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Under a newspaper, in the old garden shed,
Is where Millie, has made her bed.
Warm and protected, against the autumn winds,
She slowly wakes, and her adventure begins.

Each eye opens, and her whiskers twitch,
She rubs her side, to remove an itch.
A massive yawn, her mouth stretched wide,
Puts on coat, and then ventures outside.

Past the pots, and the old log,
Round the corner, past the old dog.
Opens his eye, then back to sleep,
Cant be bothered, the mouse will keep.

The weathers colder, time is so short,
Must get food, with-out getting caught.
Soon be winter, with snow on ground,
Hunts for food, with barely a sound.

Into the pantry, a choice so vast,
Takes her pick, but does it fast.
Must get food, that will not spoil,
She does work, and she does toil.

Apples are good, for a grand feed,
Oats and corn, all types of seed.
Feast for sure, there to be had,
Keep her fed, that she is glad.

All items found, of the right sort,
Goes past dog, with-out getting caught.
Past the log, and old garden pot,
Quickly she moves, with food she got.

Over the grass, returns to the shed,
Puts them safe, and makes her bed.
Soon be time, for her to sleep,
Warm and cosy, she must now keep.

The meal devoured, the light does dim,
Another day over, to sleep give in.
Into a ball, under paper so right,
Starts to snore, and sleeps all night.