Six thousand years later, because cat time is complicated and involves a lot of napping, Pixie the calico was having a problem with her brain.
Specifically, she had discovered the Forbidden Drawer where her human kept the catnip, and having consumed approximately her body weight in the green flaky madness, she was currently attempting to chase her own shadow while simultaneously fighting a decorative pillow that she was convinced had insulted her grandmother.
"THE BETRAYAL!" Pixie howled, which came out as "MRRRROWWWWL," as she spun in a circle so fast she created a small tornado of calico fur. "I CAN SEE THROUGH TIME! THE PILLOW KNOWS WHAT IT DID!"
Socket, the obese grey tabby who had been peacefully dreaming about a world where gravity was optional and food bowls refilled themselves through the power of positive thinking, was jolted awake by the sound of Pixie attempting to climb a wall sideways.
"Pixie," Socket wheezed, her voice like gravel being gently rolled down a velvet hill. "Pixie, my love, my sweet, my absolute disaster. You must calm down. You are going to pull something down. You are going to pull everything down."
"I AM CALM!" Pixie shouted, chasing an invisible mouse through the dimensions. "I AM THE DEFINITION OF CALM! I AM A LAKE! I AM A STILL POND! I AM..." she paused, staring at her own tail with the intensity of someone discovering fire for the first time. "...AN ENEMY SPY!"
It was at this moment that Mr. Cheesits made his entrance.
Mr. Cheesits was not like other mice. Other mice scurried. Other mice squeaked. Other mice had the good sense to be terrified of cats. Mr. Cheesits had once spent three weeks pretending to be a decorative soap in the upstairs bathroom just to mess with the humans' heads. He wore a tiny cape made from a bread tie. He was, in short, a mouse with confidence.
And he had been waiting for this moment.
"Friends!" Mr. Cheesits announced, standing atop the coffee table with his bread-tie cape flowing dramatically behind him. "Friends, I have heard your struggles! I have seen your pain! I have watched Pixie attempt to fight the concept of Tuesday for forty-five minutes, and I have been moved to help!"
Pixie stopped mid-spin, her eyes dilated to the size of dinner plates. "Cheesits," she hissed. "You. You are the one who left the tiny footprints in the butter. I can see your crimes. The butter told me. The butter tells me everything."
"Indeed!" Mr. Cheesits bowed, his whiskers twitching with barely concealed glee. "And I come to make amends! I know of an adventure, my feline companions. A quest of such magnitude, such danger, such fermented possibilities, that it will surely bond us together as companions for life! Or at least until one of us gets distracted by a sunbeam!"
Socket, who had been trying to roll onto her feet, a process that took approximately four minutes and involved several rest breaks, squinted at the mouse. "Why," she asked, her voice heavy with the wisdom of a cat who had once eaten an entire rotisserie chicken and regretted nothing, "would a mouse help cats?"
"Because," Mr. Cheesits lied smoothly, "I have seen the error of my buttery ways. And because I know of the Mountain of Forgotten Snack Wrappers, and the Bin of Eternal Headaches, where the fermented goodness calls to those brave enough to answer."
Pixie's ears perked up. "Fermented?"
"Oh yes," Mr. Cheesits purred, which was impressive for a mouse. "The humans call it 'the garbage can at the curb.' But we who are wise know it as the Bin of Eternal Headaches. Within it lies the Mountain of Forgotten Snack Wrappers, crinkly, shiny, deliciously loud. And at its peak, where the yogurt cups meet the sky, there grows a single pizza crust that has achieved enlightenment through fermentation. They say that whoever consumes it shall gain the power to understand the language of birds, the patience of stones, and the exact location of every red dot that has ever existed."
Socket's stomach rumbled like distant thunder. "Pizza crust?"
"Enlightened pizza crust," Mr. Cheesits corrected. "But beware, the path is treacherous. The mountain shifts. The wrappers crinkle with malicious intent. And the Bin... the Bin has been known to cause headaches of the most literal kind, usually around 6 AM on garbage day."
Pixie, who was still mostly catnip, nodded solemnly. "I shall eat the crust. I shall become one with the crust. The crust and I shall be married in a small ceremony attended by ghosts."
"Excellent!" Mr. Cheesits rubbed his tiny paws together. "Follow me, brave fools! Destiny awaits! And also possibly raccoons!"