The Man and The Mouse

It was a love story of sorts, but without the happy ending.
She had a bright smile, some would say enchanting.
She was complicated, many would say difficult, but she loved a boy.
People often jeered that she was incapable of such feelings.
She was after all, only a mouse.

She’d wait every morning at 8.30 precisely, for the moment when Arthur would step out of his front door and head down the garden path.
Arthur was tall, and somewhat handsome. But it didn’t really matter whether he was handsome or not, Matilda still watched him with adoration.
She was small in stature, and wasn’t the most beautiful mouse in the neighbourhood, but she had charm, and a dash of wit.
Male mice had come and gone, with none really sticking around long enough to truly appreciate the wonders of Matilda’s personality. It didn’t really matter – she’d set her sights on Arthur since the day he’d moved into number 48 – boxes adorning the front step, a battered old car parked neatly at the rear of the drive.
Matilda, though only a mouse, had a burning desire to let dear Arthur know that he was the one she’d marry.
And so this begins the story of the man and the mouse...