Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Mice
    
I had the mouse between my paws. I had him in my mouth. And if it weren’t for the founding fathers, I would have had him in my stomach, which is where all mice belong. In a cat’s stomach.
    
I was chasing the mouse through the streets of Philadelphia. It was a very plump mouse, and I was so focused on it I didn’t notice that I had run into a building until the doors closed. I skidded to a halt. A bunch of men were seated around a table.
    
One person had a mass of unmistakable red fur on his head. I heard people address him as Tommy Jeraldson. Or maybe it was Thomas Jefferson. Humans have a strange accent. I think he said something about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
    
The men argued some more. I was starting to get bored with their conversation. It was the same thing over and over again.
    
“The king gives us no representation in the parliament!”
    
“But he is the king! He owns this land!”
    
“Guess what else he owns? OUR MONEY! Taxation without representation! Unequal treatment!”
    
“All men are created equal!”
    
I believe that last one was Tommy.
    
Eventually they gathered around a paper and started writing all over it. John Peacock stepped up. I mean John Hancock. HANCOCK! It was Hancock! He waved his feather around, and I became mesmerized. I leapt out from under the table and swiped at the pen. Several of the men cried out. To my devastation, the feather was snatched from my paws. I hissed to show my disapproval. I managed to get my paw covered in ink. I ran across the document and shot through the door. But not before I left my paw print on that piece of paper. I am pretty sure that was an important document.
    
So I guess that makes me famous. Unfortunately, the mice don’t seem to know that, because they keep evading me. I am chasing a particularly fat one, which is leading me into this big white building. . . .