“Good man, Mammy!” Praise
indeed from Screecher Creature No. 1 when the trap and not me, caught the pesky
mouse that had been eluding us for two weeks.
Two weeks it took to nab him. Two
whole weeks. But nab him I did.
Now I have another
dilemma. We have a new lodger. Or very
possibly a few of them. I mean, there’s
rarely one mouse, right?
This one, or at least one of
them, has a fondness for the fruit bowl.
Pears in particular. His appetite
is bigger than our 6 year olds!!
And I can’t catch him/them. With their sophisticated palates in mind, I’ve
dotted sweet and savoury baited traps about the place in an effort to wipe them
out. Not working so far.
Many an evening I sit here and
a little whiskered, twitching nose will appear at my right side. Even the tapping of the keyboard doesn’t
deter him. He’ll have a little cautious
sniff, and tiny bit by tiny bit he makes his little way out. One night he practically played with my feet.
The cheeky bugger runs around
my floor, darting in under the couch, over the legs of the baby chair and along
the fire place before scooting into the kitchen. Probably heading for the fruit bowl.
See, we don’t have a Tom so
these furry Jerry’s seem to move into our place in their droves. They have a tendency to drag those little
Styrofoam balls out from the wall cavity.
It’s annoying because they are immune to the sweeping brush and the two and
a half year old likes to push them up his nose.
These mouses have got to go!!
A couple of days ago I set a
trap at the end of the couch and I watched as one of them literally diced with
death. He would approach the trap, and
at the last minute scurry away from it. A tiny confession here. I
wanted him dead but I didn’t want to witness it so I clapped my hands whenever
he got too close to those jaws of death and he lived to experience life for
another hour or so. Or at least until I
retired to bed. The next morning, there
was a little stiff and lifeless brown body sandwiched in the trap. I almost felt sorry for him. And then I threw
him into the bin. On top of all the
nappies our youngest two like to fill.
But this latest mouse, or
mice, has me baffled. He’s almost a pet
at this stage. The lads are not the
quietest musical instruments in the band, but they don’t seem to bother Fivel. Maybe he enjoys the company.
So I’ve arrived at a
solution. I’m going to have to take a
shot at him myself. I’m currently going
through my options. I could use a shoe
or a book. My new weights are pretty
hefty and would make it very quick altogether but I’m not loving the very
possible and likely occurrence of blood splatters. And then Mickey could be a Minnie. With little baby mouses somewhere. Ah, here.
I never thought of that. Maybe
I’ll let the matter rest for a night or two.
After all, you can’t be too hasty about these things. But now I have another dilemma. It’s been a while since Stuart Little came
out to play. The Styrofoam balls are
still there each and every morning, but no sign of Stuart. But, and it’s a big But. A big smelly But. I am getting a distinct and nasty whiff of
something in my kitchen. The washing machine
has been hot cycled on empty. Still squiffy. The fridge has been cleaned out. Still dodgy.
All my presses have been Miltoned into oblivion. Still nasty.
I strongly suspect that there might be a lifeless little brown body
decomposing down the back of the presses.
Where I can’t get in! Mister Husband thought I was losing the bit I had
left until he admitted to “getting it” yesterday. Now he reckons that Pinky’s heart gave in as
a result of all the chocolate baited traps I left lying about and he was only
seeking revenge by dying behind the press.
And you know what? I’m glad! Glad he’s dead, even if he chose to do it in
an inaccessible area. I just found a bag of Cadbury’s Mini Treats in my Secret Christmas
Stash that have been well and truly tucked into. I reckon though it’s the Town Mouse that’s
rotting away in my kitchen. Because a
Country Mouse would have much more sense than to Die By Chocolate!!
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