My Mouse

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.