Celeste decided that, until Joseph returned, the safest place to be was in the attic, where the knothole entrance kept out the menacing inhabitants of the house. The nest she made in the old feather mattress was cozy, safe, and quiet.

She decided to explore her attic home a bit more. Scaling to the summit of the mountain of mattresses, she studied her new domain. Across the way next to the window, which was missing a pane, she saw another mountain: a draped sheet.

Celeste crawled under the old sheet and blinked. In the musty shadows she saw—or did she see?—a tiny, mouse-sized chair. And was that a miniature tasseled pillow? Amid a confused jumble of chair legs and patterned fabrics Celeste could discern what looked to be a complete and perfect dining room…made for a mouse!

There were tiny, ornate picture frames, carved and beveled, holding tiny pictures: a still life, a portrait, a country landscape. Clustered around a tiny dining table were several chairs, each with a needlepoint seat.

Celeste made her way past a corner cabinet with glass doors; she puffed on a pane and wiped it gingerly with her paw. Inside she saw plates and cups and saucers, pieces from a blue-and-white china set. Opening a cabinet door below, she found what looked to be a tablecloth.

She passed through a doorway and entered another room. The light was a little better here, and she noted the lavender-striped wallpaper.

“This must be the living room,” she whispered. A beautiful sofa, just her size, covered in maroon velvet, lay on its back. Two chairs and several small tables were also overturned. A fireplace and mantel had been artfully painted on one wall. Over it was the oval portrait of a young girl; her face looked familiar. A set of stairs in one corner of the living room led to another story above.

Celeste climbed the stairs and then tiptoed her way into a bedroom. As with the rooms below, the contents here were also tossed about and covered in dust: a small bed and nightstand, an oval hooked rug, and a ladder-back chair painted orange. A washbasin and pitcher lay on the floor. Next to the bed was another door.

Celeste passed reverently into the last room.

Through the dim light she saw an enormous four-poster bed covered with a soft, pink blanket. Two satin pillows were trimmed in tiny lace ribbon. Beside the bed was a small table draped with a lace cloth. Against one wall stood a wooden armoire with flowers and vines painted up the sides and on each door. A large, overstuffed chair sat perched on a small rug. The walls were covered in flowery wallpaper, making Celeste feel as though she were in a magical garden.

“This is the most beautiful room that has ever been,” she murmured to herself.

The bed looked comfy and inviting; Celeste ran her hand along the soft blanket and then crawled up. The bed was stuffed with cotton bolls, and she sank blissfully into it, head plopped onto a silk pillow.

“I’ve found home,” she said to herself. “There is nowhere else I’d rather be.” She smiled and fell asleep.

And indeed, it was a lovely nest for a mouse.