The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike, est. 2007) Part 3079 by Angharad Copyright© 2016 Angharad

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This is a work of fiction any mention of real people, places or institutions is purely coincidental and does not imply that they are as suggested in the story.
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Nothing much happened on the Sunday except Danielle played soccer in the afternoon for Pompey ladies and scored two goals, one apparently from forty yards out was a volley that flew past the keeper who possibly didn’t see it because she didn’t move. The other was a header, which surprised me more as she isn’t that tall and I’ve never seen her head a ball. I warned her that doing it often can cause brain injury or disease like Parkinsonism. The same happens in boxers as demonstrated by Muhammed Ali, who died earlier this year and was said to be one of the finest exponents of the sport. Not that I’ve ever understood how two grown men or women knocking seven bells out of each other can be considered sport.

Simon took her to the game and watched it then brought her home. I was busy with doing the dinner as David went off sick with what appeared to be some sort of flu type thing. I hope he doesn’t give to us, life is fraught enough at the moment, especially as Christmas is on its way. My only sop to religion is buying the girls advent calendars, I always had them as a kid, so I’m perpetuating the practice though with definitely non-religious ones, the younger ones get plenty of that in school.

On the Monday Diane showed me something which made my blood run cold. There was a small article about a mother searching for her son, Daniel, who was adopted but appears to not want any contact with her—which she blames on the adopted parents, because her son was a good boy. So good she dumped him in a children’s home after he was abused by the step father which she ignored. I was tempted to write to the editor of the local paper which had run the article but that would confirm I was the adopted mother, which I didn’t want to do.

Andy Bond had advised me to keep all the children closer than usual and not let them out by themselves—who knows what the couple may do, we knew nothing about them. Trish had tried hacking the car hire system but without luck, she hoped Sammi would help her when she had time. She was up in London again dealing with more cyber attacks which seem to almost be a regular thing and they seem to come from mainly Russia, though the occasional episode appears to originate from China. Both nations are known to attack systems in other countries so presumably we do the same to them, if not why not?

Andy was also exercised by the fact James had proven the man from the adoption agency had sold confidential information which is highly illegal for obvious reasons. He wanted me to give him chapter and verse in order to prosecute him but I didn’t have it and didn’t want to be involved. James had confirmed the man had been dismissed on the spot and facing possible prosecution from them. In some ways I hoped they did do him, dirty pig.

I was shown an article on the internet about a gang of sadists who hunted and killed, often barbarously deer, rabbits, hares, badgers and foxes with dogs, taking photos and videos of the actual killing, seemingly enjoying the agonising deaths of their victims. The sentences they got were pathetic and far below what the maximum was especially as their victims numbered in the hundreds.

It brought back memories of a talk by a wildlife officer in the police who said the sorts of people who do this sort of thing had no scruples of any sort and not try and do anything but call the police if we saw them operating. He also pointed out that hunting deer after dark was illegal irrespective of method. Shooting them using powerful lights to dazzle them is called ‘lamping’ and totally illegal.

I found the article made me feel very angry because it seemed that cruelty was part of the attraction to these degenerates. I’d have thrown them all off a cliff to sharks below, saved the courts the problem of trying them.

Diane and I discussed the situation regarding Danielle and she burst out laughing when I told her that Danni had dyed her hair purple and James had called her a Smurf. She told me that the females were called Smurfettes or some other such name. Fortunately, that part of popular culture passed me by.

After another enthralling day at the university I collected the mouseketeers and as we drove into the drive, Trish noticed a car parked just down the road from the house. She took a photo as unobtrusively as she could and went off to find out whose it was. Half an hour later she said it was another hire car and she hoped to get into their system. I told her to be careful. I also called James. I only spoke to his answering service but he rang an hour or so later and said he’d be down tomorrow and would stay long enough to try and speak to the couple, pointing out that they were breaking the law, had already broken the law by bribing someone in a position of confidential information and that if they didn’t desist he might start breaking them—one bone at a time.

I told him he couldn’t say that and he just laughed, adding—not directly, but once he identified them, he could give them a hard time investigating bank accounts and other things which may give him either a lever to get them to back off or prosecuted. I favoured the latter.

Danielle was moping about the place. She wanted to go and see Cindy but I wouldn’t let her go.

“This is ridiculous, I’ve done no wrong so why am I being treated like the criminal when the bad guys are out there doing whatever they want to do?”

“I’m sorry, darling, but it’s for your own protection. At the moment we have the advantage of you being a girl when they’re looking for a boy.”

“Some advantage, I’m locked up like I’m in jail.”

“I’m sorry, but it’s just too dangerous for you to leave the house.”

“How am I supposed to go training?”

“One of us will take you to your training session and bring you back.”

“Can Cindy come here.”

“Not while this is going on, it’s too dangerous.”

“How is that? She’s a girl too.”

“Yes but a girl with a little extra. Just think, if they discovered that you were living as a girl and decided they wanted to rescue you and snatched Cindy instead, how would you feel about it?”

“Yeah, okay—but I feel like borrowing your bow or Gramps’s shotgun and telling them to eff-off.”

“Then your identity may well come out and you could end up in a juvenile institution—you could kiss your England career goodbye. Is that what you want?”

“No, ’course not.” She burst into tears and I hugged her. “If that is my ex-mother, I hope she dies in agony, fucking bitch.”

I understood her anger but would try and dilute the hate because it tends to do more harm to the hater than the object of their emotion.