Little shit

Cornflake and I live in a mouse hole.

Well, that’s what it feels like. We live in a flat at the end of a Georgian terrace. If one residence has a mouse, we’re all at risk of zoomy, shitty, pissy, furry, little visitors.

Our anti mice behaviour has become laughable.

We’re not keen on killing them, we caught one on a sticky board years back and were very distressed by the experience, not dead but stuck, it’s nightmarish. Cornflake tried to unstick it. It was a bit of a Zena Warrior Princess moment, we just couldn’t kill another one.

We’ve had professionals come to do their thing on several occasions, but this hasn’t helped long term.

For a while our aim has been to keep the little bastards out. Our main preventative is wire wool. They don’t like to chew through wire wool. If you were to strip back the skirting boards and plasterboard in our place it would look like we lived in a house built of Brillo pads. Every time we find a mouse entrance we fill it up.

We put flour on the floor to track them.

We bait humane traps with peanut butter.

When we catch them, I take them to the park, near the zoo. I figure that if they make it to the zoo, the zoo keepers won’t put poison down, the mice may get trapped, they may get eaten, but they have another chance. By the time we’ve walked our captive to the zoo, Micky or Minnie is usually covered in peanut butter and I wonder at the morality of sending a satayed mouse into a world of much bigger animals that may fancy a snack served in a ready made sauce.

The main obstacle we still have to contend with, despite our wire wool wall repairs, is their rodent hole chewing skills.

About six weeks ago we had new mouse visitors, our mistake in this story was that we initially assumed that we had one visitor. Cornflake took a new approach. We caught one, it was very tiny, we released it to see where it ran. Smart, we filled the gap. However, it had not been alone and we had trapped it’s friend in the flat, on our side. We could hear it frantically trying to eat it’s way out. After a few days Cornflake noticed it sitting at our feet by the sofa, it wasn’t moving. Was it dead? Was it watching NCIS? We got a trap ready, I poked it. It went under the sofa. Why was it being so odd? I suggested that it was dehydrated. When it next appeared Cornflake managed to trap it’s dozy arse. This was late at night and there was no way I was escorting a mouse to the park in the dark. After discussion, Cornflake decided to release it in the street, as we were sure we’d mouse proofed ourselves. It didn’t move, it just sat on the pavement. Cornflake was very concerned, I suggested giving it some water. I know, we are ridiculous. The mouse drank, washed it’s face then ran off.

It washed it’s little face!

Mouse free….for a fortnight.

Two weeks ago, new mouse. The first indication of new mice is often building rubble, from their gnawing a way in, expanding the holes around pipes etc. This latest one was so effing noisy, it pushed a humane trap out of the kitchen area into the main room, we felt terrorised. This is not the sort of helpful mouse written about in The Taylor of Gloucester. We became mouse paranoid, every shadow mouse shaped, every noise a rodent nibble. This little twatmangle made it’s way onto the kitchen counter tops. It climbed up wires.

NO.

This one may have to die.

Before laying the poisoned bait we decided to strip all the furniture away from the walls and deep clean, even though it’s only been about four weeks since the last deep clean due to mouse shittery.

We found three new mouse holes. Three! Bastard/s.

We’ve come over all Theresa May and are building an increasingly hostile environment. Wire wool, peppermint oil, and now cayenne pepper too. Poison to follow if they don’t keep out.

Micky! Minnie! You are not welcome! Fuck off back to where you came from!

Even though that’s probably just the other side of the skirting.

Not for long mate, not for long….