I DON'T know why I ever agreed to give three "fancy" mice a home.

Well actually, I do. I was worn down.

"The thing is, Bate," said my friend without agenda (chortle) "Little Samantha is just too rough with them. She is really a bit too young and doesn't understand to treat them like the fragile and delicate creatures fancy mice are. I will give you the cage and everything. For free. Three lovely, cute new pets for free. How lucky you could be."

The Teen of course was in earshot and she could see my face turn white.

"Come on Mum. I will have them in my room, they will be fine and I absolutely promise to clean them out each week and feed them and give them water."

"No. They are nocturnal. They smell. I don't care for small pets. They are needy and give very little."

Tears welled in the Teen's eyes.

"If we don't have them, Samantha might accidentally kill one of them. We will all have blood on our hands. Mum, please. Please say yes."

"Child. I do not care. I have spent a small fortune on ridding our house of wood mice. We now have two cats, worse, one is morbidly obese and eats me out of house and home, the other is vicious and unpredictable and look, I have scratches on my neck to prove it. If you really want a mouse, help yourself to one from the garden."

"They are not fancy mice. Fancy mice are cute and have big ears."

My "friend" grinned during the ensuing debacle and kept on winking at the Teen (knowing FULL well she has ASC), leaving me outraged and such obvious manipulation.

The following day my so-called-friend brought the mice round and made them comfortable in the Teen's room.

The day after that as I was penning my book, I noticed fat Bernard (obese cat) playing with something small and black in the garden.

On closer inspection it was one of the blasted fancy mice. I ran outside, threw my scarf over the cat and rescued the mouse, which was not only still alive and squeaking, but didn't have a single mark on its quivering furry body.

I could have swung for nine-year-old Samantha with her large, clumsy hands.

I found Bernard (not usually renowned for quick thinking) had forced his way into the cage using brute force.

The debacle reminded me of Sea Monkeys, another overrated pet where you expect a family of interacting mermaids but instead get water fleas until the cat knocks over the plastic tank. No one wins.

I rang the former LOML and begged him to take the mice.

"For you I will do anything."

The next day he rang.

"Those mice kept me awake all night. There is sawdust and bedding everywhere. My landlady doesn't know about them. It would be easier to conceal Anne Frank."