Eeeeek!
So a few nights ago, I found myself watching TV in bed and thinking, 'I know it's not really time for Spring cleaning yet, but perhaps it would be good to clear out under the bed', when a mouse casually strolled out, strutting its furry stuff right in front of me.Now I always thought I would be the type of person who just thought 'hey, a mouse' and not get over excited, but turns out I am just like those 50s stereotypes of women, and I ran up to the highest point I could find, squealing all the way.
Obviously, Krusty, friend of creatures great and small, saw this as a great, exciting adventure and while I was shaking and shivering with cold sweats, he was 'strategising' and thinking up ways to catch the bugger.
Meanwhile I am shrieking, all the while realising how stupid I am, until we lose him. We look around at the bombsite that has become the bedroom now that we have pulled everything out to find him, and come to conclusion that we are just going to have to go to sleep.
As if.
Two hours later, the mouse resurfaces in the corridor and this time we found out because we could hear him jumping and throwing himself against the door. Lunatic mouse. Krusty fashioned a home trap with a bin bag and a tube of Pringles (what being a scout can do...) and talked, yes talked, the mouse into getting in. It worked in the end, and Krusty released in the park nearby, saving it from a potential horrible death in the mouse trap that I was getting my shoes on to go and buy.
Domestic life just doesn't get better than being a cultural stereotype who lives with a man who speaks to mice.
posted by The rat and the monkey @ 12:47:00 PM
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