My garden gloves were not on the shelves in the shed, nor in the watering can. As I turned and skidded on a slug, my elbow knocked over a cardboard box. Bulbs rolled out across the floor. I put my hand in the box and felt something fluffy and small, wriggly and warm. I let go at once and pulled my shaking hand out. I took another look. From the corner, two tiny, black, terrified eyes looked up at me. It was alive. A little, light brown mouse. I shut the door. I needed to think. “Should I keep him?”
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