Milo the Little Mouse and the Cosiest Nest
In a little hole at the bottom of an old stone wall, at the edge of a wide, wide field, there lived a tiny mouse named Milo. And Milo was very, very small.
As the night came down over the field, Milo peeked out of his little hole and looked at the great big world outside. The sky was enormous. The field stretched on forever. The wind moved the tall grass this way and that, and an owl hooted somewhere far away.
"The world is so big," said Milo, and his tiny whiskers trembled just a little. "And I'm so small."
But then Milo backed away from the great big night, down into his own little home — and something wonderful happened. Because down there, deep in the cosy dark, Milo had built the snuggest, softest little nest in all the world.
He had gathered it himself, piece by piece: a scrap of soft wool, a bit of downy feather, some dry sweet grass, a puff of dandelion fluff. He tucked himself down into the middle of it all, and pulled the soft edges up around him, and — oh! — it was warm. It was snug. It fit him exactly, all around, close and safe and cosy.
"The world is big," Milo said, snuggling deeper, "but my nest is small — and small is perfect for a mouse. The whole enormous night is out there… and in here, it's just warm, and soft, and safe, and mine."
Being small, Milo thought sleepily, wasn't scary at all. Being small meant he fit into the coziest, most tucked-away, most wonderful little bed in the whole world — a bed far too snug for anything big to ever fit inside.
Outside, the great field whispered and the far owl hooted. But deep in his tiny nest, warm to the very tip of his tail, little Milo curled into a soft grey ball, gave a tiny, happy sigh, and drifted off to sleep.