Away from home, deep in the green of the Devon countryside, all is quiet. Or so I thought. First night, children scrunched up in their beds, and there, suddenly, by the television, nature intruded on me. Eyes, round and black as slate, ears, rounded like pink radar dishes, and a noise that twitched in equal shock. Field mouse and I watched each other warily. It was beautiful, a soft wheaty brown colour, in an alien green carpet. What must it have made of the squeaky noises coming from its black plastic shelter?

I couldn't confront. How could I, the product of Dumbo, of Ice Age, possibly turn around and find the mouse trap? Jerry always escaped, but somehow I know that real life isn't like cartoons.

I opened the outside door, closed the inside one and scurried up to bed.

In the morning, he wasn't there. I imagine him scampering through the barley field, climbing through the dew-dropped mounds of earth boasting to his friends of the time he confronted a giant and won. And I? I shall always remember the connection, the fear, the joint shock of two animals from different food branches meeting.

Minerva