I still love this description of Hamilton mouse. He has a special place in my heart.
Hamilton stood as tall as he could, as to appear more put together and proper, (Hamilton was always a very proper mouse). He wanted to appear as if he belonged here, among these people, who seemed to have something “he” did not, therefore he strove to do his best to appear to be “Something” even if he was not precisely sure “what” that something was.
The “where” in question was an art gallery. Hamilton had been invited. He clutched his invitation carefully in one paw, he really should have put it away into his pocket, but he was worried he would somehow develop a hole or subspace time rift that would suddenly whisk his invitation away to places unknown. Hamilton realized this was silly, but somehow it was true, that placing anything in his pockets seemed to always have this particular outcome. He was always losing things he was “certain”…
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