His name was Klaus

by Callie Brennan (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find United Kingdom

It was the second year, for pretty much everything. My second year of grad school, his second year of displacement. Our second year living abroad. Our second year of marriage. Our first flat was in a borough called Wapping, (yes, it’s true), straddling the border between the posh financial district and neighboring East London. Close to the river Thames, we were constantly in the thick of wandering tourists and the masses of ‘Suits’ that rushed around, oozing self-importance. Each day I would join them in my walk home from school, passing by the little push carts selling roasted peanuts. They made the streets smell wonderfully floral, like someone dipped a bunch of lilacs in a vat of warm sugar - a smell so delicious it made you afraid to consume them, in case they didn’t taste as good to your tongue as to your nose. Despite the peanuts and the bustle of downtown, we found ourselves unhappy; Our flat felt too new and sterile, not to mention overpriced. So for our second year, we moved to Camden Town. In my opinion, Camden is the tenth circle of hell. I am 100% sure that Camden is where the very first Hipster was conceived. It was also the birthplace of Grunge which, by the way, never really left, making for a bewildering combination of decades that never should have met. The air is heavy with the smell of piss, car exhaust and curry; Imagine an oversized outdoor market, a Royal Park, a Whole Foods, throw in a few thousand tourists, a couple of angsty locals, way too much matcha and some Vespa gangs, and you've pretty much got Camden. Klaus first showed himself in September, not long after we moved in. Amidst some pointless argument, no doubt driven by homesickness and poor communication, we almost didn’t notice him - peeking out from under the dishwasher, his tiny body shuddered with glee at having surprised us in our own home. Our shocked stares providing him satisfaction enough, he fled back underneath the appliances for the remainder of the evening. I christened him Klaus, The House Mouse. Over the following weeks, Klaus became a fixture of my day as he became more used to my presence, and I to his. Each night he would pop out from his hidey hole, becoming more and more bold with his choice of territory; First, just the six inches in front of the dishwasher - then, two feet. I was delighted at having a pet in our London hovel, however my husband felt quite differently. In an effort to appease and avoid even more marital discord, I reluctantly bought a have-a-heart trap and set it that evening, hoping to wake up to a trapped, alive, Klaus. When this didn’t work, I graduated to various other types of trap. Yet, no matter the trap, or even the type of bait, Klaus remained a free mouse. Each night I would sit and wait for Klaus to appear, and each night there he was, skittering around my traps and exploring his lovely kitchen, not giving a rats ass (mouse's ass?) that I was watching his every move. Once, I even saw him reach into the trap and pull off the bait, without triggering a snap. That was the night I very nearly unspooled. Every day, Klaus was there. He watched us wake in the morning tall and strong, and witnessed each day that we returned home a bit shorter. Perhaps he could sense the homesickness, the exhaustion, the imminent demise of our young marriage, and that’s why he stuck around as long as he did; He knew I needed an ally. In my struggle to find footing in my identity as a newlywed, I found myself grasping for reassurance, relief from worry, and a friend. I know how weird it sounds, but when my husband failed me, I found solace in the presence of a house mouse. I never did catch Klaus. His resiliency and cleverness reminded me of the same qualities I myself had, but were for so long out of reach - I suppose that was his plan all along.