Dear Anony-mouse

It's quite an amazing feeling, sitting alone in a silent room, talking out loud to yourself just as you've done forever, and suddenly someone talks back. It rather throws into doubt the idea that one is actually alone. It makes me wonder how long you've been listening and if I've said anything embarrassing or picked my nose.

Did you know that you were a breech birth? Your head was still pointed north while your bum headed south. Quite a difficult delivery, from all accounts; I guess the world nearly lost your mother and your "father" at the same time. But your mum is built of sterner stuff -- she pulled through. My nurse friend (the one who sent me your picture) claims your mother reached down and yanked you out herself, but I suspect that's an exaggeration of sorts.

And that's how you got your name: your mother thought being named "Compass" might help you get your bearings and NOT approach life arse-first. That's the story Wilhelmina told the nurse, anyway. I know the real story, though. And since I promised to tell you if you asked (which you didn't, but at least you did respond, so I'll reward you for that), here it is:

When your mother was a girl, she got lost in an old, abandoned mine. She wandered around for ages, through all the tunnels, the batteries in her torch slowly going dim along with her hopes of survival. She knew the way out was roughly to the north, but she'd lost all sense of direction, so deep underground. Happily, she remembered a lesson from girl scouts. A needle rubbed on silk becomes magnetized. Find a puddle of water to float your needle in, and it becomes a compass. Your mother had a silk handkerchief in her pocket and a brooch on her coat. She broke the needle off the brooch, magnetized it, floated it, and found her way out. She swore she'd name her first-born child Compass if she lived.

This may also be an exaggeration of sorts.