'The Price of Bread' by Jane Claire Jackson

I wake up starving. It’s cold. Even here, in my underground nest, it’s cold.

I race along the tunnel towards the exit. I run fast but stop just before reaching the light.

It pays to be cautious. Never race out! Who knows what’s waiting beyond? A cat? A bird? A fox?

I sniff. I smell garden scents: grass, spring flowers, fresh morning air. I also smell the bread someone has thrown onto the lawn for the birds.

I creep towards the exit. I stop again and listen. I hear birds crying from distant trees. I hear water tinkling in the waterfall.

I poke my nose out, then my head. Something moves near the pond. I retreat into my tunnel.

Everything’s calm. I try again and this time I leave my hole.

I run to quickly hide behind a rock. I know this garden well, all the places a small mouse can hide from danger, out of sight. Step by step, I advance towards the bread.

I never take the shortest route. It’s not safe to cross the lawn. Zigzagging around flowers and shrubs, I reach my destination and grab a piece of bread small enough to carry.

I retrace my steps, stopping regularly to listen and smell. I’m lucky the cat isn’t in the garden today. It would love to catch and play with me.

Safely back inside my tunnel, I can finally start to eat. The bread is delicious, still a little wet from this morning’s dew but crisp inside as I like it. I nibble it with my pointed teeth.

I stop halfway through. My small stomach is full and all I want now is to have a nap curled up in my cosy nest.