It seems I have a pet mouse.
She is nesting in the garage in my painting basket, having shredded my pink painting-t-shirt for a bed. She has made quite a remarkable little home, with several discernible rooms. She leapt at me fiercely when I went in for a brush, and then bravely stood her ground.
I don’t have the heart to move her while it is still windy and cold.
She is called Deborah.