Dormouse
It woke me up,
first tipping a coffee cup
over in its saucer
while slipping through
the barred window in the kitchen,
next flipping over
a wooden herb pot
with ‘DILL’ scored
in black lettering
on its way from windowsill
to the shelf above the hotplate
dislodging a white jar that fell
with a hiss and a crash
as rice poured out
and the jar itself bounced
but didn’t shatter.
I clicked on the light
whose flicker caught it
in the act perched
on the edge of the sink, crouched
over a side plate filching
a bread crust I’d left.
Unflustered, it blinked at me,
tail a grey five-inch feather duster,
ears twitching back and forth,
eyes all black inquiring pupil
as if saying
“You did leave it,
so if I may,”
before sidestepping away
down off the draining board
by means of the handle
of the door of the cupboard
under the sink, not in fright,
but defter through caution
than before, crust in its mouth,
to a spot out of sight
where it must have fed
after I’d clicked off the light
and gone back to bed.