The Sophisticated Mouse’s Guide to Culture

By E.A. Cannoli

Ever had a dream you had to follow?

Georgie Mousini does. Fed up with managing a dumpster for a living in Chicago’s Little Italy he chucks everything he knows to journey downtown and become a poet. Joining him are his two best friends: his cousin, Dominick, a sewer worker and son of the renowned mouse opera tenor Vincente Cannellini; and Joey, a big-hearted gypsy crow who has a bad habit of tossing out unwanted psychic predictions.

Join them on their adventure as as they interact with the host of quirky characters who inhabit the enchanting, sometimes disturbing world of animal art and high society. There they find a world full of dreams, deception, casino gambling, jazz cats, poetry slams, psychic awakening, advice from The Sophisticated Mouse’s Guide to Culture in Chicago; and, the most notorious organized crime syndicate on Chicago’s Northwest side, The Rat Boys.

If you’ve ever had dream that you just couldn’t let go or experienced the power of true friendship then this book is for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorje, Inc
• Release date: Dec 30, 2011
• ISBN: 9780982738429

E.A. Cannoli

EA Cannoli has been writing for as long as he can remember. He published several things when he was younger and even worked as a college writing professor. When Georgie Mousini approached him and asked him to tell his story to humans he was naturally honored. Mr. Cannoli currently lives in Chicago where the animal art scene still rages strongly.

Book preview

Chapter One

A More Heroic Life

Like thousands of male mice who’d lived in Little Italy before them, Georgie Mousini and his cousin Dominick Cannellini came out to Galliano park three or four times a week to play Bocce Ball. It helped them to unwind from the week, and gave them a chance to discuss their jobs, the family and the gossip of the neighborhood.

The official Bocce playing field was actually on the south side of the park, but it was always crowded with middle-aged Rodeosos (arrogant and flashy Italian rodents) who spent more time griping about their wives then playing the game. Because of this Georgie and Dominick preferred to play alone in a small dirt ring on the north side of the park that was semi-lit by street lamps and shielded by sycamores.

The largest of these trees was home to their pal, Joey, a Gypsy crow who divided his days between sleeping, scrounging the park for food, and tossing out unwanted psychic advice to passing animals.

This last practice might not have been so unsettling if the crow had ever said anything besides, I see great misfortune in your future. Because of this tendency for doom, most of the animals in Little Italy thought him peculiar and avoided him. Except for Georgie and Dominick who knew what an honest and loyal bird he really was.

It was a clear fall night and Dominick had just beaten Georgie three straight games. Joey napped lightly in the tree above them, having just gorged himself on half-a-sandwich he’d found in one of the tennis courts on the west side of the park.

Georgie, a green-eyed white mouse who was a little tubby around his midsection from his love of bread, olive oil and cheese looked preoccupied as he agreed to his cousin’s challenge to a fourth game.

Dominick, a stocky brown mouse with wide shoulders whose round face looked perpetually amused, chucked the pallino--a small white ball used as a marker--about ten mice-feet away. He tossed a larger green ball after it. The backspin he’d given it made it fly in a tight arc and it landed only two mouse-inches from the pallino.

Beat that, rat brain, Dominick said.

Georgie tossed his yellow ball with a great deal less care than his cousin had used and it rolled out of bounds.

What’s wrong with you, Georgie? Your playing stinks tonight. You got problems with Antonetta? Dominick tossed his second green ball as skillfully as his first. It landed a few mouse-inches to the right of the latter.

My sister’s fine--when she ain‘t busting my whiskers, said Georgie, his second pitch as lousy as his first. Two points for you, he said and they gathered up the balls.

What about the kids? Dominick chucked the pallino again then sailed the green smoothly after, so that it landed a mouse-foot to the left of the marker.

Spoiled, Georgie said matter-of-factly and his toss landed out of bounds again.

Maybe you’re just a lousy player, the crow cackled from the tree above them.

Hey, you wanna eat Bocce, Joey? Georgie shouted.

The crow stared down at him gravely and said ominously: I see great misfortune in your future!

You been seeing great misfortune in my future since we met.

The crow shrugged his wings indifferently. Gotta happen sometime, he said, then flew off to the tennis court to look for another sandwich.

Georgie grabbed the pallino and chucked it at the bird. It sailed past him and landed in a row of bushes.

"Georgie, that was my lucky pallino. Why do you always have to get angry when we’re using my Bocce set?"

That bird gives me gas, Georgie said, sulking.

"Who? Joey? He‘s our pal. Right, Joey?"

Great misfortune! the crow called back.

With pals like you, who needs undertakers? Georgie shouted.

Georgie, I been your best friend since you was this big, and there’s nothing you could say that I haven’t heard down in the sewers; so, tell old Dominick what the problem is.

It ain’t just one problem, said the white mouse. It’s like--well, I been working the same job since I can remember, right?

I thought you loved managing the dumpster.

What’s to love? ‘Hey you, get over there and get that lettuce leaf. Yous guys there get that chicken wing.’

"I’m climbing up and down and over the lid all day long. Human kids throw rocks at me. Then, when I come home it‘s: ‘Hey, Georgie, look what I just bought, ain’t it pretty?’

"And I gotta sit there and pretend to care about my sister’s purchase of a copy of the dress that Minnie Mouse wore in some stupid picture from 1935. And then her kids get in on it: ‘Uncle Georgie, Anthony hit me. Uncle Georgie, Rosie started it. Uncle Georgie, punish Anthony. Uncle Georgie, tell Rosie I’m your favorite.’ …And on and on and on until all I wanna do is run across the street to the gas station and drown myself in the toilet. And then who should show up and start sniffing around but that stupid cat from down the block. I could just go crazy--"

Georgie, calm down! Your tail’s all up in a corkscrew there and your left eye’s twitching.

The white mouse sighed, pulled at his suspenders and looked at his cousin seriously for a minute.

This ain’t what I wanted my life to be, Dom.

Not what you wanted your life to be? Whoever gets the life they wanted? You think I like working in the sewer with them rats? You wanna talk about job discrimination? Last week that fink Corduroy was promoted to supervisor and he ain’t even been working there half the time I have. But you know why he got the job and I didn‘t? Cause he’s a rat and I‘m a mouse. Rats run this city, Georgie.

"Uh--we was talking about my problem!"

Alright, I’m sorry. What’s the life you wanted?

Something more heroic than I got. Georgie watched his cousin’s face cloud over with a look of confusion.

Heroic like what? Dominick asked.

Like this. Georgie pulled a raggedy paperback from his back pocket and handed it to him. It’s a poem about a human King named Arthur who lived hundreds of years ago. He and his followers would go on what they called ‘quests’.

Dominick, who was not at all a fan of humans, stared at the book as if it were a live grenade. What’s a quest?

An adventure. A search for something.

What do you want to search for?

Who I really am.

You’re Georgie Mousini. You work in the dumpster behind Caprielli’s market.

Aw, rat tails!

Look, I don’t get it, Georgie. So, you’re unhappy? What’s a mouse to do?

I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do, Georgie said, twitching his whiskers determinedly. First, I’m gonna tell Antonetta she’s gotta take her kids and move back in with Ma.

You tell her that and she’ll crack you right in the--

"And then, Georgie said before Dominick could say just where Antonetta would crack him. I am going to leave that run-down dump where I live and go downtown to follow my dream."

What dream?

I-- Georgie hesitated then threw his shoulders back and straightened up to his full three inches: I want to be...a poet. Just like the guy who wrote this story about King Arthur.

Dominick fell back on his tail and laughed so hard that Joey flew over from the tennis court to hear the joke.

What’s so funny, Dominick?

Georgie here--ha, ha, ha, ha--he, he, he, he--wants to quit his job at the dumpster and be--get this, Joey--a poet!

A poet, Joey squawked. Ooh, that’s rich, Georgie.

Georgie pulled the bill of his pork pie cap over his eyes, shoved his paws in his sweater pockets and kicked one of the Bocce balls angrily. Aw, rat tails! I should’ve known I couldn’t count on you crumbs for nothing but sarcasm.

Georgie, come on, Dominick said indulgently. Can you blame us? This is Little Italy. We’re practical animals. Our great-great-great-great-great grandparents come over on the boat from Naples so’s we could make a living. Now, you was always the smarter one of the two of us and that’s why you got the job managing the dumpster. That’s a real sweet deal, Georgie. What could be worth throwing it away?

Art, Gouda breath. Georgie placed his paw to his heart and said, wistfully: I got the soul of an artist.

Dominick and Joey cackled more loudly than was needed to make their point.

I’m surprised at the both of yous. Your mother, said Georgie pointing at the crow. Made a living reading fortunes right here in the park.

The crow stopped laughing and hung his head sheepishly.

And uncle Vincente, he continued, turning to Dominick. Supported you and your four brothers as an opera singer. And he made a better living than my pop who busted his whiskers working on the DesPlaines River his whole life.

Sure, he supported us, said Dominick. Until a crazy stage cat ate him, leaving my mother with no income to support five children. Did you ever think of that?

I could get eaten by a cat walking home tonight from the park. And I ain‘t got no wife or kids--neither do either of you--so, why even bring it up?

Because, Dominick persisted. You grow up. You get a good job. You get a wife and have kids. Then you spend all your time in the park playing Bocce to escape your wife and kids. It’s what you’re supposed to do.

It’s what everyone says we’re supposed to do. That doesn’t mean that we gotta listen, Dommie. This Sir Thomas Malory, who wrote this poem, changed my life. I want to do the same thing for other mice. Like Arthur when he pulled the sword from the stone and became king of England, I shall be victorious! You understand?

Dominick and Joey both shook their heads and said: No.

Well, regardless, said Georgie. I’ve made up my mind. Tomorrow‘s Sunday. Antonetta and me are having dinner at Ma’s after Mass. I’m gonna spring the news then. Monday morning, I‘m leaving for downtown.

You mean, Dominick began, picking at a hole in the sleeve of his brown wool sweater. You’re going to tell your mother, legendary in Little Italy for single handedly knocking the wind out of one of The Rat Boys for being disrespectful to her, that you’re going to quit your job at the dumpster so you can be a poet?

Yes, Georgie said.

Dominick and Joey winked at each other, smiled wickedly, then blurted out in unison: Can we come?

Chapter Two

Mamma Mousini

Sunday night the Mousini table was full. At the head sat Mrs. Mousini--Ma, as she was known--a white mouse like her son Georgie. She wore an old blue house dress from which her heavy arms hung easily at her sides. She had a practical mind, a hard face and loving brown eyes that were always tired from worry. She volunteered her opinion often and when she did her family listened. Other female mice in Little Italy had many friends, but she preferred the company of her family.

To her left, Antonetta, a skinny gray mouse with her mother’s brown eyes, sat fussing over her two children, Anthony and Rosie, who were picking at their pasta playfully and sneaking olives when the adults weren’t looking. On Mrs. Mousini’s right sat Georgie. Next to him sat Dominick and Joey who squirmed uncomfortably in their chairs anticipating Georgie‘s forthcoming announcement.

No one eats until we say Grace, said Ma casting a stern glance at Rosie who had an olive poised above her opened mouth.

When you going to tell her? Dominick whispered to Georgie.

When I’m ready. Quit rushing me.

It’s just that Joey and me got a bet going. I think you’ll tell her by letter sometime next week. He thinks you won’t tell her at all.

Georgie shot an angry look at Joey who responded by sticking out his tongue.

Georgie, said Ma. You say it.

What Ma?

Grace, Georgie. What’s the matter with you today? You didn’t pay any attention to Father Chauncy in Mass. And you forgot the bread when you went to the store for me. Are you feeling alright?

Georgie heard Joey stifling a giggle and gritted his teeth.

Say Grace, Georgie, Dominick goaded, poking him in the ribs.

Georgie folded his paws on the table and closed his left eye, keeping his right on Joey and Dominick.

Thank you, Lord, for the food here before us. He took a deep breath, then continued: And please, St. Francis, give me the patience to deal with my crumb-fink friends--

Georgie, Don’t be blasphemous!

Georgie ignored his mother: And gimme the strength to make it as a poet when I quit my job at the dumpster tomorrow and take off for downtown. Amen.

The table let out a collective gasp. Georgie glanced smugly at his pals who were dumbfounded that he’d actually had the whiskers to do it. Afraid to look at his mother, he looked instead at his niece and nephew whose main concern at the moment was who could shove a bigger forkful of linguine into their mouths. Then he looked at his sister, Antonetta, who had crossed her arms over her chest and was breathing loudly through her nose, her brown eyes beady little slits.

You can’t go nowhere, she snapped. It’s fall and you still have to insulate the house.

Don’t worry about the house. You’ll be moving back in with Ma, Georgie said coolly.

And what are me and the kids supposed to do for money?

Get a job, Georgie said. I ain’t the one the one that married a Rat Boy who ran out on me. We all told you not to marry Johnny the Cheese but you wouldn’t listen. I supported you and your kids for a year now.

Do you hear this, Ma? shouted Antonetta. You hear how he talks to me?

Cool your whiskers, Antonetta, said