noticed that the strange tail that hangs in front of human males was in an unusually erect position and was considerably stiff,” Miky proudly stated.
Mac Mouse thought for a moment. “Excellent! Publish these observations immediately. The scientific community of mice lacks information about human courtship. That tail may prove to be the key. With a discovery like this, you’ll make it into the journal Mouse Nature. And that journal has a reputation for not even publishing articles about the discovery of a new species of mold on cheese! It’s like landing on Mars, only more important to us.”
Miky’s heart swelled with pride. In reality, he just wanted to have fun, but who would argue with scientific fame?
The next day, the assistant came and took Professor Mac Mouse out of the cage.
“Where are you going, Professor?” squeaked Miky, afraid he would lose him.
“To the maze, young man,” replied Mac Mouse. “I go there regularly. They always lose something there and can’t find it without us. They’re hopeless. I’ve tried to teach them how to find their way by smell, but instead of following the scent, they wipe everything down with some liquid that smells like chemicals. I’ve also tried to teach them how to find their way by echo. I explained to them: ‘Stomp your paws, wait a moment, and listen! The echo is different in each section.’ But they just look at each other, realize they can’t hear anything, and go looking for the lost cheese like blind people, which, by the way, is their only real ability.
“You’re joking, right?” asked Miky, surprised.
“No kidding. And you know what’s worst? Once I showed them the simplest method. The one that even a lobotomized mouse can master. I showed them that they can mark their path with drops of urine. But what did they do? They came with rags and wiped everything away. They are completely hopeless. It’s my biggest scientific failure,” Mac Mouse concluded coldly.
When the professor returned the next day, Miky noticed that he had a small wound on his tail. Miky was startled.
“Professor, are you okay?”
“But, yes. They just took my blood. I go to donate regularly. Besides being useful for their medical research, I always get an extra meal for it. And they even give me cheese for dinner!”
At that moment, a young assistant and a young scientist arrived at the laboratory, sleepy and tired. They sat at their computers, staring into space and sipping coffee.
“We should help them, Magister,” said Mac Mouse. “They are completely useless. Let’s do an ethological intervention.”
And so both mice began pressing the button on the cage and then, as if deprived of their senses, jumping on the buttons on the floor. The assistants immediately jumped out of their chairs and ran to the cage. The young assistant spilled coffee on himself in the process. Then they returned and wrote something down diligently.
“You see, colleague?” said Mac Mouse. “Without us, they wouldn’t get anything done properly today. It’s our duty to take care of our experimental material. It’s kind of like... mouse karma. And as the old mouse saying goes: Science is about helping each other. Regardless of whether you’re a mouse or a human.”
When darkness fell and silence descended on the laboratory, interrupted only by the quiet hum of the air conditioning, Professor Mac Mouse led Miky to the corner of the cage, where cheese was unexpectedly scattered on the floor.
“Look, Magister,” whispered Mac Mouse. “This is our greatest weapon. Today you learned how to dance with them, how to help them with their work, but that’s only a small part of our plan. Our goal is not just to survive, but to advance. We mice are the rulers of the world. These humans are just our... auxiliary material.”
Miky looked at the cheese with admiration and asked, “What will happen to us, Professor? ... When they leave one day?”
Mac Mouse laughed: “That’s the best part. When they leave one day, they’ll leave us their laboratories. Then we’ll be free to conduct our own ethological research, build new laboratories, and... finally create the perfect cheese. And maybe, in their archives, we’ll discover that we are actually the ones who were supposed to be the guinea pigs from the beginning.”
Miky sat down next to the professor with a smile and enjoyed the cheese. He knew that his career in ethology had just begun.