Finding Mousey

By Thursday morning, Mrs Brand deeply regretted the bird feeders.

Not the idea of them.

The reality of them.

The idea had been wholesome.

Birds at the window.

Nature.

Gentle chirping.

Possibly one tasteful robin appearing while everyone drank hot chocolate and learned valuable lessons about wildlife.

Instead, the garden now looked like someone had exploded a granola bar.

Bird seed covered everything.

The lawn.

The flowerbeds.

The patio.

One unfortunate garden gnome.

And because this was London, the local wildlife had responded immediately.

Mostly pigeons.

But not only pigeons.

Mrs Brand noticed the mouse at 7:12am.

Tiny.

Brown.

Very fast.

It darted beneath the bird table carrying a sunflower seed nearly the size of its own head.

Mrs Brand froze.

“Oh no.”

Dad looked up from his laptop.

“What?”

“We have a mouse.”

Dad blinked.

“In the house?”

“No. Garden.”

Dad relaxed immediately.

“That’s nature.”

Mrs Brand narrowed her eyes.

“It becomes less magical when it starts paying rent.”

Unfortunately, Barry overheard everything.

“A MOUSE?”

He appeared in the kitchen doorway instantly.

Hair wild.

Pyjamas twisted.

Emotionally prepared for adventure.

“Where?” he demanded.

“In the garden,” Mum said carefully.

“And you are NOT to touch it.”

Barry nodded suspiciously quickly.

This was never reassuring.

Five minutes later, Barry and Marmaduke lay flat against the patio doors watching the garden.

Alfie sat nearby eating toast sensibly because Alfie remained committed to being seventy years old internally.

“There!” Marmaduke whispered.

The tiny mouse darted between flowerpots.

Barry gasped softly.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s small,” Alfie corrected.

“It has tiny hands.”

“That is how mice work.”

The mouse paused near the bird seed.

Nibbling.

Twitching.

Looking entirely too adorable for Mrs Brand’s comfort.

Barry pressed closer to the glass.

“I think he likes our garden.”

“That’s the problem,” Mum muttered.

Marmaduke looked emotional already.

“He’s just a little fellow.”

Dad glanced outside.

“Hm.”

Mrs Brand folded her arms.

“Do not say ‘hm’ like that.”

“What?”

“That’s your ‘we accidentally own wildlife now’ voice.”

Barry disappeared upstairs briefly.

This should always worry parents.

He returned holding half a digestive biscuit.

“No,” said Mum immediately.

“He’s hungry.”

“He is not having biscuits.”

Barry looked outraged.

“You said sharing is caring.”

“Not with rodents.”

But Barry had already cracked the patio door open slightly.

The mouse vanished instantly.

Barry looked devastated.

“I scared him.”

“Yes,” Alfie said.

“Because you’re a giant.”

For the rest of the morning, Barry became obsessed.

He checked the garden every six minutes.

He whispered encouraging things through the glass.

At one point he attempted squeaking noises.

“What are you doing?” Alfie asked.

“Speaking mouse.”

“You sound like a broken bicycle.”

Marmaduke, naturally, became equally invested.

“We should give him a name.”

Barry considered carefully.

“…Mousey.”

Alfie stared at him.

“That is deeply uncreative.”

“It’s honest.”

By lunchtime, Mousey had become an official part of the boys’ lives.

Barry drew him pictures.

Marmaduke built a “mouse hotel” out of shoeboxes.

Alfie refused involvement on legal grounds.

Mrs Brand tried to stay firm.

“It’s a wild mouse.”

Barry nodded.

“Yes. Wild but friendly.”

“That is how plagues begin,” Alfie muttered.

The real trouble started after preschool.

Barry and Marmaduke raced home ahead of Mum.

The second they entered the garden, they spotted Mousey beneath the feeder.

This time, the mouse didn’t run away.

Barry crouched very slowly.

Mousey twitched his whiskers.

Marmaduke held his breath dramatically.

Then—

The mouse climbed directly onto Barry’s trainer.

There was silence.

Tiny, amazed silence.

Barry whispered,

“He trusts me.”

Alfie, arriving moments later, looked horrified.

“WHY IS IT ON YOU?”

Mousey climbed calmly onto Barry’s knee.

Tiny paws.

Bright eyes.

Perfect little whiskers.

Marmaduke gasped.

“You’re like Cinderella.”

“I think I’m a mouse king.”

“You are absolutely neither,” Alfie replied.

Barry carefully offered a sunflower seed.

Mousey took it immediately.

Mrs Brand, watching from the kitchen window, nearly dropped her tea.

“Oh absolutely not.”

Dad looked outside.

“…That’s surprisingly tame.”

Mrs Brand pointed furiously.

“That sentence is not helping.”

Barry carried Mousey gently toward the patio.

“Mum! Look!”

Mrs Brand stepped backwards instantly.

“No.”

“But he’s lovely.”

“No.”

“He has tiny eyebrows.”

“Still no.”

Barry sat cross-legged on the floor while Mousey explored happily nearby.

Marmaduke watched in awe.

“This is the best day ever.”

Alfie stood as far away as physically possible.

“That thing definitely carries diseases.”

Mousey washed his face adorably.

Even Alfie hesitated slightly.

“…Admittedly, he is quite clean-looking.”

Soon Barry had made several major decisions:

1. Mousey was staying. 
2. Mousey needed a bed. 
3. Mousey preferred digestive biscuits. 
4. Parents were overreacting. 

“Where exactly,” Mum asked carefully,

“do you think the mouse is going to live?”

Barry looked surprised she needed clarification.

“My room.”

Mrs Brand laughed.

Not happy laughter.

The dangerous kind.

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“He’s family.”

“He’s vermin.”

Mousey continued nibbling quietly, somehow making Mrs Brand look unreasonable.

Dad crouched beside Barry.

“Wild mice belong outside.”

Barry frowned.

“But he chose us.”

Dad sighed.

“This is how Disney films manipulate people.”

Barry became emotional immediately.

“He’ll be lonely.”

Marmaduke nodded sadly.

“Especially emotionally.”

Eventually a compromise was reached.

Mousey could stay in the garden.

Absolutely not indoors.

No exceptions.

Barry accepted this reluctantly.

Then immediately began creating an outdoor mouse house using flowerpots, cardboard tubes and one of Dad’s old socks.

By late evening, Mousey had become a full neighbourhood issue.

Barry had specifically said:

“Don’t tell anyone.”

Marmaduke had nodded sincerely.

Then told:

• Miss Patel 
• The postman 
• One random lady near the Co-op 
• Arthur’s mum 
• And, disastrously, Alfie’s teacher 

“I said SECRET,” Barry whispered furiously.

“I know.”

“So why did you tell everyone?”

Marmaduke looked genuinely confused.

“I only tell secrets you don’t tell me to keep secret.”

Barry stared at him.

“That makes no sense.”

“It does in my brain.”

The next morning at preschool, Miss Patel greeted Barry carefully.

“I hear you’ve made friends with a mouse.”

Barry beamed proudly.

“Mousey.”

Miss Patel sighed instantly.

“Of course it has a name.”

Marmaduke added helpfully,

“He likes digestive biscuits and eyebrows.”

Miss Patel chose not to ask further questions.

At pickup time, another parent approached Mrs Brand.

“I heard your son rescued a mouse?”

Mrs Brand closed her eyes briefly.

“Marmaduke.”

Back home, Barry rushed straight to the garden.

“Mousey!”

The tiny mouse appeared almost immediately beneath the feeder.

Apparently aware there was free food and emotional attachment available.

Barry sat quietly watching him.

Even Alfie joined eventually.

At a safe distance.

“He does seem quite tame,” Alfie admitted.

Barry smiled proudly.

“Because he trusts us.”

“He trusts birdseed.”

“That too.”

As dusk settled over the garden, Mousey disappeared beneath the fence again.

Tiny.

Quick.

Wild after all.

Barry watched thoughtfully.

“Do you think he has a mouse family?”

“Probably,” Mum admitted.

“Do they love him?”

“Yes.”

“Do they know he likes biscuits?”

“…Possibly.”

Barry nodded seriously.

“Good.”

That night, Mrs Brand looked out across the garden.

Birdseed still visible but the pigeons had done a good job of cleaning up.

Somewhere beneath the bushes, one extremely confident mouse living his best life.

Dad wrapped an arm around her.

“Well,” he said,

“at least it wasn’t rats.”

Mrs Brand stared at him.

“Do not tempt the universe.”