The secret society “Rodents In Charge of Ruling Over Cats” (AKA RIC ROC) had come to order. Master Randal Weasel was taking roll, “Mouse, M.”

“Here!” came the tiny but shrill scream.

“Mouse, J.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.” came another lazy response.

“Gopher, P.”

“Go ‘fer, what?” was the answer in a redneck southern tone.

“No,” he took a deep breath, “your name.”

“Why do I need to go get one when I already have one?”

“You don’t, you just need to say ‘here’.”

“Well, you already know I’m here, you gave me a ride!”

“Yeah, cause we can’t all fend for ourselves can we,” he said under his breath. “Rat, A.”

“Whatever.” the rat mumbled. But the meeting continued despite his displeasure.

“So what are we going to do about the cats in the Northeastern part of the city?” asked Jasper Mouse who only cared because he lived the closest to them.

“I don’t know,” Paused Master Randal Weasel. “Mick,” he spoke to the other Mr. Mouse, “You used to live out there, what do you think we should do?”

Mick Mouse shuddered. He had moved out of there on purpose not too long ago and he didn’t want to talk about it. “I don’t know. I left because of the cats. …” He paused to think of his wife and five dozen children. “I just want them gone, I don’t care how.”

There was a long pause before Anthony “Big Tony” Rat piped up to voice his plan. “So we approach the dogs from afar. They don’t even have to know who’s hiring them.”

“I don’t know.” said Phillbilly Gopher.

“Yeah, what if they don’t go for it?” asked Jasper.

“We’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse. And bada-bing bada-boom they’ll be sleeping in fishbowls!”

“I doubt it.” said Mick Mouse a bit too loudly, everyone stopped and stared at him.

“What do you mean, Mick?” asked Master Randal.

Suddenly a fluffy, white Persian cat jumped through an open window and nailed Randal down. That darn, cat was then followed by half a dozen more cats that held down the others and rapped up the party.

“But this is a secret society!” whined Jasper.

“Mick, why did you do this to us?” begged Randal.

“Because,” Mick said with the closest thing to a shrug a mouse can render. “I’m a mole.”