Mice are devious animals.
      Matador sat eyeing the hole in the wall. He lay motionless, noiselessly breathing, noiselessly waiting. No movement came from the blackness that was the mouse hole in front of him, but he was not impatient.
      Matador pondered what he would do to the mouse once it ventured its little head out of its home. Matador's first desire was to trap its tail and watch it try to run back to safety. The mouse would be powerless and Matador would truly feel in control of the mouse's fate. Yes, that would be satisfying.
      Next, Matador pictured himself holding the mouse in his mouth, not hard enough to hurt the mouse, but tightly enough to put the fear of God into the vermin. Then Matador would throw the mouse up the in the air and catch him in his mouth again. Matador was practiced in this art. He would repeat this many times.
      After sufficiently increasing the poor mouse's already speedy heart-rate Matador imagined his grand finale. Matador would set the shaking, terrified mouse down on the ground and let him try to scurry away. Matador would give him a two second head start and then pounce. Drop him again, pause, then pounce. It will be so much fun, thought Matador.
      The actual killing of the small, wretched creature seemed almost boring in comparison to the dinner-show Matador had planned. Matador did not particularly care for mouse meat, but it was not like he was depending on live-prey for his sustenance. Matador continued to wait across from the hole.
      Matador continued to sit, eyeing the hole. He lay motionless, noiselessly breathing, noiselessly waiting. The blackness of the hole remained stubbornly still. Matador did not mind. He had patience.
      Mice are devious animals.