Timmy's life was long and pleasant. He did all he could to keep it from being exiting.

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He was never robust, certainly not daring. His siblings and cousins forgot that he even existed. That was all fine with Timmy. He found all that rushing about, snaping and conniving, quite unpleasant. Timmy watched the daily drama of the other animals from the comfort of his small hide-away near the base of the house. Few knew he was there. None cared.

Perfect.

He took his meals in the still hours near dusk when the birds and chipmunks were few and before the racoons came around. Stragglers came to eat seeds at those times. They paid no attention to Timmy. He always stood at the edge of the seed pile, eating quietly, barely moving.

He might as well have been invisible.

Timmy's life was long and pleasant. He did all he could to keep it from being exiting.

Timmy found little to like in doing. He found much to like in seeing. He was a careful observer of the constant doings around him. The creatures were always busy; eating, stealing, showing-off, claiming what they couldn't keep, saving for tomorrow's that didn't come. It all seemed exhausting. It also seemed pointless.

Still, it was very entertaining.

The seasons came and went. The rain rained. The wind blew. The snow flew. The Sun came and went as it pleased. Each day was different, yet much the same. Striving was relentless. Whatever was it all for? Timmy couldn't imagine. He thought about it often but came to no conclusions. Ah well, it's almost time for dinner.

What delicious seeds today. It's midsummer and the Sun is still shinning a little. Timmy saviors the seeds. The dimming Sun warms his back. Life is good. Soon the raccoons will be out. There's sure to be a lively scuffle then. Timmy will watch the action from the peaceful security of his hide-away. Then he'll snuggle into a ball and wake well-rested to a glorious new day. He dreams, hopefully, that tomorrow will be like yesterday, and the day after tomorrow. What more should a quiet mouse hope for than continuity?

The fighting will return. Timmy will watch and reflect. In the snugness of his hide-away he will consider the varieties and wonder at the strangeness of so much struggle. It'll be time for a few more seeds before you know it.

Timmy is a quiet mouse.

He wonders why everyone isn't.

Don't you?

By  K. L. Shipley

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