On Living Quarters

The Mouse had called the liquor cabinet in the cellar home. It was ancient, forgotten and sturdy. Recently, a nest of termites had burrowed the upstairs and making a ruckus every night. The Mouse decided to have a word with the leader.

'Welcome to the neighbourhood.' Greeted The Mouse passively, 'Your housewarming party have definitely become parties!'

'Oi! Oi! Yellor!' Laughed The Termite King. 'So much to do, so little time!'

'Well. I lived here too. Let's get along, kay? Keep it down.' The Mouse offered.

'I'm afraid it's impossible.' The Termite King said. 'Perhaps you should leave for good.'

'I was here first!' The Mouse squeaked.

'I'm not trying to be the thug here. There's too much on my hands, simply off the chart! There are eighty five newborn in the last hour and the guards have just been rostered into duties, bless their wings and souls, they are fussy steroid pumped up folks and plus The Queen is grouchy. She kicked me out of the chamber last night and has refused to speak to me since. I'm speaking of the end of days here! How am I supposed to get my nightly pookey pookey? And the darn kingdom listen to her more than me! This is not my call.' The Termite King fussed.

'I don't care. Find some place else!' The Mouse said.

'Given time we will.' The Termite King explained. 'You see it's basically a conflict of interest. I merely ask you to leave because you see this cabinet as your home, your shelter. We view it as a giant wedding cake. Eventually, it will be gone.'

'I swear by my whiskers this is not the end of it!' The Mouse warned.

'I'm sincerely apologetic.' The Termite King gave.

'Hey do you fags mind?' The Flea on The Mouse's back yelled, 'I'm trying to eat here!'