My Mouse

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My Dad is not a bad sort of guy. There are plenty who are much worse. But he dose rave on a bit, like if you get muddy when you are playing football, or rip your pants when you are building a den. Stuff like that. Mostly we understand each other and I can handle him. What he doesn't know doesn't hurt him. If he knew that I kept George, my pet mouse, under the bed, he wouldn't like it; so I don't tell him. That way he is happy, I am happy and George is happy. There are only problems when he finds out what has been going on. Like the time that I wanted to see Mad Max II. The old man said it was a bad movie- too much blood and guts. 'It's too violent,' he said. 'But, Dad, that's not fair. All the other kids are going. I'II be the only one in the school who hasn't seen it.' I went on and on like this. I kept nagging. In the end he gave in-he wasn't a bad old boy. He usually let me have what I wanted after a while. It was easy to get around him. The trouble stared the next morning. He was cleaning his teeth in the bathroom, making noises, humming and gurgling- you know the sort of thing. Suddenly he stopped. Everything went quiet. Then he came into the kitchen. There was toothpaste all around his mouth; he looked like a mad tiger. He was frothing at the mouth. 'What's this?' he said. He was waving his toothbrush about. 'What's this on my toothbrush?' Little grey hairs were sticking out of it. 'How did these hairs get on my toothbrush?' Did you have my toothbrush, David?' He was starting to get mad. I didn't know whether to own up or not. Parents always tell you that if you own up they will let you off. They say that they won't do anything if you are honest- no punishment. I decided to give it a try.

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