|Pictured: A little furry bastard.|
Today, I was outsmarted by a mouse.
Allow me to explain.
Around this time two weeks ago, I’d been sitting in the living room watching something on TV. I could hear some rustling sounds coming from the kitchen so I went to investigate – and found myself face to face with a small furry home-invader. Which promptly ran over my foot and dashed behind the washing machine.
Needless to say I took it in my stride. By which I mean I yelped, jumped 6 foot in the air and retreated to the safety of the living room, resolving to buy a trap as soon as I possibly could. Tonks and I resolved to keep the kitchen door shut at all times in order to keep it penned in where we could keep an eye on it.
This didn’t happen. A day or two later I found it in the living room, nibbling away at something or other. I tried to herd it back into the kitchen, resulting in what can only be described as “a merry chase”. One thing I learnt about mice is that they can bloody shift it when they need to. Good jumpers, too. I eventually scared it into the kitchen where it stayed until I managed to trap it a few days later. I have it on good authority that mice are very fond of white chocolate. I took it close to the nearby Uni Campus (over 1km away, per the trap’s packaging’s instructions) and set it free.
And that was the end of that. Or so I thought. Last night, Tonks found … another bloody mouse. In the bedroom. This was frustrating, as it’s actually quite difficult to sleep with the sound of rustling, nibbling and insolent mousy laughter ringing in your ears. We rebaited the trap, but no joy. I began to despair of a rodent-free home.
Today at work an idea struck me; if we were to open the bedroom door & the front door and close all others in the house, we could drive the little bugger out. I put it to Tonks and she agreed it was worth a try. Thus began the second battle of wits against a furry opponent – a battle I was ill-equipped for.
We moved the bed. It ran under a little table. We moved the table. It ran back under the bed. We moved the bed. It ran behind the bloody wardrobe. We moved the wardrobe. Back to the table. Ah! but then! Then! It ran out of the door, as planned! We slammed the bedroom door shut and gave each other celebratory high-fives.
The high-fives … were premature. See, we saw it leave the bedroom … but we didn’t see it run out the door. There was nowhere else it could have gone, or so we thought. Sure, there was a suitcase in the hallway, and sure, it was open – but we each checked inside it, so that was all right. We hoovered the room, put everything back from when they’d been shifted and prepared to put the suitcase back on top of the wardrobe where it belongs.
The mouse was in it.
Cheeky little furry bugger.
Needless to say I pounced on it and zipped the case up sharpish.
And so it was I found myself plodding along the road into Beeston at gone 9.30pm, mouse-infested suitcase trundling along behind me. Mouse number 2 has been released into the wild, and with it Mousepocalypse comes to an end … with any luck. I’m keeping an eye out for Mouse number 3 …