The Guest I Never Invited

I don’t know how long she’s been here.
I only know now that she has - Quietly. Carefully. Kindly.

No scratching.
No chewing.
No mess.

Not like the others.

She came in the way some memories do — without warning, without noise, without asking.
And slowly, she made herself a corner in my home.
And in my thoughts.

I first sensed her presence when I saw just 5 or 6 kernels missing from the corn-cob I had forgotton open.

Not torn apart - Not scattered. Just taken — gently.

But even before that, she had been visiting — I realise that now.

She had eaten from Annapurna Devi’s offering
Not once.
Many times.
And yet, not a single idol was disturbed in my shrine
Not a flower moved.
It was as if she bowed, took only what she needed, and left like a devotee — not an intruder.

No mess.
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This morning, at 3 AM, I did something I never do — I opened the bathroom door.
And there she was!

Suddenly everything connected:
The hot water not working, the soggy, pulpy bits I kept finding after draining cycles — not cloth or plastic, but something like softened paper.
And now, I know.
She had made her nest between the drum and the wall of my washing machine 

And she had been there all along - Safe. Invisible.

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I panicked and began placing glue traps,
that’s when guilt hit me.

How could I harm someone who had done no harm?
Who never invaded, only borrowed a corner to survive?
Who left even God’s space undisturbed?

And yet,
I am human.
We are the most dangerous predators, I guess.
We destroy more out of fear than need.
I say I care, I say I understand…
but in the end, I only think of my washing machine —
whose heater no longer works because of her.
Or worse — I think about the pups she might have birthed inside.
And how they might multiply.
And how that might ruin the order of my home.

I’m selfish.
I know she’s gentle.
I even believe she’s a mother.
But I still fear what might happen if she stays.

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Because this isn’t just about a rat.
It’s about all the quiet things I let stay — in my home, in my heart.
Roles I no longer need.
Guilt I never questioned.
Soft things that take up space quietly, but stop something in me from working.

Not all who stay cause damage.
Not all who leave deserve anger.

Some simply remind us:
That even gentle guests need to go — for the flow to return.

Now, I just pray
she goes…
before something that should not happen… happens.