In to make footmen!’ Trembling from fear, we

In
the middle of the night, I’m roused from an otherwise peaceful sleep. I awaken
to the booming steps of a human causing the ground to tremble. My brothers, who
have also been woken from their slumber, direct their attention toward the
disturbance.

A
fearless few leave the protection of the nest to investigate. Shortly, amongst
their petrified squeals, we hear the booming voice of a human, ‘Ah, what fine
mice to make footmen!’ Trembling from fear, we heed their warnings to take
cover.

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Unfortunately,
our attempts at concealing ourselves prove to be nothing less than futile; as
we are espied by a human, presumptively the very one that caused such distress
to my brothers just moments earlier.

The
human reaches into our nest, roughly grabs and shoves several of us into a cold
steel cage, myself included. While being transported we make several futile
attempts to flee, but the unforgiving bars of the cage show no mercy.

We
tumble out roughly onto the cold, hard ground from the container. However,
before any of us can move an inch and revel in our new-found freedom, a human
standing imposingly above us aims a long slender stick of wood at us and utters
an illegible chant.

A
blinding light emanates from the end of the stick, enveloping us. I feel myself
changing, growing in size and morphing uncomfortably. When the strange
transformation is complete, my feelings of terror are replaced by an
overwhelming need to fulfill sole purpose in life: to open and close the door
for the occupants of a carriage, whatever that is.

When
the carriage appears, I know what to do. I instinctively jump to attention to
open the door. A fellow human enters the carriage and I shut the door, bowing
courteously.

I dexterously
jump onto the side of the carriage as it begins to move, anticipating the end
of the ride so I can resume my task.

After
the human is delivered, all there is to do is await her return. The time drags
by slowly, painfully, every second seeming like an eternity. Life is
purposeless without someone for whom to hold a door.

Before
the girl returns, however, there is the resounding tolling of a clock. The very
last thing I feel before beginning another transformation is overwhelmingly
great disappointment that I would never fulfill my door-holding task.

An
unnervingly similar feeling to that of the first transformation overcomes me,
and in an instant, I am once again my former self. I scurry into the darkness
to find my way home.