Timothy was what you could call a Free-Range mouse, since he was originally a pet for Michael, who as a typical ten-year old boy with the attention span of a gnat, had forgotten to latch his cage. Traps were not allowed in the house since that breakout and even Micheal’s mom now only rarely jumped when he skittered across den floor looking for dropped treats: a crumb for some, constituted a meal for one very small rodent with a darling black nose and grey fur as soft as, well a mouse.
Living quite comfortably in the wall behind the sofa, Timothy was always on the alert having noted that football Sundays were especially bountiful as they usually provided him with a kernel of popcorn or a salted Planters peanut, which he would politely remove from under the coffee table, and place in his larder, for those days when Mom in a frenzy would actually run the vacuum thus removing any potential meals within a 12 by 12 radius of his cubby hole.
On this evening however things were beginning to look up for the little mouse. There was definitely something going on in the sphere which constituted his world: a tree with colorful lights now stood in the corner of the den, stockings hung over the mantle, like laundry after a Monday morning wash and a plate of cookies and a glass of milk had actually been left out on the coffee table, giving him the distinct impression that after that man in red finished his delivery, had a polite taste of a cookie and finally vacated the premises via the chimney, there would be sufficient sugar crumbs to make his Christmas dinner a fine one. What more could a mouse wish for on this Hallowed Eve.
What can YOU say in six sentences?