Many of you who read this blog already know who Bertrand the Mouse is.
If you do not, read this post first.
And then read this post in order to get an idea of Bertrand's impact on people of all ages.
The crazy thing about all of it is that, just a few weeks before Bertrand disappeared, I had noticed his little tail was slightly unbraided, and bits of red threads were coming out of his ears.
And it suddenly occurred to me that Bertrand was getting old, at least in crocheted mouse years. With only two Bertrand prototypes in the whole world (the other "lives" in Raleigh), I was forced to consider what I would do once Bertrand was too frail too handle.
I thought about other long-time animal toys, such as Lamb Chop (I had that "linked-to" LP as a child) and Kermit the Frog. Surely, the modern day versions couldn't be the originals, could they?
I couldn't find an answer regarding Lamb Chop. But I did find this on Kermit.
So, perhaps, having my attention drawn to Bertrand's current state was God's way of preparing us for what was to come.
Still, when it came, we simply were not prepared for it. It wasn't just me, either. Other adults whose children had enjoyed Bertrand (heck, other adults that had enjoyed Bertrand) reached out to express their dismay at his disappearance.
I've had three dreams (so far) that he's come home. I'm not the only one who'se dreamt of him. Crazy, right? He's just a little crocheted mouse.
And yet, watch this scene about the "reality" of Kermit, starting at the 22:45 mark (RIP, Tim Brook-Taylor, yes COVID).
So, OK.
I understood that, at some point, I would "retire" the original Bertrand to a life of peaceful dormancy. And I assumed it would be inside this shoebox.
Bertrand would rest beside the first mouse my kids dubbed as Bertrand and presented to me one St. Nicholas, more than six months before I began this blog and shortly before my first book Bryony, was accepted for publication by a small press: December 2009.
The kdis put this mouse in a shoebox, because John-Peter in Staked! captures the "real" Bertrand with a shoebox. I hadn't even finished Staked! when I received this mouse. I was just two-thirds through the first draft (Timothy and Rebekah were my beta readers).
After emptying a shoe box and plucking an apple core from
his knapsack, John-Peter sprinted down the hall on bare toes. The faint
television sounds from the first floor master bedroom suggested Kellen might
still be awake, but the silence from his mother’s bedroom didn’t necessarily
mean she had gone to bed, since it was only eleven o’clock. The attic door gave
a slight creak as he opened it, but that was all. No parent stirred; no parent
called out. John-Peter noiselessly sped up the stairs.
Once in the attic, he rolled the core
across the floor and crouched, box opened, waiting for Kellen’s potential
victim to approach. Several minutes passed with no mouse. John-Peter remained
motionless. More time elapsed, and still the mouse had not appeared. What if Ed
Calkins...
A scuffle,
a scratching, and WHAM! The mouse was his.
Back inside
his bedroom, John-Peter taped the box shut and punched several air holes in the
top. He had just buried the box inside his closet when he heard a car door
slam. He snatched his shoes and sprang for the tree.
If you think this is a lonely life for the shoebox mouse, well, my WriteOn Joliet comrades brought him a companion.
And a close-up look:
So this is where I thought Bertrand the Mouse would spend his retirement years, in the company of other pretend mice.
But it turned out our final major event together was a virtual writing retreat the last weekend in April with the #5amwritersclub where he was a "stowaway."
I can't describe the terrible feeling on Mother's Day when I put my hand in my coat pocket where he'd lived during COVID (wearing his facemask), so he'd be handy for photos on morning walks, and felt an empty pocket.
This time, I knew he was gone for good.
This time, you ask?
Oh, yeah, he fell out of that pocket just a few weeks earlier. You see, he'd gone missing so many times, that I obsessively checked my pocket while walking to make sure he was there.
So the time before the very last time, when I felt that empty pocket, Rebekah and I backtracked on our walk just in time to find a man picking him off the sidewalk, ready to toss him on top of his grass clippings in the trash. WHEW!
On another occasion, Rebekah and Jasmine lost Bertrand when they had taken him shopping with them. They scoured a parking lot - and found him lying there, not run over.
Now the first time Bertrand went missing, he was gone about two weeks. We discovered him outside one of the cats' litter boxes, covered in litter.
Needless to say, he got a bath! As you can see, he did NOT want to get wet.
Actually, this is how Bertrand REALLY got his baths.
The scariest time Bertrand went missing was after an especially challenging day at work. I'd walked home in the rain, caught a ride to a small writing workshop I taught once a month, and discovered Bertrand was missing when I let him out to play, like he liked to do during class.
I frantically called Timothy and Daniel. It was now at least an hour since Bertrand went missing in the rain. They retraced my steps, in the rain for it was raining still, and finally found him, in the middle of Springfield Avenue, where I had crossed the street by St. Joe's hospital. He was soaked, bedraggled, but safe.
So how could Bertrand be missing this time? Is it because God took his eye off Bertrand? Is it because God looked away and didn't see him fall? Why would we find Bertrand the other times and not this time?
To compound our problem, Bertrand's "real mommy" (I'm merely his mistress) has many, many health problems - and recently underwent open heart surgery. So we knew "remaking" him was not an option - and yet, if we had to "remake" him, only his real mommy would do.
Because Bertrand is very attached to his real mommy.
And like any good crocheted mouse, he always posted a special message on her Facebook wall for her birthday. Here was one of them.
Happy birthday to my "Mommy" and favorite person ever. Love, your little crocheted mouse, Bertrand.
And he sent her copies of all his books - as gifts from him to her.
But even if Bertrand's mommy could remake Bertrand, how could the new mouse be the real Bertrand?
Would a replacment Bertrand feel like Bertrand to me? The "real" Bertrand and I had been on so many adventures together over the years. I knew his shape and the way he fit in the palm of my hand. He had these cute Bertrandish expressions...
After we couldn't find him, we kept thinking of him being picked up off the sidewalk and tossed into the trash: smashed, forlorn, forgotten.
Old photos I had taken of Bertrand and never posted
on his Instagram page kept showing up as memories in my Google photos in very painful ways.
Would a child that knows and loves Bertrand hold the new Bertrand and say, "That's not Bertrand!" and drop him on the table and turn away, disillusioned?
You may think these are silly questions. But any child that has loved and lost a toy will eye the new one suspiciously. Even if you find an exact one, it is never exact.
I know that. Kids know that.
So when Sarah reached out to Bertrand's mommy and explained what happened, Bertrand's mommy, despite all her health issues, wanted to help.
Because of it, I needed genuine, authentic answers for Bertrand the Mouse, answers that would satisfy me and satisfy anyone who had known and held Bertrand.
And I knew just where to find them.
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