The Mouse That Remembered Me. Part I: The Mouse Arrives (2018)

It wasn’t meant to be a tradition.

That first Mickey flash sheet came from impulse, not intention. I drew it in August of 2018, printed a few extras, made pancakes in the shape of a mouse, and opened the shop like it was just another tattoo day—except it wasn’t. People showed up.

They wore Mickey shirts. They brought their kids. I didn’t plan for any of that. I didn’t even announce it properly. But the energy that day was… different. It wasn’t a gimmick. It felt like a signal had been sent and answered.

So I did it again.

November 18th. Mickey Mouse’s official birthday.

This time, it was intentional. I leaned in—Mickey apparel, breakfast again, printed flash. And right around then, something else showed up too: a Dalmatian pup. Mine.

Spotted, wild, all legs and paws and noise. I didn’t name him anything Disney-adjacent. Although the movie did spark the idea. But he arrived at the exact moment this whole thing began to feel like more than an idea. It felt like it had chosen me too.

And so the mouse stayed.

I kept drawing him. I started noticing how many ways he could be expressed: mischievous, determined, whistling, falling through holes, waving goodbye, smiling too wide. Somehow, he always bounced back.

That resilience—silly as it sounds—started to mean something.

I think I knew even then. Not fully, but quietly.

He wasn’t just Mickey.

He was the version of me still reaching out from somewhere. The part that refused to vanish. The part that smiled in every photo even when I didn’t feel like being seen.

The mouse became a lighthouse.

I still have the Mickey Mouse pancake plate from my childhood. My name and 1989 scrawled across it. My mom made it. I use it every November now. Like I’m still that kid. Like none of this has slipped through my fingers.

It started small. Just flash. Just breakfast. Just a mouse.

But something showed up that day.

So I kept going.