To Catch a Mole : 90 second read by Farriz Mashudi 13/08/2020
<Soldiers returned from reconnaissance.>
“Ma’am we’ve had two more sightings this morning. One on opposite sides of the fence: At the bottom of the terrace, and outside the left perimeter of the NW flower bed. It could have been worse Ma’am.”
“North west?” The side of the raised stone beds that can’t be seen from the house . . . Hmm . . . Mole’s covert ops were turning sly. “You, next. Report.”
“Ma’am, we’re almost out of ammo. Just two rounds of ten left. What do we do when they run out? G.I Joe awaiting your orders, Ma’am.”
Ken1 and Ken2, who doesn’t speak, and G.I Joe were on my side. Or were they? There never were enough boy dolls amongst our toys.
But who was I kidding, this was a lone war. It was just me against him. My adversary, an underground terrorist had turned. Now deploying guerrilla tactics, he doesn’t seem to know the meaning of surrender. I had no cadre of soldiers, no battalion of elite troops at my command. (There was the husband, but he has a day job, even if it’s working from home.)
Would you have me turn into a sniper tonight, Mole? You never know, a ghillie suite in white camouflage to match the flowers could be a season highlight. I don’t think I could get any lower than that. . . Or could I?
Have you heard of it, Mole? Too bad you’re not mechanical the way the Japanese arcade game is, or made of plastic like in the American version. I’d love to take a bash at a fake head of yours. I don’t deny you’re my cause célèbre. — You’ve aggravated me hugely for upsetting the garden. But if you think you’ll end up a martyr, think again. You’re the enemy here, not me.
Everyone despises you. You’re a universal anathema, a public enemy in a private war playing out in my own backyard.
The French version of the game’s called Chass’ Taupes (chase moles), so yeah, weh, oui-oui. And have you seen the inflatable bouncy ones?
Operation ‘Search & Stink Out’ may have been lame in your book, and mission ‘Destroy His Nose’ something of a joke, but watch out. — With Whack-A-Mole it’s the next level.
It’s personal now. ‘M’ would understand, despite it being a domestic situation. “Bring on the mole hunt!” she’d say, if she were still on the job.
And there’s help to be had on the home front after all. — Forget sleeping tight, bring out the tent and sleeping bags kids. This squad is camping out. — Forget teargas, we’ve got citronella candles and thumping Heavy Metal and HipHop to blast. — Just don’t forget those wooden mallets.