The Doofer Mouse was hunting for the doofer. The search was slow and painstaking for though the house was tidy, the doofer was small. Perhaps Mark had coined it in his earlier years before he mastered his speech, and, like the half-dozen other mispronunciations and misnomers of his, it had remind current ever since. John often took the set up there, piled up the pillows and settled back in front of a late film.
Volume's too low.
Mouse crossed the landing to Mark's bedroom. He was uncovered. She pulled the duvet up to his chin, anchoring it under the mattress. John was not keen on their having another child. Not keen at all.