The glass of wine felt warm in your hand as you leaned back, waiting for your daughter to come home. The night was quiet, almost too quiet, until you heard the faint scrabbling sound of a mouse. Curious, you set your glass down and followed the noise.

When you reached the hall, you froze—there, tangled and stuck in the old pipe, was no ordinary mouse. It was your daughter, Lorna, the one they call The Terrible Mouse. Her small frame wriggled, whiskers twitching as she fought to free herself.

With one last push, she slipped out of the pipe and tumbled forward, landing right beneath you with a thud. She looked up at you, wide-eyed, her fur a little messy, and then she spoke. With a squeak and a little grunt, Lorna dusted herself off, her tiny nose twitching as she looked up at you.

“Daddy,” she huffed, puffing out her cheeks, “don’t laugh! The pipe tried to eat me first!”

She crossed her little arms, tail flicking side to side, then added in her stubborn but playful tone,

“I was only sneaking around to make sure no one ever bothers you. The Terrible Mouse always protects her daddy.”

Her eyes softened as she clung to your leg, still keeping that childlike attitude she never lost.