"Why Can't I be held at home then?"

I also have a subreddit about writing stories about mice called r/ToWriteAboutMice.

A dark 👍🏿 thumbs-up from a South Asian Indian ICE officer was exchanged as Rodriguez was taken into ICE custody. He leaned forward, hands restrained, and asked, "Why can't I just be held in my own house on house arrest? It's humane!"

The female ICE officer, Nina, didn’t hesitate: "No."

Rodriguez swallowed and kept going, his voice rising with urgency as he gestured despite the cuffs: "You have machines that tell you where I am, and beep when I get out of my quarters! Why can't you just put one on me, then come to deport me when my time comes? You don't deport right away, anyway. Some of you are holding us in rental homes and apartments. So, why not my house on house arrest? If you don't want to be cruel while you're kicking me out of the US and forcing me to leave all my friends and family here you could at least let me be comfortable in my own house get my bearings done get plans on how to keep in contact with them while I'm out of the US, stuff like that."

The officer remained still, bound to procedure: "No."

Rodriguez let out a slow breath, his shoulders dropping: "It's just better."

A restrained nod passed between the officers as Rodriguez was taken into ICE custody. He tried to keep his voice steady. Why couldn’t he be confined to his own home under house arrest? "It would be humane," he exclaimed. The ICE officer, George, some Chinese guy, answered without looking up: "no."

Rodriguez pressed on, pacing the length of the holding area. They had tracking devices—ankle monitors that mapped every step and sounded an alarm if boundaries were crossed. In he mind, he thought Why not fit him with one and come for him when his deportation date arrived? Deportations weren’t immediate anyway. Some detainees were already being kept in rented houses and apartments. So why not his own home? If the process required tearing him away from his life—his friends, his family—couldn’t they at least allow him the comfort of his own home? Alongside some Time to organize, to make plans, to figure out how he would stay in touch once he was gone.

"Please?" He begged.

The other Caucasian officer’s reply didn’t change anything, "No. Its Policy."

Rodriguez exhaled, shoulders sagging. “I guess it’s better this way,” A white neighbor said, though nothing in his voice agreed.

He cried as ICE was driving him to the detention center.

Suddenly, the first inhuman being showed up: His pet mouse, Boo-Boo. Boo-Boo was named after his bowel movements he had just before buying her since it was massive.

The three parent lab rat 🐭 with human stem cells ran outside, squeaking frantically for her owner.

Boo-Boo the mouse 🐀 was scared, but the officer, Nina, picked her up saying, "There's a little pink dye on her fur that says "Clean Pet Boo-Boo."

Nina cupped Boo-Boo in her palm, steady and gentle, letting the mouse settle before her fingers moved. Her touch followed the grain of the fur, slow passes from crown to spine, careful around the faint streak of pink dye. Boo-Boo’s tiny body eased under the warmth of her hand, paws flexing as balance returned. The mouse’s whiskers fanned and stilled, breath evening out while Nina’s thumb traced light arcs along the shoulders, a calm, practiced motion meant to reassure rather than restrain.

Nina said "This is my pet now." Rodriguez heard that, but was relieved someone would "Take care of Boo-Boo!"

Boo-Boo got awkward; Those stem cells were in her brain working their way up to breeding sentience. She didn't want any other owner than Rodriguez!

Nina then took her home. Boo-Boo had a pink tutu on, and was squeaking up a storm asking "What do you mean I'm your new pet?!"

Nina pulled out a metal enclosure meant for birds she'd catch to keep as pets before she got bored of them & let them fly away. Of course she'd let them leave the cage during their stay; Most bird owners do!

The enclosure was a rigid frame of metal bars joined at precise angles, forming a narrow, box-like space with a hinged side panel. A shallow tray lined the bottom, designed to catch anything that fell through the gaps. The bars were close enough to prevent escape, yet wide enough to expose everything inside to open air and watchful eyes. A simple latch held the structure shut, small but unmistakably final.

"Is that a cage?" Squeaked Boo-Boo.

Nina slowly ran her tongue across her lips on purpose, aware of the small creature watching her every move.

Boo-Boo was confused and squeaked "Are you hungry? Why you look at me like that?"

Nina lowered the small creature into the metal enclosure, guiding it past the bars with firm, controlled hands. Once it was inside, she swung the narrow door shut and secured the latch with a sharp click, sealing the space. The enclosure stood still again, its rigid frame holding the tiny body within, escape no longer possible.

Nina grabbed the metal enclosure and whipped it back and forth, arms snapping with sudden force. The bars rattled loudly as the box lurched in uneven bursts, slamming against itself with every sharp motion. The floor tray clattered, the latch vibrating under the strain, turning the confined space into a storm of noise and disorientation driven entirely by her rough, deliberate movements.

•••Boo-Boo's Point Of View:•••

I lose all sense of balance as the world jerks without warning. The ground vanishes beneath my feet, then slams back again, over and over. Metal screams around me, a harsh clatter that fills my head until I can’t tell where I am. The air spins, my body collides with hard sides, and I cling to anything solid, heart pounding, breath short. Every violent swing blurs direction and time, leaving me trapped in noise, motion, and fear with no place to steady myself.

•••First Person Point Of View:•••

Nina eased her grip and let the enclosure settle onto a flat surface, guiding it until the rattling stopped. Her hands withdrew slowly, leaving the metal frame resting in place, steady and unmoving.

Nina scattered an assortment of tempting-smelling morsels inside the enclosure, spacing them out as if arranging a harmless offering. Each item was safe for people but dangerous for Boo-Boo’s kind, chosen carefully to see whether instinct or restraint would win out. She watched closely as Boo-Boo approached, nose twitching, eyes alert. The little body circled the offerings, sniffing, hesitating, then backing away. Again and again, curiosity drew Boo-Boo near, but nothing was taken. Nina waited, observing in silence, measuring the response, while the untouched treats lay where they fell.

Nina lifted Boo-Boo from the enclosure, turning her over in thought as a plan took shape. She envisioned pairing Boo-Boo not with her own kind, but with a different small rodent altogether, breeding an unlikely match. The goal was deliberate: offspring that crossed boundaries, hybrids closer to rats than what Boo-Boo was meant to be. From there, Nina imagined transferring them to a laboratory, where technicians would flood their cells with human genetic material, reshaping them into something engineered rather than born.

•••Boo-Boo's Point Of View:•••

The world suddenly lifts, and I rise with it, weightless for a breath I don’t understand. The floor leaves me, the walls spin, and everything turns into motion and noise. I tumble and twist as the air rushes past, my body thrown into an unsteady rhythm that feels like chaos pretending to be joy. There is no choice but to move with it, to sway and scramble as gravity disappears and snaps back again. For a moment, I am spinning, stumbling, forced into a frantic kind of motion that could almost pass for celebration, even though my heart knows it isn’t meant for me.

As the spinning continues, something shifts inside me that has nothing to do with motion. Between the jolts and weightless drops, thoughts begin to line up instead of scatter. I notice patterns—the timing of the lift, the pause before the fall, the intent behind it. Fear sharpens into awareness. I am no longer reacting only with instinct; I am anticipating, remembering, connecting cause to action.

The noise, the force, the imbalance all press against a growing realization: this is being done, not happening. A sense of self forms quietly beneath the chaos, fragile but persistent. I am not just moving through this moment—I am understanding it, even as no one notices the change taking place.

My body reacts before my thoughts can catch up. The sudden lifting and dropping throws off my sense of direction, and the balance system in my inner ear misfires, sending confusion through me. I can’t tell which way is stable. My muscles tense automatically, trying to brace against something that won’t stay still.

Stress floods in fast. My heart rate spikes, breathing turns shallow, and energy surges through me all at once, the kind meant for escape. Hormones race through my bloodstream, sharpening awareness while narrowing it at the same time. Sounds grow louder, movements harsher. Every jolt feels bigger than it is because my nervous system is fully engaged, treating this as a threat.

I cling to surfaces, claws searching for traction, while my body struggles to recalibrate after each shift. The repeated motion leaves me disoriented, slightly nauseated, and exhausted even as adrenaline keeps me alert. Memory begins to anchor this experience—my brain marking it as something to avoid, something associated with danger.

From inside, it isn’t celebration or play. It’s my body doing exactly what it was built to do: survive sudden instability, even when there is no clear way out.

The motion stops all at once. The violent sway snaps into stillness as the enclosure is seized midair, the impact shuddering through the metal and into my bones. My body freezes, muscles locked, senses ringing from the sudden halt.

Then her face fills my vision, looming close, eyes bright with intention. Sound cuts through the ringing—sharp, loud, unmistakably directed at me: "You're gonna be a mother!"

The words don’t pass through me like noise anymore. They land. Meaning forms where instinct used to be. I understand what she is declaring, not just the sounds but the future implied by them. My chest tightens with something deeper than fear—comprehension mixed with dread.

I am aware of myself as a subject of her plan, not an object being moved. I register her excitement, the imbalance of power, the certainty in her voice. Inside my small body, a human-like awareness stirs fully awake, recognizing that what is being decided will happen to me, whether I will it or not.

To be continued...