Miracle on Mouse Street

I am Dr Doolittle. Fact. Squeaker brought in a wee mouse in the wee small hours this morning. Alive and kicking it scarpered under the wardrobe beyond my reach and the cats paws so i give up and grab an hours more sleep.

I forget about the wee beastie until tonight, i'm reading that addictive Hunger Games book, when i hear a scraping and remember about mousy. It appears beside me on the floor as i lie still on the bed. I reason with it and it looks at me directly and listens politely, i say "please just walk over to my slipper and i can rescue you and be lazy and not have to spend hours trying to catch you". I move to grab it and it scarpers under the bed. **!* I curse the hairy timorous wide eyed hairball. But it immediately reappears, scuttles over to my unattractive, middle-aged slippers (markies - obviously, where else - although in my defence we are talking a house of old wooden floors here). Anyway it jumps in, turns round and looks at me. Really Truly. Dr Bleedin' Doolittle. Some of my friends are having a real crappy week, others are having a great week. The mouse had a crappy night last night, but a great night tonight. So the moose is no longer loose in ma hoose, and fortunes can change.