The Mouse in my Study

Micro Non-Fiction

I’ve always harboured an affinity for wildlife, whilst maintaining a healthy respect for the dangers many present. Even the most formidable creatures pose little threat to humans unless they feel cornered or threatened. So why, then, do I despise ants more than any other living thing? Perhaps because they seem to take perverse pleasure in stinging me for no apparent reason—as if inflicting pain were sport to them.

This morning, I opened my study door and switched on the computer. As I settled into my chair facing the twin monitors, I sensed a slight movement on my desk. There, directly in front of me, sat a tiny field mouse. She regarded me with bright, unblinking eyes, as though she’d been patiently waiting for breakfast to be served, utterly unperturbed by my presence. After all, this was my office, and I would have been perfectly within my rights to shoo her away. Instead, I wished her a chirpy good morning and continued working for a minute or two, stealing glances at the unexpected visitor.

Then I wondered: perhaps she was in need of a friend.

I extended my hand toward her, very cautiously, so as not to frighten her. Without hesitation, she leaped into my palm and buried her tiny nose between my fingers, as if conducting a thorough inspection to ensure I’d properly washed my hands. She made no attempt to flee, so must have sensed I was decidedly not a cat.

My wife was outside in the garden doing some weeding, so, I needed to devise a mouse escape plan. You may be wondering why. Well, my wife is something of a human rat trap when it comes to rodents. Even the most harmless field mouse, according to her philosophy, carries the potential to transform itself into a monstrous rat in a very short time. I had to execute this delicate operation with utmost secrecy before disclosing the tiny creature’s existence .

Cupping her carefully in my hand, I carried her out of the study and down the garden path to the orchard. There, among the lamyai trees, I said a sad goodbye as she scampered away into the tall grass, her tail disappearing like a question mark into the greenery.

It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if I found her perched on my desk again tomorrow morning, waiting for breakfast.