Chaos Pay Us A Visit in the Form of a Mouse

We just had a bit of an uproar here in the Clark household.
I was reading (the Brothers Karamazov) quite contentedly, when something other than words caught my
eye.
A large (subjectively speaking), fury creature darted across the room and under Nicole's bed.
I screamed.
I screamed again and added shouts for Mother.
Noise stirred below: Father peered in the doorway.
"A . . .mouse . . ." The words came, half-giggling: half-gasping.
More clamor below Soon the whole pack is trooping up the stairs.
I tuck my feet up warily, and lean back a little closer to the wall.
The girls, and vociferous little Gid. crowd the door.
"A mouse! A mouse!" The little girls laugh and chatter to one another, only to be interrupted by the young man, flailing his arms and screaming. "Mousie! Mousie!" His little body quaking with excitement.
Father wades through the riot, prostrates himself on the floor, and begins poking around beneath the bed.
The following moments were a portrait of chaos.
Gideon screaming at the "Mousie!". girls bouncing up and down, alternating shrieks and laughter: Mom and I shouting out orders (also participating in shrieks and giggles) to Father.
A flashlight in one hand, and a stick and a level somehow operated by the other. Father would see the mouse (or someone would shout its whereabouts), all would shriek. Father would valiantly attack, the mouse would hide, and would be found again, the process would repeal itself once more.
Finally, Father was able to chase it from beneath the bed. and Mother tackled it with a shoe (which just happened to be mine).
She missed.
The mouse jumped. The girls shrieked: everyone shrieked. The mouse ram we all trampled after. Through the hall and into Mother's closet the mouse ran. Mom and Father followed after, while us girls (and a frenzied boy ) hovered and buzzed about.
With use of a million-candle-power light, the culprit, was sighted.
Slowly stealthily. Father tried to cover it with a jar.
Then chaos hit in all her glory.
The mouse ran. All screamed. A broom (wielded by Mother) thwacked viciously A surprised cry from Father. More little girl, and lots of little boy, screams.
The phone rings: 1 answer. I laugh. 1 laugh so I can hardly speak, but somehow manage to formulate the words that Father would call back later.
A triumphant yell: the villain was caught!
A very disheveled Father rises from behind the bed, the mouse held fast in a sweater.
"Hon, that was me you hit with the broom!”