I walked away slowly and called out to my grandfather Aram, who stayed in the small guest room next to our kitchen. When he was young, he had raised animals in his village and always seemed to know everything without needing the internet. “Grandpa, please come here for a moment,” I called, trying to sound calm. He came down
carefully, one hand on the banister, wearing his gray sweater and that patient expression he always wore whenever I worried about some little thing. I pointed to the corner and whispered, “I think there’s a mouse with babies there.”
Grandpa Aram leaned forward, adjusted his glasses, and remained silent for so long that I became even more confused. Then his expression softened, and a small smile appeared—one that promised he would make sure the little family was well cared for until we found the right solution. All the while, the mother guinea pig watched us closely. She was cautious but not frightened. She seemed to understand that we weren’t there to take anything away from her.
