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Ocelot’s Note: We requested that Mouselet write up her account of her latest adventure, but after two attempts we have had to abandon that idea. I believe the more sensational authors would say that she had wept many bitter tears; in any event the first account was too sodden to read. The second account, although intact, seemed to concentrate purely on a description of Hopkins’ appearance, which any previous readers could no doubt have managed by themselves, without detailing the actual events. I am therefore forced once again to provide a transcription.
One morning a few weeks ago Inspector Hopkins had made an early call on Mr Holmes.
[Mouselet, my dear, if we go through the full litany of Hopkins’ attributes we will never finish.]
He did not stay long enough to remove his coat, although Mouselet did note how dark and soft his hair was and how he seemed a little paler than usual. (This was almost certainly due to the cold rather than any potential illness, but Mouselet wasn’t entirely happy.)
However, what truly interested Mouselet was that Hopkins told Holmes that he was going to Scotland Yard for a few hours and then would return to Baker Street. This, Mouselet thought, would give her the perfect opportunity to visit her idol’s place of work. He occasionally spoke of it when talking with Holmes and Mouselet longed to see somewhere that had such an important place in his life.
Accordingly, she hopped into his coat pocket and curled up into a small ball so that he wouldn’t notice her when he felt for his gloves. She, of course, made the most of being close to the strong fingers of his beautiful hand. Indeed he had a minor graze on one finger and Mouselet boldly kissed it better. As she did so Hopkins gave a soft chuckle and she realised she must have tickled him.
There was no further activity and Mouselet arrived safely in Hopkins’ office. Once he had hung his coat on the coat stand she climbed up the pocket and peeped over the top.
The office was a lot less interesting that the parlour of 221B, which Mouselet had assumed was similar to an office. It was much tidier for a start, although Mouselet wasn’t surprised at that, being used to Mrs Hudson’s frequent complaints as to the state of the room. There were no comfortable chairs and very little colour. Whilst she could perhaps imagine Mr Holmes working in this environment, for he cared very little for his surroundings, she was sure Dr Watson would not like it at all.
She assumed that Hopkins [yes, all right, her dear inspector] worked there because he had no choice, for he looked much tenser that he ever did when he visited Baker Street, even on those occasions when there were problems with a case, and she would have loved to be able to smooth the pain from his sweet furrowed brow.
There was a slight sound and Mouselet turned towards the shelf that ran along one wall. On it stood a mouse with the most beautiful coloured fur. Mouselet watched with horror as the mouse walked confidently along the shelf. She was sleek, with perfectly formed ears, and walked with the grace of a model. Mouselet was glad that her brother hadn’t accompanied her on her journey, because she was sure he would have been instantly besotted.
[I am informed that this is in no way similar to Mouselet’s response to the inspector. I will make no comment.]
And then the most awful thing happened.
[The next section is as accurate as I can make it. It has been impossible to fully reconstruct the scene as Mouselet starts to cry every time she tells me about it.]
It would seem that Hopkins stood up and went across to this shelf.
Once there, he said, “Hello, little, mouse, nice to see you again.” Then he placed a crumb on the shelf and the mouse scampered over to it. After which Hopkins added, “You are a pretty little mouse.”
[I am writing this where Mouselet cannot see, for I do not wish to listen to her wailing any more.]
The mouse then proceeded to preen her whiskers and make herself look even more beautiful than before.
And then the most beloved of all inspectors [yes, I do know what I’m writing] said, “You may be pretty, but there is a little mouse in Baker Street that I think is much sweeter.”
[It is probably unnecessary for me to describe the way Mouselet tells this.]
A few minutes later Hopkins left his office and Mouselet risked a squeak of excitement at the knowledge that he preferred her.
The other mouse looked over. “You,” she said, “He prefers you? A dumpy little mouse with no redeeming features? I hardly know why I remain in this office.”
With that the mouse disappeared through a small hole in the wall.
Mouselet was left with nothing more to do, so she took a nap in Hopkins’ coat pocket, waking again when he put his coat back on prior to returning to Baker Street.
Later, back in 221B, after Hopkins had joined Holmes and the doctor for dinner, Mouselet risked walking along the mantelpiece. Hopkins stood up to reach for some tobacco and spotted her.
“I have a little mouse in my office,” he said, “But you are very much sweeter than she is.”
And Mouselet looked up into his beautiful blue eyes and thought she could happily drown in them.