Joanie's Blog Post

All mice are born to die. That is the opinion of every single human I have ever encountered. Especially one disgusting, horrible, murderous woman named Dolly Todd. She is the epitome of awful. She has a beautiful house, but do not let that fool you. She is out for the innocent blood of my people. Her determination to exterminate all the harmless mice that seek out her charming home for brief refuge from the bleak Philadelphia winter is unmatched. Dolly doesn’t have a compassionate bone in her body. She has resolved to slaughter mice with her abhorrent guillotine device. We suffer terribly at her cruel and merciless hands. 

Most people would describe Dolly and her home as dazzling. Only one of those assumptions is correct. Her home is dazzling, aside from the assassination weapon she keeps in every room, but she is not. She, along with her two sons and husband, live in an opulent three story brick residence with a generous, bountiful garden and a pristine view of the bustling city of Philadelphia. She has an abundance of rooms that each come with their own fireplace, which is extremely helpful on a frigid winter day. I love to cozy up next to the warm hearth with a bit of stolen sugar from Dolly’s kitchen. Until she gets her broom and tries to beat me into the guillotine, as if she could trick me, the venerated trickster known all over our block of the city for my brilliant cons. She has a large, spacious parlor with luxurious chairs that provide perfect hiding spots for a quick getaway. When she has friends over, it is paradise filled with dropped crumbs and spilled tea. She has about three bedrooms that are splendidly decorated with grandiose writing desks, which are filled to the brim with parchment, quills and ink, and plush, extravagant beds. Dolly also has a library replete with anything her husband John Todd might ever need for his very important work as a lawyer. It has parchment, quills, ink, envelopes, stamps, and a million other things, including delectable leftover food, which always brightens my day immensely. The levels of the house are connected by steep, cramped steps 

But all other rooms pale in comparison to Dolly Todd’s marvelous kitchen. Her plethora of silver pots, pans, and platters are almost always filled with her newest exquisite concoction. Sugar and other enticing types of food can be found at all times in the cabinets. 

On the morning of October 24, 1793, I woke up to absolute chaos. John and William Todd had recently caught the dreadful fever that had been rampaging through the city. William was just under a year old and had little chance of surviving. Both he and John were diagnosed by the doctor that came yesterday morning. John wasn’t the one they needed to worry about, as he only had a slight fever and headache, but William was very sick and would probably die within the next few days. Dolly was given specific instructions on how to take care of them, which included baths every hour, changing the bed sheets regularly, lots of rest, and drinking herbal tea. Dolly almost made herself sick with worry. She hadn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours; she was always drawing the next bath, boiling more water for tea, praying, or trying to calm William down so Payne, her two-year-old son, and John could sleep. 

Dolly’s usually cold and callous periwinkle blue eyes are frantic and anguished. She stands in the kitchen, expeditiously talking to John and boiling another pot of water at the hearth. Both of their mouths are set in grim lines. John is sitting at a chair next to the table. I am expertly concealed in the kitchen cabinet. Dolly is wearing the same dress from yesterday, and she has a bit of soot on her nose. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t send them away sooner. Maybe William wouldn’t have gotten sick if I  had been a better mother.” Dolly shakes her head and tears threaten to spill from her exhausted eyes. 

“You can’t blame yourself for him getting sick! We can’t control whether he gets the fever or not. You are not a bad mother!” John says, trying to console his weary wife. Dolly is silent for a moment. 

“I haven’t told you about this, but Lucy offered to take Payne and William with her and her family to the seaside. We obviously can’t send William now, but if Payne goes, it could prevent him from getting the fever,” Dolly says and sighs. Then she continues, “I know you won’t like the idea of him going with her husband, but we have to. We can’t lose Payne too!” She says the last sentence quietly at the thought of William dying. John opens his mouth to protest, but then shuts it when he realizes they don’t have a choice. They have to send Payne away to prevent him from getting sick. 

“I don’t like it, but what choice do we have?” John says, resigned. “When are they leaving?” 

“Tomorrow,” Dolly says, tears finally falling. 

John nods and pulls his wife into a hug. They share a moment of serenity in the midst of all the despondency and disarray. The moment is then interrupted by William’s screams, which in turn makes Payne wake up and start crying. Dolly rushes up the narrow, spindly staircase as John sits back down and starts coughing. 

Dolly calms both of her children down, and the day goes on. John tries to convince his wife that he is fine, no really Dolly, just let me write a little bit, please, darling. He manages to succeed in both writing and worsening his condition. Both John and William’s health deteriorate even further. John gets so much worse that Dolly fetches the doctor again. John dies by the end of the day, leaving Dolly widowed with two children and in unimaginable pain. She has never felt this much grief and agony. But she does her best to get on, giving William her best efforts to heal him. She sends Payne away with her sister to the seaside. She can’t save William. He dies a few days after John, plunging her further down into more darkness and despair.  

After John and William’s deaths, Dolly doesn’t have enough energy to chase me. She becomes friendlier towards me, so I don’t try to aggravate her too much. Even as time goes on, her newfound attitude towards me doesn’t revert back to the original hatred she felt. Eventually, my feelings towards her also change. We form an unusual kind of friendship. She sometimes leaves crumbs and tea out for me before she goes to bed. 

But, as everyone must, Dolly moves on. She falls in love again and marries a man named James Madison. She moves away from me and her beautiful house. I don’t know what happened to her after that. I heard from one of my many cousins that her new husband became the President of the United States, but that cousin was known for telling tall tales, so I don’t exactly believe him. All I know is that, by the end of our friendship, she believed that all mice are born to live.