A useful flatmate: Squeakwood, the wonder mouse

You might be familiar with Stephen King's book 'The Green Mile'. Or the film? If so, you may have been fascinated by the little mouse, Mr Jingles. I certainly was, right from the start. I knew a wonder mouse just like him. Maybe not quite like the circus mouse in King's story, but still very special.

The story is set in the early 1970s. I had just moved into my first flat and felt very grown up. My grandmother lived on the same floor and always helped out when she thought it was necessary. She was always right, too.

No pets were allowed in this building, at least not cats or dogs. Nobody probably cared about anything else. However, one of my friends had a mother who loved animals and wasn't afraid to take daring action. Long before 'animal liberators' came to public attention, this kind woman stole laboratory mice from an American school where they were used for biology lessons – a sad fate for the mice.

Once she had exhausted her own capacity to care for them, she distributed the little creatures among her acquaintances' households. I was given two mice: one white with red eyes and one with wild colouring. Following an inspiration, I named the two little housemates Squeakwood and Silverleaf.

Unfortunately, the white laboratory mouse disappeared and could not be found. Squeakwood, the pretty, dark brown male mouse, was also something of an escape artist. But – he stayed.

After leaving the cage, Squeakwood made himself comfortable. He dragged stolen upholstery material behind the large kitchen stove, which was heated using wood and briquettes. There was a hand's width of free space between the stove and the wall. The escapee annexed it. After discovering his nest, I left him alone. Since he was very clean, I kept the area where he did his business clean and occasionally replaced the material he had dragged there.

Squeakwood crawled up the chair legs and onto the tablecloth. He sat there cheekily, looking extremely friendly between the coffee cups, waiting for crumbs and other treats. My visitors thought this was adorable, and I don't think any mouse has ever been so well fed. Once he had had his fill of attention and his stomach was full, he disappeared and went about his business.

Squeakwood was a useful flatmate. I remember two ladies who came to the flat and wouldn't stop trying to sell me insurance. However, the matter resolved itself when the mouse climbed onto the table and sat down in front of the two saleswomen. They left hastily without signing a contract, for which I was very grateful to Squeakwood.

My grandmother considered herself to be a natural enemy of all mice and couldn't stop shaking her head at my strange pet. But even she fell for the charming mouse, and this is how it happened: I usually didn't know where the mouse was, except when he appeared and begged for strokes and treats. Every now and then, he would run through the apartment doors with me and explore the stairwell, and probably the courtyard, too. As soon as he got tired of that, though, he would sit on the doormat and wait for me to come home.

My grandmother was so impressed by this that 'watching Squeakwood' became one of her favourite pastimes. She was delighted when the tiny creature sat on the doormat, either cleaning himself or just sitting there, watching the stairwell with his button eyes. 'That creature is like a little dog, it's unbelievable', she would say, shaking her head.

Squeakwood and I lived together for about two years. Then he disappeared. Something must have happened to him, because there was a butcher's shop in the neighbourhood. He may have been poisoned or perhaps he encountered a cat. One day, he didn't come home.

Although it was a long time ago, I can still picture him sitting on the tablecloth, looking at everyone with his little eyes before delicately nibbling his prey, just like a squirrel.

Unlike Mister Jingles, the wonder mouse from 'The Green Mile', Squeakwood didn't do tricks. But that wild-coloured male mouse certainly understood something about friendship. He was very special indeed.

© 'A useful flatmate: Squeakwood, the wonder mouse. A true story about a little escape artist': A story by Pressenet (translated by Izabel Comati), 08/2025. The photograph of the mouse is by Rasbak and is licensed under Creative Commons.