It was a summer vacation when I was around nine years old. I was visiting my uncle, who lived in a small village; in an old, tile-roofed house.
One afternoon I was just dawdling around the house like I did every noon back then and at a corner near the back door I saw something wriggling on the earth. It was something small, reddish brown, and I just had to see what it was, naturally… When I got near enough to examine it I saw something bald, with a tail and four tiny legs.
It was a newborn mouse and even its eyes weren’t open yet. It must have fallen from the rafters above. It was small, helpless, and cute; I had no choice but to take it under my protection; and I did just that.
I picked it up gently and put it in a small cardboard box. I tried to feed it with cotton dipped in milk. After some time my aunt found out what I was up to and advised me, very patiently, that it was no good and I should abandon my efforts.
Finally I agreed that the baby mouse should be left on the rafters, so its mother could find it, and handed it to my uncle. That was my smallest pet and for the shortest period.
