Well, the mouse is back. That’s if he ever went away. Can’t remember if I mentioned it before (and can’t be bothered to check) but we had a mouse in our kitchen, for a while we thought it might be a rat – it seemed to be very strong and it ate the best part of a bag of pasta and about ten Penguins – but, thankfully, it’s just a mouse. So we bought a little plug-in sonar thing that’s meant to drive them away, and we kept the fridge pulled out (cos he likes to do his eating behind the fridge) and we put all perishables and nibbleables into tupperware. And there was no sign of him. No more little poos, nothing.
And then, night before last, I wandered into the kitchen and there was the mouse, sauntering along as if he owned the place. I chased him behind the cupboard with some demented notion of catching him (then I realised, what would I do with him if I did? and gave up). But I shone the torch behind the cupboard and he was sitting there, looking up at me, cute as you like. And at that moment, it was love. For me anyway, I think he was probably terrified.
So I vowed that we wouldn’t kill him. I hadn’t planned to anyway for reasons of squeamishness, David had no such qualms, but now I decided I definitely wouldn’t. Too cute. Then last night I was in the kitchen cutting myself a piece of cheese (cheese!) and he ran over my foot. My bare foot. And I’m afraid I swore at him quite violently. Then I apologised. Then I realised I am probably quite mad. I’m still not killing him, though. I don’t see why we can’t just get along. (But if anyone has any suggestions for getting rid of himhumanely, I’d be happy to hear them.)