Chapter One: Jaden

I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach this morning as I open my MacBook and click to my favorite obscure Mice forum. I start scrolling through a debate between Mouse_Fan 2666 and King Arthur The Great about whether the show should be given a spin off series (King Arthur is vehemently against it as he believes it would tarnish the quality of the original, while Mouse_Fan wants to see the characters move in "exciting new directions"), when it hits me like a sack of hardened cement (what? You wanted me to say "a sack of bricks?" No thanks. That's beyond cliché.) I don't think I like Mice anymore. Actually, the feeling has been clawing at the back of my mind for several weeks now even if I tried to deny it. I still watch the show religiously every day and I still frequent the forum. I even still work on my fanfic featuring a time travel escapade. But none of it carries the same charm or spark as it did when I first discovered Mice six months ago. I am saddened to find that as I skim Mouse_Fan's and King Arthur's comments, I really couldn't care either way if Mice receives a spin off or not. I should care. But I don't. And that upsets me more than anything.

You're probably wondering what the hell this Mice thing is and why you (or I, for that matter) should care about it. Well, I'll explain it to you, but you probably won't get it. The Mice of King Arthur's Court is a low-budget British TV show featuring puppets and following the exploits of a group of rodents who live during the Middle Ages. Admittedly, said exploits aren't usually very exciting and generally involve a lot of philosophical dialogue.

Mice appeared in my life completely by accident. A few of my Anime Club friends and I were looking at a forum that discussed bad TV shows from around the world when we found a link to The Mice of King Arthur's Court along with the comment: "check this weird shit out. Legit stupidest show I have ever seen!" At first, I agreed with the poster that the puppet designs and the premise were incredibly stupid. Even though I generally like non-mainstream entertainment, I thought that the show looked over-whelmingly, laughably bad. Some of the puppets didn't even look like mice, for crying out loud. My friends and I watched a short clip mostly for a laugh and we all agreed that it stank to high heaven. However, a few days later, bored out of mind with only my loser sister Hermione to keep me company, I decided to give Mice another try – again, mostly to make fun of it.

After the first episode, which hadn't been nearly as horrific as I expected, I clicked on the link to episode 2. This time, I actually laughed at some of the dialogue (though I'm sure it would've gone over most people's heads) and found myself enjoying the show. Maybe it was starting to pick up, I decided. As it turned out, episodes 3 and 4 were even better. Mice seemed to be one of those rare shows that gets better with each episode. Before I knew it, it was nearly midnight and I had watched all 25 half-hour episodes of season one. And I unabashedly loved it. All of it: the stilted British accents, the campy stop motion when the mice ate or ran or climbed trees, the idiosyncratic puppet designs, the way the characters thought and talked deeply about issues of life and death. I had been incredibly mistaken. This show wasn't terrible at all. It was brilliant!

I hate to say it, but from that day forward, I became slightly obsessed with Mice. My annoying ex step mother, Helen, likes to point out that I have obsessive tendencies (in a nice way, she thinks. She really just wants to help me, she says, but I think she should mind her own business – especially since she and Dad are legally divorced. Yet she still insists on being part of mine and Hermione's lives even though neither of us has ever been remotely nice to her. Freaking weirdo). Although I do tend to become a bit overly involved in things I love (which so does Helen, by the way, since she clearly loves trying to be friends with me – gag), but never have I become so attached to anything as I did to Mice. When I wasn't watching and re-watching the episodes, I was trying to find other people's opinions. The unfortunate thing about liking an obscure show is that it's hard to find a community of like-minded fans. Normally, this wouldn't bother me, but I felt that my sudden love for Mice needed to be shared.

Eventually, after days of searching, I encountered a fan site. Sure, King Arthur the Great, Mouse_Fan 2666 and I may have been the only members, but it was still great to have someone to talk to. On the down side, however, I often got offended when either of my fellow fans disliked something about the show. Petty? Yeah. Babyish? Even more yeah. But what can I say? I was weirdly protective of Mice kind of like a knight in shining armor defending his beloved.

As the weeks went by, I became more and more hooked. Some days, I would blow off my friends' offers to hang out so that I could re-watch episodes and/or talk to Mouse_Fan 2666 and King Arthur the Great and/or work on my fan art and/or search for spoilers about a potential 5th season (which even then I knew was highly unlikely to ever happen). Helen nosily wondered if I thought I was missing out and whether I was getting lonely, despite the fact that it was clearly not her business (honestly, even my dad and Hermione didn't care and they actually see me on a day-to-day basis). She was absolutely wrong. I was perfectly content. I didn't miss my friends because I had Mice in my life and I preferred spending my days immersed in the world of the show. The King Arthur-verse was a hell of a lot better than real life anyway.

So with all that being established, what would happen if I no longer liked The Mice of King Arthur's Court? At this point, I am legitimately freaked. My heart speeds up and my breathing becomes short and raspy, so I reach for my inhaler. Nah, I decide, after taking a puff of air. I probably just need to watch a few episodes again. Yes, I think. That will make me feel better.

Suddenly, my cell phone buzzes and I jump. My friends have long stopped trying to get together and my father never calls me from work. That means there's only one person it could be.

"What do you want, Helen?" I ask, which is, to be honest, snotty even for me. Contrary to how I act, I don't actually hate Helen. And really, I have to give credit where credit is due. She tries ridiculously hard. Actually, I've never met anyone so God damn persistent. At some point, however, there is a pretty thin line between persistent and practically masochistic. I'm pretty sure she's crossed that line a long, long time ago. One would think she would drop the façade of "Good Stepmother"/complete ass-kisser after the divorce, but oddly enough, ever since divorcing my dad, she's been even more intent on pretending to like the things I like, which is annoying as hell because her definition of "surreal/non-mainstream" film is Donnie Darko or Mulholland Drive. She especially tried with Mice, by the way, but as predicted, she completely didn't get it, even if she pretended she did.

"Hey, Jaden!" she says in her typical cheery voice as if I didn't just snap at her. "Owen and I were thinking of going to the new Modern Art exhibit down town. Would you like to go with us?"

I actually don't hate Helen's new boyfriend, Owen, either, even though he often acts like he's even younger than me. I guess I can't expect him to be too normal, though, since Helen met him at a retreat where people are guided through finding themselves or some new age bullshit when she was in the process of divorcing my father. Helen and Owen – who, I should add, like to refer to themselves as Howen – bleh – like refer to it as "Summer Camp for Adults with Issues," but to me it just sounds like a place to sort out all of your first world problems. At least Owen doesn't make a huge effort of pretending to understand my interests and he certainly doesn't try to analyze them or sound smart. If he doesn't get the point of a piece of art I like, he will straight up say "I don't get it." Then he will ruffle my hair and say: "you are one weird little dude, Jaden."

Obviously, I have little desire to attend the Modern Art exhibit with Helen and Owen (nope, I refuse to call them "Howen") as I already know it will probably consist of Helen bragging about knowing the curator (who doesn't she know?) and Owen pointing out which pieces are phallic shapes and Helen insisting that she knows the difference between Modern Art and Postmodern Art and that pretty much every single thing represents how disconnected Millennials are in the age of Facebook (which is rather hypocritical given that Helen probably spends more time of Facebook than Mark Zuckerberg himself – and on that note, she actually knows Mark Zuckerberg personally. Allegedly, she once threw a birthday party for him and now they are extremely close friends, even if Zuckerberg never actually friended her on Facebook). So, yeah. No thanks, basically.

I am about to tell her that I have previous engagements, when I stop and think for a minute. Maybe my disinterest in the conversation about Mice this morning happened because I spend too much time with Mice. Maybe all I need to refresh my interest is to spend some time away from the show. Then, when I get back from the museum, I can watch an episode with fresh eyes.

"Okay, sure," I say.

"Okay? Sure?" Helen repeats, sounding incredulous.

"Yeah, fine," I add.

"Oh I'm so glad!" she practically shouts. "I feel like I never get to see you anymore! This will be really fun, I promise. I hear they just opened a whole section on Duchamp and were able to get the actual sculptures from Paris and I was just telling Owen how much I'm dying to see Fountain in real life."

"Uh huh." Sure you were.

"Yay!" says Helen, probably not even noticing that she is doing 90% of the talking – as is usually the case these days. "Owen and I will swing by to get you in about an hour. Is that okay?"

"Whatever," I reply.