The Country Mouse and Me

I’ve caught a mouse!

This puts me one up on Misty, the neighbouring cat who spends most of her spare time in my place, hogging the sofa but failing to lift a finger when it comes to the wildlife.

We know we have mice in the kitchen. And the attics. And number two son’s bedroom. Well, most places really. We tried putting down humane traps, which are basically tubes with a little bit of food at the end. Trouble is, in our house there’s very little incentive to climb down a tube for a mouthful of peanut butter when you can just as easily raid the larder or the fruit-bowl.

Now, just when we’d stopped worrying, as we’re about to move anyway, I’ve actually caught one.

I’m glad, as this particular mouse was getting me down. Just lately, I’ve come across him several times of an evening, hanging around the kitchen bin. He retreats under the fridge-freezer, where he clearly has a pied-a-terre, when he sees me. But he’s been getting more and more casual about this, positively slouching off like a reluctant teenager caught behind the bike shed during Games.

It was this casual approach that caused his downfall. He climbed into the recycling bin, then couldn’t get out.

I slammed down the lid, calling the children to come and admire my cunning. We couldn’t kill him: with Number One Son a pacifist and Number Two a Buddhist, it’s a pretty safe house to be a mouse in. So we carried him outside, and, very discreetly, set him down in front of a neighbour’s house.

He hopped up their steps and under the front gate, just as though he had an appointment.

I worried initially that ‘he’may be a ‘she’ with a nest of babies starving away behind the skirting board. But I expect the rest of the colony will take care of them.