The mouse was such a tiny thing. Although her ears were a bit large for her body, they suited her fine. She scooted across the floor one night in a rush, stopping only for a minute or two, right in front of me. We froze, our brown eyes locking.
“Are you cold?” I asked it. “You poor thing. Well, at least you’re wearing a fine fur coat, so somebody must have cared for you. Have you come to chat with me? Would you like a bite to eat?”
She didn’t answer, not even a squeak. I wondered if she needed a home, and if I should arrange a spot for her. I certainly didn’t want her to think she’d be sharing a bed with me.
She began to make the late night visits a regular occurrence, and I looked forward to them. Many nights we’d stay up late together. I’d read a book, draw or write, while she’d busy herself scampering around my cell.
Her ears perked up when she listened to my poetry, and she didn’t think it was corny at all. I’d lay out late night snacks for her, which she gladly accepted. She’d nibble on it and sometimes lay a bit of a snack by my feet.
She would crawl up the TV cable or power cord to the top shelves of my lockers. Then she’d come to the edge and look down at me, beaming with pride.
When I thought it was time to give her a name, I said to myself, “What is this little mouse to me? Yes, I’ll call her Precious.” I wanted to tear apart my prison blues to tailor her some matching clothes.
I wondered if she’d like coffee. Then she could stay up late with me, and we’d drink our coffee together.
One night Precious failed to show up, and the next night I watched the door anxiously. But again and again she didn’t show up. Where could she have run off to?
But then the artist in me came up with an idea: I can try to fix this! So I made a reward poster, offering a cash reward for the safe return of my girl pet mouse. I had copies made and posted them all over the prison. I even wanted to post them on our milk cartons.
I’ll always remember her, my precious late night visitor. Late nights just aren’t the same without her.
Republish this article
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Here are our ground rules:
- You must credit Prison Journalism Project. In the byline, we prefer “[Author Name], Prison Journalism Project.” At the top of the text of your story, please include a line that says: “This story was originally published by Prison Journalism Project” and include a link to the article.
- No republishing of photographs, illustrations or graphics without specific permission. Please contact inquiries@prisonjournalismproject.org.
- No editing the content, including the headline, except to reflect changes in time, location and editorial style. For example, changing, “today” to “last week,” or San Quentin to San Quentin, California. You can also make minor revisions for style or headline size, and you can trim stories for space. You must also retain all original hyperlinks, including links to the Prison Journalism Project newsletters.
- No translation of our stories into another language without specific permission. Please contact inquiries@prisonjournalismproject.org.
- No selling ads against our stories, but you can publish it on a page with ads that you’ve already sold.
- No reselling or syndicating our stories, including on platforms or apps like Apple News or Google News. You also can’t republish our work automatically or all at once. Please select them individually.
- No scraping our website or using our stories to populate websites designed to improve search rankings or gain revenue from network-based advertisements.
- Any site our stories appear on must have a prominent and effective way to contact you.
- If we send you a request to remove our story, you must do so immediately.
- If you share republished stories on social media, please tag Prison Journalism Project. We have official accounts on Twitter (@prisonjourn), Facebook (@prisonjournalism), Instagram (@prisonjournalism) and Linked In.
- Let us know when you share the story. Send us a note, so we can keep track.