This is how it was: Marie was brushing her teeth when she screamed. "A mouse, a mouse--oh, a horrid mouse!" I leapt out of bed, thinking something serious was wrong.
She was standing on the commode; the mouse was on the floor, looking up at her.
"Quick," she said. "Don't just stand there. Kill it!"
I reached for the nearest thing to use as a weapon: A heavy metal lamp. I yanked the cord out of the wall outlet and let fly the lamp at the mouse. The lamp clunked against the hard tile of the bathroom floor, and bounced up and struck my wife in the shins, then fell back upon the floor. Off balance, she fell--and struck her head on the lamp. Then she went limp. I tried to waken her, but she was gone. That's when I called you.
No, of course we didn't have a fight. No, I did not strike her with the lamp and kill her. Why are you handcuffing me and reading me my rights? I've done nothing wrong. It was the mouse, I tell you--that damned little gray mouse. It caused a terrible accident, but that's all it was--an accident.
Do I want an attorney? No. I've done nothing wrong. What you should do is look for the mouse. It must still be here somewhere. Once you find it, then maybe you'll believe me!"