My Almost Pet Mouse

Photo by Henry Lai on Unsplash

“Mom, can we get a dog?” I asked.

“No.” She didn’t even look up from the dish she was washing.

“But why?” I whined.

She threw the dish cloth back into the water and turned towards me. “Quit asking. I’ve told you more times than I can count.” Her wet hands became animated dripping water as they emphasized her words. “Why? Because you won’t take care of it.”

“Yes, I will,” I retorted.

“The answer is no! Go find something to do.” She returned to her washing.

I left the kitchen and went to the living room. Dad was zoned out on the couch with his tablet. At the ripe old age of eight, I had learned you never interrupt Dad if he was using it. One time I asked if I could play with it since I wasn’t allowed to have my own. He got mad so, I don’t ask any more.

Coloring always made me feel better. So, I sprawled out with a pillow between me and the hardwood floor. I spread my crayons out and picked a page to color.

I had just finished the sky and grass when I saw movement in the next room. Without moving, I shifted my gaze. A small gray mouse ventured from a hole along the baseboard in the dining room. His nose twitched as he examined the bits of food under the table.

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