New Year's Eve: 2023
The holidays had left Brett busy, which resulted in days that were longer and even more tedious for his little pet, which had formerly been one of his good friends.
Brett knew nothing of the Chronivac and how Nathan’s experimentation with the device had trapped him as a tiny white mouse.
He wasn’t certain of the exact day, but the appearance of a Christmas tree and other season decorations told him that another year had come and gone.
Nathan’s tiny white, furry ears twitched at every magnified sound he heard as he realized he had now spent two years as Brett’s pet. He didn’t know a lot about mice, which was another reason he should have refrained from his ill-advice experiment, but he was sure they didn’t have long lifespans. He had had some pet fish and some of them hadn’t even lasted more than a few weeks.
He had long given up on the possibly of getting back his old life and made the best of being Brett’s pet. At least Nathan’s former friend was a considerate owner. He figured that as a pet mouse he was living in the lap of luxury. For most of his time as a pet, he had lived in an elaborate cage of plastic and stainless steel bars.
For exercise, he had a long tunnel molded from green, pink and yellow plastic, that he paced relentlessly, especially at night, when he most regretted the actions that had landed him in his current existence.
He also had a tiny wheel, which he could use for mindless laps, and ramps leading to different levels of his habitat, including a little blue plastic home.
Brett had put down a carpet of wood shavings, which he changed periodically. Sometimes, when Nathan’s owner got too busy with his life, he sometimes neglected changing the shavings as often as he should have. Sometimes, the weekly cleanings might be delayed for days or even weeks. The smell at these times got really bad, especially considering Nathan’s sensitivity to strong smells.
He slaked his thirst with a couple of sucks at the end of a water tube attached to the side of his cage before he visited his feeder for a nibble of the nuggets of specially prepared mouse food.
He craved chips and salsa, ham and pineapple pizza and gooey chocolate chip cookies. Sometimes he had to watch Brett indulge in all sorts of tasty foods right before his beady eyes.
The door to the room opened and Brett entered, closed the door behind him, pulled off his sweatshirt and collapsed on his bed, worn out from errands and tasks.
He rested a moment before he heard squeaks.
He turned and looked at Mickey, who was squeaking up a storm.
Brett stood and walked over to the cage. Lifting the lid, he scooped out his pet mouse in one hand.
“That better Mickey?” Brett asked and dropped back onto the bed.
This was new. Brett didn’t often removed him from the cage.
Nathan squeaked and Brett eased his grip. Nathan found himself free of the fingers, his tiny paws resting delicately on Brett’s well-defined abs.
“Happy New Year’s, Mickey,” Brett said as he looked down at Mickey on his stomach.
New Year’s? Had he entirely missed Christmas? Brett squeaked in dismay.
“Your feet tickle, Mickey,” Brett said as the little mouse moved timidly over the terrain of Brett’s muscles.
Nathan couldn’t decide his next move. Continue across Brett’s torso and maybe get between some rather massive pecs or go toward the south and a wide expanse of tight denim stretched over a manhood that Nathan could imagine would easily dwarf his tiny mouse form.