We have mice.
No, correction, they're not mice.
They're shit-weasels, and they all must perish.
I was up in the loft for the first time the other day and, in amongst a few 1960s black and white tellys and a broken Rotissomat, there was mouse poo and nibbled insulation. Thinking these little buggers confined to the roof space, having seen no evidence in the floors below, I resolved to "maybe pick up a couple of humane traps from Wilkos" and see how we go.
Last night, it was like the bloody Somme in our bedroom. Jema woke me up squealing at 3.30 as Pixie (my usually whorish and somewhat useless feline) commenced the evisceration of a number of rodent trespassers under Jemas side of the bed. 4 in all, one of which even had the audacity to run up my bloody arm while I was scooping it into the obligatory margarine tub.
This morning I found another 2 outside, at the end of passageway left as tribute by Jackies cats. We are clearly infested. This would never have happened on the boat.
Are they from the loft? I doubt it. The lofts of all 4 houses kinda join together and, while we no doubt have issues in the attic, these are small field/wood mice (in my uneducated opinion, of the genus Apodemus sylvaticus) and possibly unrelated. I've had mice before and they 'don't eat bread by the slice', if you know what I mean. Action must be taken.
Jema has expressed her feelings regarding their 'cuteness' and an urge for me to express a degree of Taoist pacifism in an ignorance of the breeding patterns of these creatures. A bad sign.
Looks like it's me and Pixie versus the horde.
Pixie will conduct operations on the lower floors. She will also oversee operations outside (in conjunction with Jackies 3 cats from up the ginnel). I will deal exclusively with the loft. In edition, we will be operating a token 'look dear, we're being nice to cute little insert-as-applicables
We must protect those we love from the horror of combat and knuckle down to what must be done.
After all, there is a war on.
Monday, June 26, 2006
We have mice.