is or is not. I assure you, though, that the Wombat exists. In the Wombat we are confronted by a fact, not a theory. That is all I care to divulge at the moment as I prefer, in the interest of suspense, to keep the reader on tenterhooks until he comes to the article entitled “The Wombat” under the larger heading, “Problem Mammals.”
There, I’ve gone and dropped a hint that gives part of the secret away. So the Wombat is a mammal! If I know my public, however, no great harm has been done, for I find the widest divergence of opinion on what is a mammal. Five of my acquaintances, when asked to define a mammal, replied, “Well, the Cow is a mammal.” That is correct. Four others said, “Well, the Whale is a mammal.” Right again, but two of these had been going through life with the erroneous impression, drawn from that fragment of truth, that mammal is only a more dignified name for fish. That is what comes of teaching innocent children what a Whale is. Something should be done about this.
I had no better luck with the young woman, a graduate of one of our foremost institutions of learning, whom I asked to define a marsupial, a special kind of mammal that comes into the plot later on. After she had flunked on the mammals in general by guessing that a mammal is any animal that is quite large (and I must confess there is a sort of fundamental rightness in that view that I hesitate to disturb), she stated that a marsupial was something from the polar regions, and stuck to it. She could give no rational explanation, during a rather painful cross-questioning, of how such an association had occurred to her, and I wound up by feeling glad that she had heard of the polar regions at least — on the radio, doubtless. Naturally, I apologized for what must have seemed to her a display of heartless brutality. I can’t bear to see a woman cry.
As for the title of this book, of course it is stolen from, or let us say inspired by, that invaluable little volume I am always running across, How to Attract the Birds, by Robert S. Lemmon. Heaven forbid that I should ever attract a bird, or birds, but you can see how that title solved my problem when I was fumbling around for one of my own. If you knew my private opinion of birds, you would understand why I consider my version an improvement, with all respect to Mr. Lemmon. The whole subject of ornithology stirs me so profoundly that I mustn’t go into it here. There isn’t time. I will only say that the more I see of birds, the better I like Wombats.
There are moments, I may add, when my title, How to Attract the Wombat, does not entirely satisfy me. There’s something a little cold, a little remote, about using a generic term like “the Wombat” when it’s a question of attracting him. Nobody writes a book called How to Attract the Man, or How to Attract the Woman, so I took to favoring How to Attract a Wombat as more in tune with what really goes on, more urgent, more immediate, more business-like. Then I would wake up in the night thinking of people who might want to attract a lot of Wombats. Would they buy a book enabling them to attract one Wombat, or must I change the wording to How to Attract Wombats, in the plural? All those I consulted on these variations at the last moment said yes, they guessed it was all right if I liked it, and indicated that the subject, so far as they were concerned, was closed.
I suppose there are people who do not wish to attract even one Wombat, let alone a number of them. Most of these are simply indifferent. They do not care, one way or the other. Has it never occurred to them that they may be missing something, and that it might be Wombats? I am afraid their present attitude, if they persist in it, may occasion our sales manager more than one mauvais quart d’heure before he is through with it.
On the other hand, considering what we have learned of our fellow creatures in recent years, there are undoubtedly those who do wish to attract a Wombat or Wombats, just why is not for me to inquire. For them this book could be a treasure worth many times the price of admission. I might even say it would fill a long-felt want.
Finally a word to the more respectable of my readers, some of whom may be shocked by certain sensational passages I slipped into the text during final revision, just in case. God bless them all. I would not willingly bring a blush to their cheeks or upset them in any way, manner, shape or form whatever. Still and all, I realize that a book which hopes to receive even passing attention today must be pretty snappy in regard to you-know-what. In preparing my material for the printer, therefore, I have kept constantly in mind our large and growing body of sex maniacs. They read books too.
MAMMALS FOR BEGINNERS
THE MOUSE
You may not care much for Mice but they exist just the same. In fact, there are more Mice in the world than any other mammal.1 Wherever you are, there is a Mouse not far away. He may be closer than you think. Mice of all kinds are extremely prolific. Mother Mice have babies all the year round, from four to thirteen at a time. They don’t know when to stop.2 Young Mice grow up very quickly. They leave the nest and start something when they are only a few weeks old, and it is always the same old story. So I guess Mice will go on forever. The House Mouse is found in all civilized places and in some others I might mention. Mouseologists say House Mice are not native American Mice as they were introduced from abroad, but who wasn’t? House Mice settled in Jamestown in 1607 and more came on the Mayflower in 1620. Unless he arrived on the last boat, any Mouse chosen at random has more ancestors born in this country than any Mouseologist of my acquaintance, so why be stuffy about it? The Field Mouse and the White-footed Mouse were here even before 1492 and you don’t hear them heckling us on the subject, either. House Mice are loyal little creatures. They will stay with you to the last crumb. They sample everything in the pantry and you can hardly blame them.3 Mice believe chocolate layer cakes grow wild for the general good. They think life is like that. It should be. Once in a while a Mouse will sneak into the living room to watch you at your strange antics, and you may decide to let him stick around, he looks so friendly and intelligent.4 You think it will be great fun to have a Mouse of your own. Besides, it will give the Mouse a real home and a sense of security.5 A Mouse will live with anybody. Some evening you may notice that he isn’t the same Mouse and that another one seems to be streaking across the floor just for the hell of it. A check-up will probably reveal that you now have fourteen Mice, most of them expecting — which was not your original idea at all. Moral: It is practically impossible to have one Mouse.
1 We have plenty of Rats, too.
2 Aristotle states that Mice conceive by licking salt. Some of them do, maybe.
3 In Sanskrit the Mouse was called Mush, from a verb meaning “to steal.” Oh, yes? And how did they come to have such a verb?
4 Most House Mice trained in a laboratory can find their way out of a trick box or maze if you give them enough trials. I could do that myself.
5 Tossing bits of cheese to a Mouse is a mistaken kindness. Cheese is bad for Mice.
THE SQUIRREL
The Squirrel is out for a good time. He rushes through the treetops, plays tag with the other Squirrels, eats all the nuts he can hold, and generally behaves as though the world was made for that sort of thing. He is so glad to be alive that nobody has any respect for his mental powers. If you told a Squirrel that life is real and life is earnest, he would dash up the nearest tree, get out on a limb, and offer you a few choice remarks meaning that you are plumb crazy.1 Squirrels are natural comics and nobody knows it better than squirrels. Anything for a laugh.2 They will sit up on their haunches and gnaw at
