Many years ago I found a tiny baby mouse in my home. It was too young to leave the nest, yet it had fallen from a ventilation grid in the ceiling and it was barely alive. I put it in a box with towels and tried to feed it whatever I could think of. It did not work out too well. The little wight did not eat or move.
The following morning I woke up early from a dream in which the phantom of a mouse appeared to me. Just like that. No word, no sound, only the phantom in the dark. It did not have the shape of a baby mouse. It was a full-grown adult, with more similarities to a cartoon than to a “real” mouse, yet somehow I knew for sure that it was the little one. It had passed away and came by to greet me, as in “Hey, thank you, and no worries, I’m okay now.”