First he checked out a piece of cereal that my two year old brother tossed on to the floor. Then he sniffed at a piece of cheese. The cheese was more appealing because he started eating it. If Mom won’t allow me to have a dog, maybe I can keep him.
He moved from the cheese to a piece of corn. He reared up on his hind legs and held it to his mouth with his front paws. He occasionally startled at different sounds and froze, then returned to his feast.
Awe! He is so cute. I want to keep him like my kindergarten class kept a mouse for an experiment. That mouse had white fur and pink eyes. When I pet him, his fur was so soft and warm. This gray mouse had dark shiny eyes. Oh, I want to play with him.
Mom shuffled into the dining room, saw it, and yelled, “Get out of here mouse. Go eat your poison!” I gasped and sat up.
Then she pointed at me, “Don’t you touch that mouse. You’ll get sick and then I’ll have to take you to the doctor.” I nodded and returned to coloring the trees on the page. Mom shuffled back towards the kitchen. The tablet slid from Dad’s hand and thumped on the floor. He snored and shifted on the couch. I almost grabbed, but then remembered he wouldn’t be happy if I played with it.
I sighed. I can’t have a dog. I can’t play with the tablet. I can’t touch the mouse. I picked up a crayon and vigorously colored the page. Later, the mouse returned. This time he choose a small piece of dried up meat to nibble. I stayed bent over my crossed legs and watched it. How could I still play with him, but not touch him? He ran really fast when Mom scared him off.
Without taking my eyes off of him, I gently laid my crayon down. The mouse continued to nibble on the meat occasionally stopping to look around. I folded myself as flat as possible over my crossed legs. He wandered back to the piece of cereal. I slowly lifted my hands high over my head and held them there. He continued eating.
Smack! I slapped my hands into the hardwood floor forcing myself to sit up straight and making my palms sting. The little mouse abandoned his feast and shot back into the wall. I giggled to myself. Dad cleared his throat and shifted. Whew! He was still sleeping.
I folded over my legs again and waited. After what seemed to be an eternity, he peeked out of the hole. Excitement bubbled up inside me because I could make him zip back into his hole again.
He crept out, stopping every few steps until he reached the food. This time he nibbled on the corn. I waited until he seemed comfortable. Slowly I raised my hands over my head. The mouse kept nibbling.
Smack! I slapped my palms on the floor again. He ran. My hands stung. I giggled louder than the first time.
I folded myself back into starting position and waited for the mouse to return. Slowly he crept out of his hole again to eat feast on the smorgasbord under the table. I raised my arms again.
“What are you doing?” Mom asked with an accusatory tone. She was standing in the doorway that connected the living room and kitchen. The old house enabled Mom to sneak up on me. She could exit either side of the kitchen with one doorway leading to the dining room and the other to the living room. The doorway between the living room and dining room completed the circuit. That was my coloring spot.
My heart leaped to my throat and the pit of my stomach sank. I had been caught. What is it with Moms? They always pick the wrong time to walk into the room.