While I loved Mabel the mouse, I did not love him as Christopher loved him.
To watch them together was to see something very special. Sometimes there was out-loud communications, even noses touching whiskers and paws. Sometimes there were playful runs up an arm in a attempt to run away, but always he would return to...the hand.
The hand of Christopher.
That is how I will remember Mabel. With Christopher, in the dim light of the evening, maybe near a small lamp. Christopher's arm bent, with hand turned palm-side up, fingers slightly curled. In the crook of that hand, in the cushiony pillows of the palm, lay Mabel. Sometimes eyes open, sometimes eyes closed. But always wanting to be with Christopher.
The last evening of Mabel's life, into the wee hours of Saturday, he lay quietly in Christopher's hand.
Christopher and Mabel didn't need to say a word - but if they did, it would have been Love.