Magenta felt, well, battered.. Those damn sewing nights were such a bore. Hemming, quilting, embroidering truths.. Nostrils flaring, the change to nick out the back on toss back a quick mouse or two had been irresistable, if she hadn't tripped over the wheelbarrow n onto that pile of wood n stuff. and here they were, flapping about her like three old aunts, batty as fruitcakes, and just as merry, she thought. No, she didnt need any helping up, thanks, she was okay.

She hadn't even been able to sink her teeth into the mouse - Freda had rescued it and rung the Wildlike Rescue Services. They werent interested anyway, as it turned out. waste of a good mouse.