By Vita Forest
Christabel La Mouse awoke in her snug cabin on the Good Ship Possession and listened. She liked to do this before she opened her eyes, before she really started the day. She snuggled deeper into her cosy woollen eiderdown and simply listened.
To port there was the occasional sliding swish! from the Deep Distance which must mean rain. (There were huge creatures called Cars and when their swift feet touched water they made that delicious swish! So Christabel had learned at school. She was yet to actually see one).
To starboard was the chatty murmuring gurgle of the Refrigerator in The Room Beyond. It was a kind of hotel for the food that arrived in The Home, including, and most importantly, cheese. Christabel lived for those days when, on one of her fishing expeditions, she managed to secure as the catch of the day, a tasty morsel of that supreme delight.
And directly below the ship, down deep on the rain-pitted surface of The Table, was a busy sort of brushing-kind-of-scratching, that stopped and started in an irregular fashion. It was That Person with the Paper and the Pencil. Christabel sometimes liked to watch this (when she was not so cosy and tired, of course), for onto a flat white rectangle, tiny scribblings would pour from the end of the tool the Person used. They were hard to make out, what with the currents passing over them, the distance between Christabel and the pages and the Person’s quite atrocious handwriting. Her spyglass did not work on such occasions, and the spinning of the ship did not help.
Still it was a comforting sort of scratching whisper. Every now and then there was a pause and a Ting! which Christabel knew meant the Person had stopped to take a sip of her milky tea, chiming her pencil against the china as she did so. Perhaps one day she would find some implement to assist her in discovering what the Person wrote. But now just now. Now was the time for a little more sleep wrapped in her eiderdown in her cosy cabin.
One must always prioritize rest.