Dormouse Bliss Glass Cloche

Dormouse was not asleep, he was mearly resting his eyes. The crackly old gramaphone serenaded him, the red wine breathed and the vintage cheese aged further. This was sheer bliss.
Later, when the water had cooled, he would wrap himself up in a fluffy towel and scurry as fast as his short legs would go along the chilly passages to his warm nest. There he would sleep the kind of sleep that can only be attained by the squeaky clean Dormouse