The Mouse that came in from the cold

I’m going back a few years now, before I met Hubby, and to a previous relationship.

We’d settled down for the night, and I heard scratching.
Partner told me to go to sleep, but the scratching intensified and I told him I thought we had a mouse in the bedroom.
He flicked on the light, had a brief look around once his eyes had adjusted, then told me I was being silly, and switched the light off again.

Five minutes later, the scratching resumed, and to his annoyance, I nudged him and told him there was definitely a mouse in the room.
The light went on again, and he actually got out of bed this time to look.
‘Nothing!’ he said, and getting back into bed, turned out the light.

I was convinced though that we had a mouse and at the sound of scratching, I turned the light on myself and told him to find it.

He was not happy. He was not impressed. He did not find anything.
He was however quite angry by now (at me) and told me to get to sleep.
Lying there next to him, light from the clock radio was sufficient for me to see something moving on the bottom of the bed.
I kicked him and told him the mouse was on the bed, to which he furiously replied that my mind was full of mice, so much so that I had convinced myself there was a mouse when there wasn’t.
I put the light on just in time for the pair of us to see a little mouse jump off the bed and disappear behind the wardrobe.

Our neighbours heard the scream (not mine) as he threw himself out of bed, and armed with a slipper started to whack anything and everything in sight that was in close proximity to the wardrobe.
He eventually got a lucky strike, and poor mousey was no more.

With the bedding wrapped around me, I was in hysterics on the bed.
Not that I was afraid, but just the ridiculousness of the situation.
It wasn’t so much that we’d been playing Morse Code with the light switch for the last half hour, but the fact that he’d been charging round the bedroom stark naked, in all his dangly glory.

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