There was no one around to hear it. Or at least that was what the Hatter had thought. He dusted away fluff from his sewing machine and carefully emptied the attached side pocket he used as a scrap thread collector. His mother had said every artisan needed a good sewing machine and although his was passed down, it was never wary as it zinged when turned on and stitched across the most troublesome materials with ease.
The Hatter might have not heard it if his machine had been on, but as he lifted the pocket to discard of the scraps – the bag gave a small yelp. He lifted it to his ear expecting it to have been imagined.
But then a squeak came from the bag. He looked inside. The tuffs of navy fluff quivering and the Hatter had never experienced talking fabric and threads before. He grew curious but wary as he began removing some of the fluff. Out came a mouse. It’s grey fur was soft as the mouse tumbled into the Hatters large hand. At first, it frightfully squeaked but soon, as the Hatter’s hand began to feel warm, it grew silent and fell asleep against the Hatters thumb.
The Hatter named it Door Mouse as he thought it appropriate as if it landed on his doorstep and was gifted to him. The Hatter tinkered away creating the smallest of hats that was befitting of a creature that was small. But to the Hatter he was ever so fearless as he awoke, looked into the Hatters eyes without shaking. The Hare says that this was how the Hatter and Door Mouse became best of friends by accident – but the Hatter says there are no accidents and no one falls from the sky lost unless they are looking for a place to be found. The Door Mouse had been found, so he says.
~ Written by Stephanie Kentepozidis