House Mouse

House Mouse

The park feels too tidy—new benches, evenly spaced trees, a fountain that politely gurgles. But tucked behind the utility shed, you spot it: a tiny bronze medallion tucked into the crumbling mortar of the stone wall. You press your fingers to it.

“About time,” says a voice so small you almost miss it. “I’ve been waiting forever. Which is, admittedly, only two hours, but still.”

You glance down.

A gray-brown blur zips from under a bush and stops inches from your shoe. It’s a mouse. Just a mouse. Whiskers twitching, ears sharp as leaves, eyes glinting like polished seeds.

“I knew you’d come,” she says. “I heard it. Somewhere in the walls. Like a hum only some of us can hear. I’m Mina, by the way. House mouse. Pleasure, et cetera.”

You crouch. “You live here?”

“Everywhere and nowhere. Vents, cupboards, museum basements, mop closets, electrical ducts. I once nested inside a lava lamp. Cozy. Slightly psychedelic.”

She paces in a tight loop. “You’re not what I expected. Taller. No snacks.”

You ask, “Why do you think I can talk to you now?”

Mina stops and blinks. “Because you listened. That’s all it takes, really. Most humans don’t. Too loud in your heads. Too many calendar alerts and refrigerator doors. But the medallions—well, they hush the world just enough to hear what was always there.”

She scrambles up a nearby drainpipe and perches like a lookout, tail draped elegantly.

“I’ve been keeping notes, you know. Scribbles in dust. Patterns in floorboard creaks. This whole medallion business is more than shiny souvenirs. It’s a grand rewiring. A re-threading. A cosmic eavesdrop.”

You blink. “What does that even mean?”

She grins. “Ask the vole. He claims to be good at metaphors.”

A distant sprinkler kicks on with a hiss. She flinches.

“Ugh. I hate that sound. Sounds like a hawk clearing its throat.”

Mina drops down and brushes imaginary crumbs from her fur.

“You should go. People are nosy in parks like this. And mice are better left as rumors.”

She darts toward the wall, then peeks back. “Oh—and if you find a stash of sunflower seeds under a bench on 10th, I absolutely did not put them there.”

Then she’s gone—vanished into the gaps where the world forgets to look.