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Tildy’s fall didn’t hurt her. Even if it had, she spent too many of the next few nights sighing lonesome sighs to worry much about a rip or a few lost ounces of stuffing.
She turned over the events in her mind, over and over. She could understand how such a thing could happen. Moves were upsetting, and upset meant something could get forgotten, even something as valuable as she was.
Wasn’t she valuable, after all?
Awful thoughts pushed at Tildy’s mind and she pushed back, unwilling to think them for more than a moment or two.
Sometimes, Tildy simply got angry. She tried to beat her fists on the floor, but without Addy to love her, Tildy couldn’t move.
Lying there on the floor didn’t have much to recommend itself in the way of a view. All she could see was the hem of her second-best calico dress, and her feet were way up over her hair. Three days she passed like this, like a blur, or a cloud of sadness, until on the fourth day Tildy heard a bold scampering across the uncarpeted floor.
“Who is that?” Tildy called out, finally. The scampering stopped. “Who is it? If you’re going to eat my stuffing, or throw me out in the garbage, at least tell me who you are.”
“Who said anything about eating anyone? Bleah! You’re made of cloth and stuffing.”
“So what’s wrong with cloth and stuffing?”
“It so happens I’m a strict vegetarian. Just grains. No meat, and no cloth and stuffing, either.” The voice scampered a little closer, and Tildy shivered.
“I’m Prospero Mouse. Who are you, and why are you still here?”
“I’m only here until Addy comes back,” Tildy said.
Prospero didn’t say a word, but he helped her up to a sitting position. They sat quietly together as the golden beams of the evening sunset fell across their laps.
Prospero
was a clever mouse, and was actually glad of the company, although he
spent most of his days asleep and most of his nights in search of supper.
Tildy didn’t need to eat, but he brought back crumbs for her anyway,
for politeness’ sake. They liked to simply sit together and enjoy
the night air through the window. The house had been boarded up weeks
ago, except for the window in their room. Tildy agreed that was lucky.
“You know,” Prospero said one night, as the moon cast bright stripes against his whiskered face, “If you like, I imagine we could probably figure a way to get you up on that shelf again.”
“Oh, Prospero! How could you know how much I would love that -- to be able to watch, and be the first to see when Addy comes back?”
Prospero looked away. “I think the sun would help you feel good again,” he said.
“You don’t think she’s coming back, do you, Prospero?”
“I don’t know what to think about people,” said the mouse. “You know them better than I do. I think the sunlight will make you happy. I don’t know if people will.”
“I will be happy, Prospero. Just as soon as Addy comes back. But I am grateful for your help. How will you do it?”