A Mouse's Perspective

Standing under the lamp post, stood a large pink mouse with large ears, two dark eyes, and a round red nose with whiskers.
I should have been astonished, but it seemed, somehow, to fit the scenery. It was an ordinary February evening. By ordinary and February in the Midwest, I mean, the snow was piled high, perhaps about 20 feet, where people had blown snow or used vehicles, snowplows, that is.
I recall coming out of the building in the early afternoon and hearing a low howling sound. I thought, "What is that? A cat?" For I'd remembered hearing an inordinate yowling when I was young, that I could have sworn was a crying baby, and yet, it was a cat.
The snowplow, on its way across the street, stopped half way and moved back. Apparently, the "cat" was a large middle-aged woman who'd fallen behind her own car. The snowplow driver helped her up, and I inquired whether everything was okay. The problem appeared to be taken care of.
But, my evening visitor questioned my earlier experience.
"You showed good judgment."
"How so?"
"Your first thoughts were correct."
"How would you know my thoughts?"
"It was, in fact, a cat."
"No, it was a human, a woman."
"It was a cat, fair and square, and if you'd called 911, the feline would have sued you."
"Why?"
"Because of her cat nature. Cats are responsible for all the troubles of the world."
"Wouldn't you say you were a bit biased?"
"It's true. She would list your number as suspicious and take you to court. She would say you'd hit her."
"I hadn't even gotten into my car yet!"
"Just the same, she would do that," He stated, twitching his red nose and whiskers, "since she's a cat."
"I actually felt sorry for her, once I knew she was a lady in distress, I regretted not having helped her."
"Have no regrets. That was no lady."
I sighed in frustration.
The mouse tipped his hat, which I hadn't noticed he'd been wearing.
"Well, thank you for reassuring me that I'd done right after all. What's your name?"
"Mouse."
"That's logical." I replied, suddenly thinking that nothing else was logical about having a conversation with a large mouse under a lamp post.
"Yes," he said, as he twirled his cane, (something else I hadn't noticed), and walked off, "The cats are responsible for all the troubles of the world."