The three under the floor

It emerges that the tofu shop has tenants: three mice beneath the floorboards — Piko, who must see everything; Nari, who repeats whatever Piko squeaks, one beat later, slightly better; and Chibi, the tiniest mouse on the street. Possibly, I would submit, in Japan.

The Matji discover them during the midnight tea ceremony, when three whiskered faces appear at a knothole, drawn by the smell of matcha and the glow of good manners.

Protocol is unclear. The Matji consult in a huddle. Then Itji simply sets out three acorn caps, fills each with a drop of tea, and the matter is settled forever: the ceremony now seats seven.

Kobayashi-san knows nothing about any of this, officially. Unofficially, a small dish of okara has begun appearing by the loose floorboard every evening, and he has started cutting his soybeans a little smaller. For no reason. None at all.