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twas The Night Before Christmas
And all through the house, not a creature was stirring... especially not that bloody mouse. I'd got the little bugger just that morning with the frying pan. No longer would I have to endure his little squeaks of triumph as he barrelled across the floor, up onto the table and made off with a leg of lamb or a couple of kilos of cheese. He was now mouse pancake. My retarded Sulphur Crested Cockatoo, Hanns Schmidt had looked on as the mouse had zigged when he should have zagged. The bird rocked...