There is a mouse in your bedroom.
He has been there for quite some time now, and you hardly even mind it anymore. He had planned – had promised – to only be there a week or two, but then something came up rather suddenly, and you had not the heart to ask him to leave. After all, he is quite clean, especially for a mouse, and always courteous – even more so than some of your previous housemates. He only ever asks for some water and a little bit of food, and you enjoy your time together so much that it is a small price to pay.
He tells the most wonderful stories, and you wonder occasionally at where he might have picked them up. In other haunts, and in other company odder and less human than yours, perhaps. No one ever wonders where a mouse goes or where comes from, you conclude after some reflection. He talks about all the places he has been, places you have yet to visit even in your sleep. Paris, Rio de Janeiro, Timbuktu – exotic locales that seem more like daydreams than real places. For him, it is as easy as stowing away in a bag or box or boat. On the rainiest, dreariest days in the city, how you wish that you could do the same. Unsurprisingly, he knows all the best spots in town, and you always trust him to recommend the best restaurants when you are trying to impress a date.
At night, you can hear him rustling and moving about behind the walls. It bothered you a bit at first – though you never would have told him so – but now you can hardly sleep without the sound. He is very considerate about your working hours, and makes as little noise as he can most times. He rarely comes out during the workday, and even if he did, your hours are such that you would hardly ever catch him.
Besides, your weekend catchups take place over lunch, and always run until the moon begins to peek in the sky, when the city lights on the other side of the window grapple with new stars on the horizon for attention. You do not know where he goes while the sun is highest, and it seems so rude you have not the courage to pry into his personal affairs. He even brings back trinkets for you without asking – coins and rings and occasionally a small diamond or two. Jokingly, you have begun to call this his rent.
Almost a year later, when the city streets no longer seem as winding, and as the faces of the strangers around you finally begin to soften, he vanishes.
He is gone for almost a week before you allow yourself to worry. Without the sound of him at night, you find it difficult – almost impossible – to fall asleep. Just when you decide to go out yourself and look for him in every corner and behind each wall in the city if you have to, there is a humble knock at your door. He is there with a quiet white mouse that he introduces as his betrothed, and he meekly asks for his old room and board again.
Later that week – when there are a hundred mice in your living room for the wedding, and his shy fiancé wears a veil cut from one of your best napkins – you present him with a wedding gift of your own.
Yes, there is a mouse in your bedroom, and the rest of his family lives in the guest room.
.
