A mouse's tale

This morning, the dear thing started to get hot under my hand, and then stopped working. I opened her up and found that one of the batteries was so hot I couldn't touch it, and that, when I finally prised it out, part of its casing remained stuck to the mouse's insides. My mouse, the wee sleekit cow'ring timorous beastie, still works after a fashion, the fashion being that I have to bang her firmly on her mousemat every so often. The every so often is getting oftener, so I phoned to order a replacement from Michael O'Dell's splendid company. The Irishman who dealt with me is called Ilyah Mohammed, a name, you will agree, that is not immediately redolent of the land of the leprechauns, although he was definitely full of blarney, begorrah.