“How did it go?” asked Stella after she heard Stephanie drive away.

“She was more interested in talking me into making her niece a mutant mouse than evaluating Mima.”

“Really?” gasped an astonished Stella.

“Not quite, but she seemed quite interested in having one.”

“What about Mima?”

“She agreed to support our case for keeping her, although she suggested I was making life difficult by allowing her to call me mummy.”

“Did she say why?”

“No she didn’t, I assumed it was because it opens me to manipulation and also means if she goes eventually, I’ll be more upset.”

“Open you up to manipulation? Ha, she runs rings round you.”

“What about you then?”

“I’m only an indulgent auntie, you get the top job, Mummy.”

“Don’t you start…”

“Mumm–mee, Mima wanna dwink, pwease.”

“I’ll do it,” offered Stella, “I’ll pop the kettle on while I’m at it.”

“Okay, I want to see why she’s been so quiet.” I walked into the dining room and gasped at what I saw. Over much of the carpet were the contents of my handbag and purse. “MIMA,” I shouted, “Get yourself in here.”

There was the sound of little hoof-beats. A pair of arms were flung around my legs. “Wuv you Mummy.”

“You little monster, look at the mess you’ve left on the carpet, all of Mummy’s things, pick them up at once.”

“Mummy cwoss wiv Mima,” she said and burst into tears.

“Yes, Mummy is cross with Mima,” I detached her from my legs and pushed her into the middle of the mess. “You put all those things back in my handbag, you naughty girl.”

She sat on the floor and howled. Now what do I do? If I start doing it for her or making it a game, she wins. She continued howling and I felt like a war criminal–hell’s bells, why do these things happen to me?

“Oops!” exclaimed Stella as she entered the room, “Did the burglars get much?”

“I caught the culprit, but she isn’t exactly coming quietly.” I accepted the mug of tea Stella offered me. “What do I do now?”

“I was hoping to get some tips from the master,” she said managing to hide the smirk.

“Very funny. I put my tea down, “Come on, Mima, stop crying and start picking things up.”

“Mummy, dun wuv Mima, no mowe.”

“Mummy does love Mima, but she’d love Mima even more if Mima helped to pick up the mess.” This was becoming a battle of wills and I was coming a definite second. “Come on, you help as well.”

We did clear up the mess, she picked up my purse and managed to spill all the coins out of it, I cleared the rest up while she played with the money. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a parent for good reasons.

“Well you did really well there,” said Stella, holding her back and making strange faces.

“Very funny, I lost hands down.”

“No you controlled yourself really well, your first inclination was to strangle her, instead you sublimated it.”

“Instead I ended up doing what I wanted her to do. She now knows my word is not my bond, all she has to do is leak a few tears and I give in.”

“You can always change it next time.”

“It gets harder, and she grows stronger. I’m a failure as a mother.”

“Not if they allowed flogging and strangling.”

“I suppose I could always send her up the chimney when she’s older.”

“Or down t’mines,” Stella made a funny face as she said this.

“Aye, ‘appen,” I agreed in best Bristolian north country accent, which sounded a total mess, a bit like my mothering skills.

“Trouble at mill…” replied Stella.

“Mima sowwy Mummy.” A pair of arms went around my legs again. I looked at my purse, all the money had been put back into it. At least I assumed it had. I detached her again from my legs, which once more had her burst into tears. I then picked up my purse, it was empty. I was glad I hadn’t praised her for clearing up that part of the mess. “Mima, where is Mummy’s money?” She carried on crying. This would look really great if a social worker came in now.

“Where did you put Mummy’s money, and where are my car keys?” I felt my temper rising again–bloody children! Why do they always have to do these things? Why can’t they leave other peoples’ things alone?

I got up and walked away, taking my tea with me I left the room. I sat in the kitchen and tried to sip my tea, my hands were shaking. Stella came in and sat opposite me. A minute or two afterwards, Mima came in, still crying, with tears and snot all over her face. She came to me and I told her I wouldn’t cuddle her until she went and found my car keys.

She then tried to cuddle with Stella, who took one look at her dirty nose and freaked, rushing off to the loo. Mima came back to me, I wiped her nose with a tissue and told her to go and get my car keys and she could have a cuddle.

Finally she went off mizzing and sniffing. Five minutes later she hadn’t returned, when I went to look at what she was doing, she was ripping up a twenty pound note into confetti.

“Mima,” I said loudly and I hoped disapprovingly, she jumped and began to howl again. Oh shit, bloody children, maybe I should offer to give her back–like, now? I picked her up and collected the bits of torn banknote, if they had the serial number, they could replace it. “You are a very naughty girl, and Mummy is very cross.” Where were my bloody keys? I started hunting for them, looking under the furniture, under the cushions–which was where my money was, no sign of them.

“Where are my keys, you naughty, naughty girl?” I scolded her and she screamed as if I’d smacked her. I hadn’t, my own experience guaranteed that, even if she didn’t know it.

I stepped back and crushed my favourite lipstick–into the carpet, oh bugger! Maybe I could kill her without hitting her? She was sitting on the sofa screaming her head off then I noticed it. No not my keys, the rivulet of urine dripping off the seat. Oh no, she’d wet herself, just what I needed.

I picked her up and she peed all down the front of me–who did she think she was–a bloody dormouse? At this point Tom arrived, “Someone left their keys in the front door, they look like yours Cathy.”