Of Mice and Men

The phrase ‘men and mice’ might seem quite odd to many, but believe me, I know what I’m talking about. This is not a baseless allegation; I have researched this. It all began one day when I saw a slight curve on the road, one of those where it’s so dark that you are bound to run into a mouse. But, it’s not just mice, is it? It is also one of the dark corners where you’re bound to run into a man, or men.

Anyway, I pointed to that and said, “Not from here, there will be mice.” “And men,” I joked.

That is where it all began, and I dived into a spree of research on what it is that men and mice could have in common? You won’t believe me, but men and mice have more in common than we’d like to admit.

For starters, I discovered that the phrase “the best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry” comes from Robert Burns’s poem To a Mouse, which, by the way, he wrote after accidentally destroying a mouse’s nest while ploughing.

Poor thing. Imagine having your entire house flattened by a man with good intentions and a bad sense of direction.

Then there’s the phrase “neither man nor mouse”, which apparently means “no living creature at all.” This expression tries too hard to sound biblical but ends up saying that both men and mice are equally indispensable in the grand scheme of things. The kind of expression that sounds grand but quietly erases everyone else.

Funny how to express a living creature or just larger life in general, you have to either be a man or a mouse.

And of course, the classic one, “Are you a man or a mouse?” Usually shouted by someone trying to convince you to do something stupid, like jump off a rock into questionable water.

But if you think about it, that question is unfair to both species. Mice are brave; they enter kitchens knowing full well they could die there. Men, on the other hand, will watch horror films and then sleep with the light on.

Or maybe it is a fair question. Mice are at least practical; they also run away when danger appears. Men, on the other hand, walk straight into it, dragging the rest of us along for the story.

So, what do men and mice really share? Let me present my highly unscientific but emotionally accurate research findings.

Fear.

Both are easily startled. A shadow, a sudden sound, a woman saying, “We need to talk.” Mice dart behind cupboards; men disappear into self-defence mode. The difference is only in the size of the hole they hide in.

Persistence.

Mice chew through walls. Men chew through explanations, especially when they’re wrong. Both refuse to stop until they’ve made a complete mess of the drywall.

Curiosity.

A mouse pokes its nose where it shouldn’t and gets caught in a trap. A man pokes his nose into someone else’s business and gets caught in a group chat. The instinct is the same: to explore, to know, to reach out, only to regret it later.

Or

A man also pokes his nose into things that weren’t about him and somehow still writes a think-piece afterwards. The instinct again is the same: to explore, to know, to reach out, though one species is marginally less destructive.

Avoidance.

Mice hide from cats. Men hide from accountability. Both have developed remarkable reflexes.

Being small.

Mice squeak, and no one listens. Women speak and men interrupt, only to then quote them later. At least the mouse gets sympathy.

The more I thought about it, the more it felt unfair to compare the two.

Not because they’re so different, but because they’re so alike.

Mice and men both spend their lives dodging traps, searching for crumbs of comfort, and pretending to be in control. The traps look different.

One’s baited with cheese, the other with ego.

At some level, both live in constant negotiation with fear. A mouse fears the cat, the broom, and the light. A man is concerned about being ignored, corrected, and outsmarted. And somewhere in between stand the rest of us, trying not to scream when either one scurries too close.

Maybe that’s what Burns was getting at. Those\ plans, dreams, schemes, however “best laid,” can crumble under something as simple as a plough. That no matter how clever or careful we are, there’s always someone bigger, louder, or more entitled steering the field.

And maybe that’s the secret kinship between men and mice: both thrive best when women pretend not to notice them.