Daisy

It had happened within minutes of his walking into the kitchen.

It was first thing in the morning and he was barely awake when he heard the rustling sounds coming from the pantry. Opening the door, he came face to face with a mouse. It sat perched on the top of a jar of sandwich spread nibbling on what looked like a piece of biscuit. It didn’t move, it just sat there. There was no scurrying away, the sort of behaviour that a person in that situation would reasonably expect. No, nothing like that. Its little arms dropped from its mouth and its little head tipped slowly to one side, as if it was asking if it could do something for the human intruder that had just disturbed it while enjoying its breakfast. He was simply mesmerized for several long moments. They just stared at each other for a while… before the mouse spoke.

“Can I do something for you?” it enquired, before going back to its morsel.

After a few beats, and positively amazed at how he was taking the situation so calmly, he managed to blurt out, “Excuse me, did you speak?”

“Yes, of course I did,” came the reply.

Anyway, that’s how it all started.

After making a cup of tea and a couple of slices of toast, they settled down for a chat. He left the door open and pulled up a chair to face the pantry. The mouse explained that only a very small percentage of rodents could actually talk, and hardly any of them actually did. It informed him that it was a field mouse. It went on to explain that it was on its own now. It relayed, in painful detail, how its beloved soulmate had met its end by being eaten by a dog. It was a horrible thing that had radically changed its life. It said how much it missed its beloved Daisy.

It had been quite early on in the conversation that he felt a sense of understanding and empathy for the creature and explained that he too had suffered a loss. He relayed the fact that he could understand its misery as he had lost his wife to a terminal illness a few years back and this had changed his life. It was back then that he left the city and had bought this tiny cottage in the country where he lived alone.

Having discovered this common thread, the tiny rodent became even more verbose. In fact, it just wouldn’t stop talking, mainly about how life wasn’t the same without Daisy, and how much it missed the light of its life.

“Yes,” it was saying, “it was a Westie that got her, my beloved.”

The man only nodded.

“They’re bred to kill rodents, you know?”

“No. I didn’t know that,” he said, trying to sound interested.

“Yes, their proper breed name is the West Highland White Terrier.”

“Oh!” he said.

This went on for some time.

Finally, looking up at the clock he realised that this originally fascinating tête-à-tête had been going for more than an hour and he was definitely tiring of it. Especially the nauseating repetition about how much it missed its Daisy. He was thoroughly sick of hearing about Daisy.

The annoying creature was still rabbiting on about it when he finally excused himself and left the room. He needed a plan. It quickly took shape. Paying absolutely no mind to how much this might hurt its feelings, he returned to the kitchen and found an almost empty box of biscuits. He opened the end and laid it down on the kitchen table. “You can finish these off, if you like,” he said and stood back, adding, “I hope you like digestive biscuits.”

“Love ‘em”, it said, as it hopped down onto the table and entered the box.

At this point, he closed the box, secured it with a rubber band, went out to the car where he put it in the boot, drove for twenty minutes, pulled off the road and parked next to an extensive area of woodlands, retrieved the box, walked into the woods for a further five minutes, found a pleasant spot, removed the elastic band, then trotted back to his car feeling fully confident that he could return home to a bit of well-deserved peace and quiet.

Back in the sanctuary of his cottage, he closed the pantry door, sighed, and switched the kettle on.