My mother Hessa's mice

The mice no longer hover around the chicken coop below the sycamore tree only. They have infiltrated the houses. I smell a sour earthy scent, I don't know its source, when I lie on the sofas in the living room. And although I have never seen a mouse inside the house, my sister Hissa confirms, whenever she lifts the sofa cushions, she reveals dark brown droppings close to the size of rice grains, she says they are mice.. it's not necessary to see them to know they are among us! I remember her promise. I remind her: "When will you tell me the story of the four mice?" She pretends to be busy cleaning the place. She answers: "At night." Night comes, like every night. She takes off her dentures. She talks in the darkness of her room. She prepares the story: "Visit the son of the starling, who never lied or swore falsely..."