A writer scratching away at his quill pen hears a thin, squeaky voice demanding to know who he is. Perched on the corner of a book, wearing a yellowish jacket and the oddest bonnet with two long hairs sticking from the top, his tiny visitor has been watching him for two weeks, paralyzed between curiosity and terror. She has quite a lot to say. Surprised to be conversing with a cockroach, he wondered if he was dreaming.