I've done all the sorting I need to in the small attic, and it looks like a proper box room/work room, with tidy shelves and the sewing machine on the table.
In all the heaving about of long-forgotten boxes, I found, amongst other ancient vinyl LPs, these treasures, probably completely unplayable now after teenage years of primitive record players and dull needles:
Ah, Keith! How I loved you when I was sixteen!
For those who asked, the mouse hasn't exactly been found, but it has moved into the back kitchen. A very alert little tabby cat takes turns with Scooter to stand guard at this gap.
Meanwhile, I'm on mouse alert too: I spot them everywhere, out of the corner of my eye:
Millie is unimpressed.
Fake, she says. No quivering.
Like Estorbo says: "Th".