Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 44, No. 7 & 8, July/August 1999

Midnight hadn’t the slightest idea.

“Listen to what she told me. ‘Dear Tony, so calm, so intrepid, grabbed the creature by its tail, flung it over the cliff.’ Geez, you’da thought he wrestled down a mountain lion. After she calmed down, she told him about her phobia. ‘Now that my shameful secret is out, Clara,’ she said, ‘I have nothing to hide. Tony and I are on firmer ground than ever.’ Makes ya sick, doesn’t it, Midnight?”

“Meow (extremely frustrating).”

“But we’re not giving up, are we?”

“Meow (not for a minute).”

Tony was in a miserable mood by the time he reached Pittsburgh, and having to drive around downtown for almost a half hour to find a vacancy in a parking garage only added to his misery. Dejectedly walking toward the toy store, he told himself that the way his luck had been going the store would be all out of the mouse, the vital element in his plan.

He was lucky.

“You’re lucky,” the salesman told him, “this is the last one, and we don’t figure on being able to get any more.” The store didn’t want any more. It was sick of the technological miracle creature. One complaint after another (“The damn thing keeps running amok.”). Of course the salesman didn’t tell Tony that.

The toy store was a short distance from Point State Park, and not wanting to get back to Hillsdale yet, Tony walked down to the park, found a shady bench. It was a beautiful day. There were dozens of flowerbeds, a huge fountain sent water high in the air, the day was sunny, breezy, perfect. People were in a happy mood, a group of school-children — fourth graders, Tony guessed — in the charge of two teachers, were staring in fascination at the point where the Monongahela and the Allegheny join to form the mighty Ohio.

Suddenly, with something that sounded like a choked sob, Tony remembered fourth grade at St. John the Baptist’s in Hoboken and Sister Anastasia — she taught geography, history, religion, penmanship — telling the kids that the French and Indian War had begun at the Forks of the Ohio, at “what is now Pittsburgh.”

Geez, he thought, those were happy times, and I didn’t know it. We could hardly wait for recess. Forty-five minutes later, still steeped in gloom, he walked to the garage, got the car, drove to Hillsdale, skipping lunch. He felt bad enough as it was.

The next few days were agonizing ones for Tony. He desperately needed to make enough trial runs with the mouse to be certain that nothing could go wrong, but it wasn’t until early Friday afternoon that an opportunity came. The nursing home where Clara’s mother-in-law had been for seven years phoned. She had been rushed to the hospital. It looked bad. Bunny hurried Clara into the car, drove her to the hospital, remained with her.

Tony went into action. He retrieved the box containing the mouse and the remote from behind Fauna of Ashford County in the den, hurried upstairs, opened the sliding glass door, stood in the hall looking at the safety grating, visualizing the scheme. It was hot on the balcony, a wave of heat rushed into the hall. A cold chill wove up and down Tony’s spine. Why did I ever start to gamble, he moaned.

The plan, it would be sunset, Bunny alone on the balcony, he having made some excuse (“I have to get something from the den, Bunny; stay here, I’ll be right back.”). That’d be the easy part. The mouse had to work perfectly, running onto the balcony, squeaking menacingly, attacking Bunny, pushing her against the grating, her screams bringing Nib-nose Hogan from her apartment where she usually was around sunset. But it’d be too late for Bunny.

Tony, of course, would be partway down the stairs, nowhere near the balcony. Over would go grating, Bunny, mouse. Tony would rush outside, grab the mouse to dispose of later. He didn’t want to think how he was going to feel seeing Bunny dead among the rocks. Nibnose would have to testify (It’ll break her heart, Tony told himself) that he was downstairs when the horrible accident happened.

He had read the instructions a dozen times. The mouse could be controlled from as far away as one hundred yards, and the person operating the remote (it looked exactly like a TV remote; had five buttons, START, STRAIGHT, RIGHT, LEFT, STOP) did not have to be within sight of the mouse.

He was ready. He stood at the top of the stairway, put the mouse down, was about to press START when he suddenly thought of something.

“That cat. Geez, I nearly fouled up before I got started.”

He went down the hall, opened the door leading to the third floor apartment. Midnight stood on the top step, hackles raised, eyes blazing, hissing. “Okay, buster,” Tony told him, “I’ll take care of you.”