Like a lot of mice my age I now have to work at staying in shape. An easy way to do this is to take a brisk morning walk. I’ve found that it’s made even easier if you start walking before you’ve completely woken up. An added benefit to walking outside, for me, is that I get to catch up with my garden friends, with the exception of the Skink Family who tend to sleep in. Dainty Rabbit will often inform me on the whereabouts of any particularly sticky cobwebs and Old Mrs Possum, back from her nightly foraging, will usually save me a piece of fruit - which she hurls at me as I race by.

This morning, after a twenty minute walk and with Old Mrs Possum’s offering - a pawful of berries - I sauntered into the kitchen, poured myself a cup of tea and joined Carrie and Andy at the breakfast table.

“Did you have a nice jaunt, Bergie?” Carrie asked. “It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?”

“Mm hmm,” I agreed, my cheeks now stuffed with berries.

“Did you see the mouse under the tree? Did you speak with him? Did he tell you why he’s here?” she asked.

“Mmm? A mouse?” I said. “What mouse?”

“A mouse, like you. Well, not really like you, well…” she paused then said, “He didn’t want to talk to me, that’s for sure. He seemed a little odd, or maybe he just looked a little odd. I don't know.”

“Odd? How so?” I asked, casually popping another few berries into my mouth.

    Puzzled, she frowned, then said, “Hmm, he’s probably one of those brooding silent types, what with his little beard and his campfire.”

   Spraying a mouthful of half-chewed berries across the table, I stammered, “D– Did you say beard?”

“Mmm? Oh yes. He had a little checked shirt and an axe too,” she giggled.

No. It couldn’t be, I thought. No one in my family has ever seen one. No one I know has ever seen one. No one who knows anyone I know has ever seen one. “I have to go,” I shouted. I leaped off the table and sprinted out the back door…