It’s Mice to Meet You by Amelie

Mum said to never take food from strangers. My next-door neighbour isn’t a stranger. She’s just a nice elderly lady, who is weirdly interested in cats, and lives in a house that always has its curtains shut. But right now, as she is staring down at me, she sure seems strange.

Mrs Fig has wrinkled skin and soft grey eyes, the same colour as her knotted hair that’s always tied into a tight bun. She wears long dresses that swish from side to side, and shawls that have tassels hanging off the ends and gems decorating the top. Right now, she’s holding out a little box to me and smiling kindly.

“Take one! I’ve got plenty!” she says.

I glance into the box and see that it’s full of tiny brown cookies, all with detailed designs on them.

“Are they animal crackers?” I ask Mrs Fig.

“Yes! Yes! Animal crackers! They are delicious. My favourite one is the cat.” She adds, thrusting the box in front of me.

I smile and take a little step back. Now that I look at her properly, she does kind of look like a cat. With the white streaks that run through her hair, and the way her eyes turn up and the ends.

“I really must get going. Mum will have expected me home from school by now. And she won’t be happy with me eating treats.”

Mrs Fig’s enthusiasm disappears, and she suddenly looks much scarier. “Take one. I insist!”

I guess I have no choice but to take one. I don’t want to be rude to her. I reach my hand into the box, pick out a cracker with a mouse design on it, and shove it in my mouth.

“Thanks, Mrs Fig! Really tasty!” I tell her, slowly turning and walking back to my house, slightly worried about why she was so eager for me to have a cookie. I shrug it off after a while. She’s just trying to be nice to the neighbours. Besides, a little animal cracker never hurt anyone.

 

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Mum! There’s a mouse! A mouse! Mum!” I wake up to the shouts from my little sister Beccy. She’s running around the house screaming about a mouse. I roll my eyes. She’s probably just scared herself with one of her soft toys.

I see the faint light coming in through the window. It’s early. But my family always gets up early on weekends. We’re a busy kind of family, one that always seems to have stuff on, every day of the week.

I have a netball game this morning, so I’d better start getting ready. I push off the blankets, which seem extra heavy this morning. Like, really, really, heavy. When I finally heave them off, I slowly roll out of bed…and fall on the floor! I stare up at my bed, which is the about size of one of the skyscrapers I saw when we visited New York last year.

I look around the rest of the room and see that everything has quadrupled in size! I rub my eyes to make sure that I’m not just seeing things because I’m tired, but everything stays the same. Someone comes stomping up the stairs, with the noise of lighter footsteps trailing behind them. Must be Mum and Beccy.

“There’s a mouse! A mouse in Via’s room!” Beccy cries from the door.

What? There’s no mouse in my room. Well, I haven’t seen one.

Mum comes into the room, stares at me for a couple seconds, and screams. “Mouse!”

I frantically search the room for any sign of a mouse but see none. Mum walks over, grabbing a magazine off my bedside table on the way, and rolling it up into a cylinder. Then she wacks me with it.

“What was that for?” I yell. But my voice doesn’t sound like… well my voice doesn’t sound like my voice. It comes out squeaky and high pitched.

Horrified, I turn my head to look at my hands, which are pink, with grey hairs poking out at the wrist, and small claw-like nails at the ends of the fingers. Extending my arm, I see that it’s also covered with grey hairs. I reach up and run my hands over my face, and squeak loudly when I feel my pointy ears and long nose.

I know that the squeak was just a squeak, but to me, it sounded like what I was thinking. “MOUSE!”

I had no idea what was going on. But at that moment, only one thing was going through my head.

Run!

I know how much mum hates mice, and if I’ve become one, I need to get out of here. I’ve never been a mouse before, but somehow, I already know what to do. I dodge the hits from the magazine perfectly, sliding across the floor and scurrying towards the stairs. Beccy and mum give chase, but my tiny mouse feet are too fast for them. I run across the living room, into the kitchen, and climb up the handles from the drawers onto the kitchen bench. Then I dive out the open window, landing roughly in the flower bushes outside. I still don’t feel safe here, so I run down the street and stop outside Mrs Figs house. I bet those animal crackers of hers turned me into a mouse, so she should be able to turn me back.

I need to find Mrs Fig.