There was a time when Master and I got along quite well.  I caught the mice, and he provided the cat food and the kitty litter.  Life was good.  Then an Awful Thing happened.  I missed a mouse.  That might not have been so bad, but as it happened, Master went to the kitchen one night for a glass of water, and there, in plain sight, on the kitchen floor, was the mouse!  Master was appalled, traumatized, and terrified.  The next day, he called me on the carpet.  So to speak.
    "Whiskers," said Master.  "An Awful Thing has happened!"
    "Oh, no!" I said.  "What was it?"
    "You missed a mouse!" he said accusingly.
    "I'm sorry," I said.  "I'll get right on it."
    "You bet you will!" scolded Master.  "But that isn't good enough."
    "It isn't?"  I was beginning to feel something cold creeping up my spine.
    "No indeed!  I was appalled, traumatized, and terrified!  There are going to be some changes around here!"
    "I'll do better," I protested.
    "Not good enough," said Master.  "I've been talking to the other Masters.  Some of them have reported Awful Things as well.  This isn't a small neighborhood anymore."
    I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, but I went out and disposed of that mouse right off.  After that, it was quiet for a time, and I thought the whole thing might just blow over.  No such luck.  A few weeks later, Master called me in for another meeting.  When I arrived, I was surprised to see that he was accompanied by a large cow.
    "Whiskers," he said, "this is Bossy the Cow.  The Masters have brought her in to establish a Mouse Control System."
    "Um, what do cows know about catching mice?" I asked.  Quite reasonably, I thought.
    "Absolutely nothing," said Master.  "But that doesn't matter.  You are the mouse catching expert.  But Bossy is very organized.  She's the procedural expert."
    "Procedural?" I meowed.
    "Yes.  She knows all about living in fenced in areas, keeping everything in its proper place, and following strict routines.  Did you know that she can regurgitate her partially eaten food and chew it again?  How's that for efficiency?"
    "Moo," said Bossy ominously.
    "I still don't get what she's supposed to do," I said.
    "She's going to keep you and the other cats from making mistakes, of course!" cried Master.  "Mistakes like the Awful Thing."
    I still wasn't getting it.  "So, is she my boss now?  Um, no pun intended."
    "No, no.  Of course not!  You're still the mouser, as I said.  She'll just ... guide you."
    "Mooooo," said Bossy.

    It was Bossy who next summoned me.  Or us, I should say, for I was but one of a roomful of cats.  Again, a few weeks had passed, and I had begun to feel secure again.
    "From now on, you will have to eat grass and live in a barn," said Bossy.
    "I beg your pardon?" I sputtered.  "We're cats!  We can't eat grass!  Except when we have to cough up a fur ball."
    "No grass, no mice.  Otherwise, I will not approve a Mousetrap Ticket.  You may eat hay instead of, or in addition to, grass," she said charitably.
    "A Mousetrap Ticket?"  asked several of the assemblage.  There was a general meowing among the crowd.
    "Oh, yes," said Bossy.  "Before you catch any mouse, you must submit a Mousetrap Ticket for approval.  This is just to document the mouse action.  It's just common sense mouse management.  I have installed the latest in Mouse Control software.  It's called Mousetrap.  All of you will be required to use it."
    "What goes into this Mousetrap Ticket?" asked Fluffy the Persian.
    "Oh, nothing difficult," Bossy assured us.  "Date initiated, name of mouser, reason for mouse action, time mouse action will take place, and approvals.  And of course, you have to eat grass or hay and live in a barn."
    "Approvals?  What approvals?" we chirped as one.
    "Your Master has to approve, of course," she said reasonably.  "How could you do anything without your Master's approval?  He's the user.  If he doesn't want a mouse caught, you don't catch it!"
    "Well, that seems pretty silly, but ok.  But why should anyone else have to approve it?" asked Slinky the Burmese.
    Bossy seemed shocked and offended.  "Mouse management must approve!" she replied.  "We oversee the entire process.  How else can we protect you from error prone mouse actions?"
     "I've been catching mice all my life!" I protested.  "I think I would be the best judge of how to catch mice."
    "Apparently not," said Bossy disapprovingly.  "Must I remind you of the Awful Thing?  This isn't a small neighborhood anymore."

    The barn wasn't that bad, and I was getting accustomed to grass, although it makes me sick to my stomach.  The tickets were annoying, but I was starting to get used to them, too.  There was one thing, though ...
    "Bossy," I said one day.  "All the paperwork is slowing me down.  I'm catching a lot less mice this way.  The other cats say the same thing."
    "But you're making fewer errors!" she countered.  "Better to catch fewer mice correctly than many in the wrong way."
    I protested to Master.
    "This isn't a small neighborhood anymore," he said.

    One day, a particularly rapacious gang of rodents broke into the house.  I cut my Mousetrap ticket with unaccustomed speed.  Just as I was preparing to mangle the little interlopers,  I got an email from Bossy.  "Your ticket is rejected," it said.
    "Why has my ticket been rejected!?" I fumed as I stormed into Bossy's pasture.
    "Not enough approvals," said Bossy.
    "What do you mean?" I protested.  "I got Master's ok.  Then there's just you."
    "Not anymore," said Bossy.  "We discovered that your mouse actions sometimes interfere with other cats in the neighborhood.  You need the approvals of three other Masters."
    "Any three Masters?" I asked.
    "Of course not," said Bossy.  "You need the next door neighbor on each side and the president of the Neighborhood Association."
    "Oh, ok," I grumbled.

    The mice had demolished everything in the pantry.
    "Why haven't you killed those mice?" stormed Master.
    "I have to get my approvals!" I whined.
    "Well, get on it!"
    When I had obtained my approvals, I resubmitted my Mousetrap Ticket.
    "Rejected!" said Bossy.
    "Why?" I screamed.  "I got your flippin' approvals!"
    "You didn't say on your ticket whether your mouse action would inconvenience any other Masters."
    "It doesn't say anything about that on the ticket!" I protested.
    "Oh, yes, it does," said Bossy.  "I put the new questions in yesterday."
    "But my ticket ..."
    "You need to pull up a brand new ticket form.  Then you'll see them," said Bossy.
    There was one other thing bothering me.
    "Uh, what do you mean 'questions?'" I asked.
    "There are twenty-seven questions on the impact of your proposed mouse action," she said.
    "Twenty-seven ...  What happened to 'it's just documentation?'"
    "This isn't a small neighborhood anymore," said Bossy.

    So, I answered the twenty-seven questions.  It only took me two weeks, so what was I complaining about?  The mice had somehow gotten into the refrigerator.
    Ok.  I resubmitted my Mousetrap Ticket.
    "Rejected!" said Bossy.
    "What now?" I whimpered.
    "You haven't scheduled your mouse action in the proper time window," said Bossy.
    "Time window?" I squeaked.  Cats aren't supposed to squeak.  Only mice are supposed to squeak.
    "Of course," said Bossy, the soul of reasonableness.  "If all the cats try to catch mice at the same time, they'll fall all over each other, and nothing will be accomplished.  Your window is from 2 a.m. to 5 a.m. on Wednesdays."
    "Well, let's see," I calculated.  "This is Tuesday, so I can do it tonight!"
    "No, you can't," said Bossy.  "You have to schedule at least 10 days in advance."
    "Why?" I blubbered.
    "To make sure you don't conflict with other cats' mouse actions, of course."
    "But I thought we already had controls for that," I protested.  "You know, all the approvals and all the questions on the ticket?"
    "Do you want to continue to be part of the problem, or do you want to be part of the solution?" asked Bossy archly.  "This isn't a small neighborhood anymore."
    The mice were sauntering through the living room in broad daylight.

    But never mind!  I rescheduled my Mousetrap Ticket and prepared to deal with the little miscreants in two weeks.  The day before implementation, I checked my ticket again.
    "Rejected!" said Bossy.
    "Excuse me?" I gasped.  "I've done everything you asked!"
    "You don't have enough approvals," she said.
    "What am I missing?" I sobbed.
    "Rodent Management Expert," said Bossy.
    "I thought that was me," I said.
    "No, you don't have the broad overview," she said.  "The Masters have hired an exterminator to review all the tickets to make sure the Mouse Control System is not compromised by a dumb mouse control action.  This isn't a small neighborhood anymore, you know."
    "Ok," I capitulated.  "I'll go ask for this person's approval."
    The mice were lounging on the furniture and having picnics in the den.

    Having obtained the Rodent Management Expert's approval, and having rescheduled another two weeks in advance, I settled in to await my time.  There was another email from Bossy.
    "All cats must attend a ticket review meeting the day before implementation of their tickets, or the tickets will be rejected," it said.
    Well, we all thought this was pretty asinine, but we'd already caved in to all this other crap, so ...
    The day of the first meeting dawned grim and gloomy.  All of us were hissing.
    "First, I will explain why these meetings are needed," Bossy began.  "It's because you're a bunch of incompetent nincompoops, that's why!  I give you simple, reasonable procedures to follow, and what happens?  You screw them up, that's what!  Missing or inadequate answers to the 27 questions!  Improper or missing approvals!  Scheduling outside your time windows!  You seem to think that this is still a small neighborhood!  Well, the free ride is over!"
    "Excuse me," said Fluffy the Persian.  "What does the size of the neighborhood have to do with these draconian, yet silly, procedures?  I haven't caught a mouse in two months.  How does that help?"
    "Excuse you, is right!" Bossy counterattacked.  "Thanks to me, you haven't had a bad mouse action in two months!  Have you forgotten the Awful Thing?  This isn't a small neighborhood anymore!  But we need to get on with the ticket review.  First ticket!  This belongs to Muggles the Siamese.  Is Muggles here?  No?  Ticket rejected!"
    "Uh, Muggles has been working on that ticket for months," I interjected.  "His mice are really getting feisty.  His Master is frantic."
    "Is Muggles here?  No?  Ticket rejected!" Bossy repeated.  "Next ticket.  Whiskers the Cat.  Is Whiskers here?"
    "Yes, yes!" I stammered.  "That was me talking to you a couple of seconds ago."
    "Tell me about this ticket," said Bossy.
    "There are mice all over the house.  Master wants me to get rid of them."
    "No contingency plan," said Bossy.
    "What?"  I thought I was past being flabbergasted, but apparently, I was wrong.  "What contingency plan?"
    "Every ticket needs a contingency plan," said Bossy.
    "Since when?"
    "The contingency plan section has been on the ticket for three days," said Bossy.
    "Why didn't you tell us?  An email, a phone call.  You sent us an email telling us to come to this meeting.  Why couldn't you tell us about contingency plans?"  I was whimpering noticeably now.
    "It's on the Mousetrap Ticket form," said Bossy.  "You should have found it."
    "But I've been working on the same ticket for months.  Anyway, we all copy old tickets to make new ones.  That way we don't have to redo every pointless question every single time."
    "No contingency plan," said Bossy.  "Ticket rejected!  Next ticket!"

    When I returned home, the mice were carrying Master out the front door.  He was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.  I'm what they call a feral cat now.  There have been no "mouse actions" in our neighborhood for over a year.  There have been no procedural violations, so Bossy is very happy.  The mice have overrun everything, of course.  In fact, it's mice as far as the eye can see.  My, how the neighborhood has grown!