I don't feel like cooking.

It's one of those days. Nobody wants to cook.
Thea suggests olives, cheeses, smoked salmon, crackers and sun-dried tomato. Guess what Sausage wants?

Trouble offers to cook. Her cooking is sturdy. She uses pre-mixed spices. Francesca can't bear to see the little tins, lined up from the east to west. Culinary orientalism. We used to roast our own cumin and hand grind it in a stone mortar. And perhaps we will again. On our own land. We used to grow so much basil that we'd crush it for the pleasure of the smell. That was on the mountain. Perhaps we'll grow food again.
There was a mouse in the kitchen. Sausage lied about it's whereabouts to a frypan-wielding Gray and Gray realised who she was. She wanted to keep it as a pet. She talked about getting it a little wheel to run in and feeding it toast.
Gray is a kind man. He caught the mouse in a bright orange colander and we drove to Bugsplat Forest Park to let Sausage let it go by the picnic tables.

It was a marsupial mouse: they have very cute ears and they hop rather than scuttle.