mouse: the sequel (or should that be the squeal?)
A few days ago TA informed me that he had heard aggressive rustling in the night, some kind of enormous, ravenous beast gnawing on plastic, trying to reach either the rubbish or the recycling. Lovely.
TA has been suffering from insomnia for weeks and I half hope the gnawing he heard was a fevered dream. Regardless, we have done all we can to fell the beast of midnight feasting – increased the amount of poison scattered around the flat in temptingly stinky sardine tins. But as yet nothing has died. I realised today that the mouse situation has begun to really get to me.
In the half light of our pre-sunrise bedroom, I watched TA leap about the room – he picked up one mouse by its tail. He looked at it closely and sighed with relief, “at least it’s not a rat!” Then he made a darting gesture and caught another mouse. Oddly, this one looked like a tiny elephant. Then I realised with sick horror that another mouse was about to run over my head. With a tremulous voice I asked TA, “did you catch it?” He didn’t reply. I began to panic. “Did you catch the mouse on my head?” A groan sounded and I thought the worst – the mouse must be running over me. Then I thought, wait a minute, since when have there been mice shaped like tiny elephants? It was too late, I’d woken TA from the slumber he’d only slipped into at 4am. “I’m sorry sweetheart, I dreamt there were elephant mice in the room and one was on my head.” Bless him, he forgave me. Within an hour he was out of bed and checking for furry corpses so that I could get up safe in the knowledge that I wasn’t about to, quite literally, put my foot in it (my biggest fear in this regard is a dead mouse in my shoe).