The tale of the missing mouse
Once upon a time, a humble woodworker was given a shiny new computer with a very magical mouse.
Now this mouse was magical in many ways. It had no buttons or cables, just like a living mouse. When the simple woodworker used it, all he had to do was move his rough and clumsy fingers over the mouse's back and the cursor on the computer screen responded in excellent style.
The good woodworker loved his mouse. He foresaw that ergonomic agony was a thing of the past. The magical mouse had other mysterious abilities, most of them as yet undiscovered by the happy woodworker.
One sad day the magical mouse vanished. The poor woodworker was heartbroken, for he had grown fond of his quiet friend. He searched everywhere. High and low. In his wood shop and at home. His only explanation was that some dastardly student had kidnapped his mouse.
Many days and weeks passed on their endless procession toward infinity. Doubts about the goodness of humanity swirled through the angry woodworker's mind.
One day, the woodworker sat down in his living room to check his email. Suddenly, the clouds did part, the neighbor dog did cease his constant barking, traffic noises from a distant freeway did fade to silence, and lo... his computer suddenly announced in its oddly-calm way that it was connected to the magical mouse!
With a thundering bang, the awestruck woodworker fell off his couch. But where was the mouse? He looked near and far. Under the couch. Behind the dining room table. Under the piano. Nothing...
In desperation, he carried his backpack to the far corner of the house and waited... What would happen?
Suddenly, in it's oddly-calm way, the computer announced that the magical mouse was no longer connected! The crazed woodworker stormed to his backpack, tore it open, and dug like a madman through every nook and cranny. He had searched that backpack so many times before. Where could the magical mouse be hiding?
In desperation, he jammed his stubby woodworker fingers into dark seams and folds never meant to be explored. At last, at the very bottom of a small side pouch, buried deep within an inner pocket, hidden by heavy folds of fabric, and protected by a powerful zipper, the wild-eyed woodworker felt a very slight lump. Could this be his errant mouse waiting patiently where he had left it, oh so long ago?
Yes! It was! The elated woodworker tenderly cradled his magical mouse in two rough hands and gingerly lifted it into the light of a brave new day.
At last, with the slightly wiser woodworker's faith in humanity restored, the computer announced in its oddly-calm way that it was now connected to the magical mouse.
Almost instantly, perhaps even magically, this little saga began to appear upon the computer screen. Was it the work of the woodworker, or the magic of the mouse? Some say all stories write themselves. No one really knows. As is often the case with deep mysteries, those who know the most say the least.
The busy woodworker soon shuffled off to his woodshed intent on completing one of those silly activities that humans hope will give their life meaning. Its green eyes softly flashing, the mouse simply waited--in eternal silence.
Und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute.