I have never heard the mice so blatantly announce their presence. I've heard a pitter-patter here and there, but never something like this. I can hear their claws clamber from one corner to the next of the wood over my head. I can hear their squeaks- what a chatty bunch- perhaps they are talking so much because I, myself have nothing to say. They are all in cahoots; scurrying, hurrying.
I wonder what room they are in, or if perhaps it is just the general in between space of the ceiling and the floor boards.
Then I see him; human feet and a human head, heart of a mouse. He steals a glance at me as he passes my door. There is nothing on his face but a nose, mouth and eyes. I can hear his feet with the heavy steps that lead him up the wooden stairway.
He probably went to join them. He knows that the things that happen under these floor boards make him feel better. And they all scamper to greet him, careful not to get stepped on. They sing songs of joy and offer cakes made of cheese and happily throw darts at a picture of my face.
So he gets on his throne, feeling haughty and high, and I can hear their drunken squeaks of "happy birthday" to their king.
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