The Legend of Whitey

Once upon a time, there was a lucky mouse named Whitey. Not that the mouse arrived in my home with his own name, but I bestowed the moniker upon him for the simple fact he was white in color. Basic reasoning, same as for when you meet someone who smells ‘all the be damned’ and you privately refer to them as stinky, stank ass, doo doo, dookie, dookie booty, or James. Ironically, I’ve known a lot of dudes over the years who bathed irregularly named James.

I purchased Whitey at a local pet store to feed our Cape Albino African House Snake named Scarlett. My other snake, a Hognose named Ziggy Piggy, eats frozen/thawed mice like it’s nobody’s business, but Scarlett is a different story altogether. All snakes are unique and possess their own personalities. We rarely identify this as humans because we’re too busy running from or killing them. The Bible gave snakes the worst PR of any creature imaginable and damn the old bastards who continued this tradition for the sake of really selling this whole ‘religion’ thing. Snakes are amazing creatures. One of mine is kind of a ‘derp’.

I walked into DFW Reptarium – shout out for being the best reptile store in the Dallas/Ft. Worth metroplex – and requested a small, white, live feeder mouse. The clerk returned from the back, which I can only assume is the smelliest room in the entire city of Plano, Texas, with the luckiest mouse in the world. Mice stink, bottom line. Their metabolism is super high, meaning they shit everywhere and often. People who raise their own feeder mice for their reptile hobby have dedicated rooms for such activities, and they’re disgracefully pathetic. For the sake of this article, I shall refer to such rooms as “James Rooms”.

So, the clerk returned from the James Room with Whitey. Scarlett is a meticulous snake, and this mouse ticked all the boxes. A little on the small, yet chubby side, alive and kicking, and colored white are her prerequisites. Much like being a MAGA member, right? She’s also a dull orange, much like the leader of the MAGA-ots, and it took everything we had not to name her ‘Donnie’ or “Covfeffe” when we brought her home.

Scarlett refused two frozen/thawed meals during the previous week and was exhibiting some major hunting behavior for ‘live’ prey. We were hoping to switch her to frozen thawed so we wouldn’t have to make a weekly one hour round trip from Downtown Dallas to Plano just so she could eat. Nope, she wasn’t having it, and live mice are still her preferred sustenance. Enter: Whitey.

I dropped Whitey to his doom inside the incredible snake enclosure my wife hand sculpted lovingly. Both of us being in the fine art industry, me retired and she the GM of a fine art coordination corporation, she wanted our snake enclosures to be remarkable sights rather than pitiful tubs lined with newspaper. Whitey was immediately overtaken with wonder at his sudden, new surroundings. Think Avatar, only not as preachy, blue, boring, and secretly unwanted by today’s movie goer. How in the hell did that sequel top two billion dollars? Then, the tongue flicking began.

Scarlett stuck her head out from her ‘hide’ enclosure and waited for Whitey to come running by. He did, and she failed. Totally struck and hit the glass. Ouch. Then, again. And again. The two continued this snake and mouse game for over an hour. Finally, the snake decided to depart her makeshift turtle cosplay and cruise the enclosure. It was too late, and she was too pampered to display the necessary aggression.

The mouse, which is the most intelligent being on the planet according to Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, found an exact match for his coloration and stayed perfectly still. Thing Schwarzenegger vs The Predator. The snake passed the mouse multiple times before finally coming face to face with her dinner once more. Scarlett did the unthinkable. She crawled up, tongue kissed the mouse, and went back into her cave.

After removing the mouse to safety and trying again several hours later, it was determined that the snake and mouse had officially become friends. Whitey the mouse survived not one, but three rounds of Snake Thunderdome by simply exhibiting the power of cuteness. That is why I thought it only fair the mouse be allowed to live on its own terms in the wilds of North Oak Cliff aka Bishop Arts Dallas. He’d earned it.

With a heavy heart, I slipped the mouse through a carelessly open space in a car’s driver side window. This vehicle was a visitor to our gated condominium complex and managed to steal my parking space while my wife and I enjoyed a movie. Knock at the Cabin to be more precise. Feel free to check out that review here. Anyway, the legend of Whitey the mouse shall continue in a foreign land far from our snake enclosure, or in a junkyard from the inevitable wreck destined to occur when a white mouse runs up the leg of the vehicle’s owner. Godspeed, Whitey. Your perseverance and victory shall be a lesson to this complete stranger. Either they’ll never park in a reserved space again or they won’t have a car to park at all.

I’m good with either. Win/Win.


Honestly, how many of you thought you’d be reading a piece on racism? It’s black history month. Why would I do that?

Get off my lawn!


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