We have a mouse.
He’s sat on a chair in my lounge and he’s holding in his paws what I think is a Cheerio. He turns it over occasionally, stares at it.
I’m sat on the sofa and I’m playing on my XBox. We’ve been sat in silence for an hour, him with his cheerio and me with my game.
I finally pause the game and stare down at my controller. I pick at one of the controls with my fingernail.
“So, uh, do you have a name?” I ask.
He stops rotating the cheerio and looks up at me. I peer intently at my controller.
“Um.” He stares up, thinks about it. “…no?”
“Oh.”
I look up again to the TV. The mouse follows my gaze.
My game character is on a hill and is looking out over a field. The grass moves in the breeze and the snow is settling in and in the distance a figure is moving. I try to remember why I’m there, at this exact spot in this field in this unreal world, but I can’t.
“Oh,” I say again.
