We have a mouse.
Had, maybe. We had a party one night, see. I should’ve thought to tell him beforehand.
I caught a glimpse of him, once, in between the people talking and people drinking and people filling my space. He was in the kitchen, sat quietly on the table. He was watching a couple pour drinks, flirt, laugh. His head tilted left to right to left as he watched them talk in turn. Tilted down when the boy placed his hand on the girl’s arm.
When I thought to find him again the party was over.
I haven’t seen him since.

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.

We have a mouse.
I wander downstairs in my boxers, bleary and tired, and into the kitchen. Pieces of carpet fluff stick to my bare feet. I scratch my head and yawn.
A rustling from the bin.
“You okay in there, buddy?” I ask.
The rustling stops. A pause.
“…’es,” comes the muffled reply.
“Cool,” I say. I pour myself a glass of cold orange juice and drink it down. I wash the glass, and try to rub the sleep out of my eyes.
“Gonna take a shower, buddy,” I say.
“…’kay.”
I pad toward the bathroom.
It’s quiet for a moment.
The rustling starts again.

We have a mouse.
“Will you be staying with us long?” I ask.
He’s lost in thought gazing out the window.
I cough. He blinks his black eyes, turns, thinks about the question.
“No. No, probably not… It’s so cold out there, isn’t it.”
He turns back and looks out at the falling snow.
I join him at the window.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, it is.”