Any description of the slaughter that continues in our house would sound like some sort of Stephen King bloodfest. On the morning that we left for America, a little bastard mouse got up early and paraded around the front room in front of us to let us know he would be running shit while we were away.
On the night we got back, we saw him on top of the hoover and a couple of nights later we chased him up the tube – at which point we turned it on. Clunk – captured mouse. We chucked the bag out that night.
However, tonight, after several nights of failing to catch other mice, and failing to suck them up the hoover, I got a call from Michele asking me to find out what model hoover we have so she could buy some more bags. As I opened the top of the chassis, to my horror, there was a dead rotting mouse in there, generating a really nasty smell. There was also a tail hanging down…belonging to a very alive, but not very awake, mouse. Those bastards have been nesting in our hoover! That was a step too far.
Now, anyone that knows me will know that I hate any harm being done to any animals. I’ve even been known to cry over accidentally murdered spiders and snails…but this time was different. I gloved my hand in a plastic bag, grabbed the poor, beautiful, little mouse, and repeatedly smashed the bag with a wine bottle. The whole experience really freaked me out but it seems that it does get easier to kill things with experience. Not a good thing really. He had to die, and I suspect he was injured as a result of the hoover and also mourning the loss of his mum…
