04/12/2024
In a cosy little nook of Fauna Valley, nestled beneath an ancient oak tree, stood a cottage called Nestledown. It was home to a family of three harvest mice: Bernard Thimble, a brave and clever cartographer; Penny Thimble, a warm and gentle mother; and their lively daughter, Thelma. Life in Nestledown was usually filled with laughter, but things felt a little quieter lately. Winter was on its way, and Bernard was away in the snowy mountains, charting a new route.
Thelma missed her daddy terribly. After dinner, he would always play her favourite game, pretending to be a big, sneaky cat. With exaggerated paw steps and twitching whiskers, he’d creep up behind her and shout, “Gotcha!” before covering her in tickles. Now, without him, bedtime felt a little less magical.
One chilly evening, after her bath, Thelma wrapped herself in her fluffy dressing gown and joined her mum on the sofa by the fire. Penny opened Thelma’s favourite storybook, but Thelma couldn’t help but sigh.
“I miss Daddy,” she said, gazing at the flames dancing in the hearth. “I wish he could come home and play Gotcha.”
Penny gave her a comforting hug. “I know, darling. But he’ll be home soon and just think of all the lovely things we’ll do together when he returns.”
“We’ll make maple syrup toast and tell stories!” Thelma said, brightening a little. “And he can show me his new maps!”
“Exactly,” said Penny, smiling. “And maybe you can help him fold them up. You’re very good at folding maps, aren’t you?”
Earlier that day, Thelma had been playing in the frost-covered meadow with her best friend, Crispin Butterby. Crispin, a sensible and brave lop-eared bunny, had said something rather curious.
“Did you know,” Crispin said, twitching his long ears, “that your dad’s a hero? He’s famous, you know. Everyone talks about Bernard Thimble, the mouse who never gets lost.”
Thelma giggled. “Daddy? Famous? Really? He’s just my daddy. He forgets to bring teacups back to the kitchen and tells me to brush my ears properly!”
But that evening, as she snuggled closer to Penny, Thelma told her mother what Crispin had claimed. “He said Daddy’s famous! That’s funny, isn’t it?”
Penny smiled warmly. “Crispin is right, my love. Your daddy is famous. He’s helped so many creatures find their way and kept them safe in the wild.”
Thelma’s eyes grew wide with surprise. “Really? I thought he was just my daddy.”
Penny smoothed Thelma’s fur and kissed the top of her head. “To the world, he’s Bernard Thimble, the famous and heroic cartographer. But to us, he’ll always be Daddy—and he’s our hero too.”
That night, as Thelma curled up under her blankets, she thought about her daddy high in the mountains, with his satchel full of maps and his compass in paw. He might be famous, but to her, he was the one who made her giggle, played silly games, and would soon be home to bring their little cottage alive with laughter again.
With a smile, Thelma gently drifted off to sleep, dreaming of Bernard returning, his whiskers twitching as he crept through the cottage to play their favourite game again. Her daddy, the famous Bernard Thimble, was her hero too—and she couldn’t wait for him to come home.
