Stone Hill Homestead

I did not find him in the barn tonight, but on the cat! “Sir Timothy at your service!” he called out to me.

I was startled again to see a mouse, in clothing and talking. But this time there was the cat riding thing going on too.

I took this opportunity to ask him the question that had been burning in my mind since I first met him. “How can you talk?”

He looked at me long and patiently, as though I was the millionth person to ask him this question and by now it was boring. “There are two races of mice. The inferior race cannot talk, never did, never will, were not created to do so. My people have been talking just as your people for as long as your people have been talking.”

“Why didn’t the cat eat you?”

“Every cat knows that talking mice taste terrible.”

“Terrible?”

“Yes,” and he paused a minute, bent down and  grabbed the tip of his tail and handed it towards me, “Here, lick my tail, then you will understand.”

I hastily refused. He did look slightly offended at first then chuckled softly and whispered, “Not even we like our own flavor. We do not even kiss our own children.”

He rode off into the sunset in search of his damsel in distress.

The fairies were found deep in a conversation on the birdbath. Apparently the council convened over the weekend and some controversial decisions were made — one of which was a ban on the use of fairy dust for the month of August due to shortages across the homestead. 

The question is, what needs to be dusted before then so the ban has the least detrimental effect possible? The answer is beyond me as well. My knowledge of fairy dust and its uses is extremely limited.

Finally, I found the Night Gardener at work in the corn patch. I do wonder how he sees at night and when I asked about it the other night he said, “It is the way that God created me.” That is a good enough answer for me I guess.