I didn’t buy it, find it, breed it or rescue it, but there it is. A tiny little mouse. Over the last few days there has been a lot of huffing and puffing and sniffing round the kitchen from the three hairiest residents. Tonight a bout of hysterical barking broke out and when I went to investigate I found the so-called wee cowering timorous beastie sitting in state on my granite chopping board. Far from being afraid of the proportionally titanic beasts yowling and bowling below him, he looked more like a mini emperor gazing down on his subjects. That is until I tried to take his picture. With a flick of his tail and a sideways glance worthy of the most high-end A-list celebrity, he squeaked “see my agent” and dived between the fridge and the drawer unit.
Unfortunately for Izzy, who has not figured out that an Old English Sheepdog head is somewhat wider than the almost two inch space, she tried to snatch him on the way down. She’s looking a bit stunned at the moment.
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