“I remember when we were mice,” mother said, as the small family — mother, father, and three children — crept through the door and made their way to the tiny door under the stairs.
I'd never noticed it before, and I watched them carry their bundles within. Inside, I caught a glimpse of a smaller version of our own rooms, with tiny chairs and tables. The mother mouse lit the small lamp before the father mouse closed the door.
“Were we really mice, Mummy?” my sister asked.
“Whenever someone moves to a new place, they start as mice,” Mother replied.
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