Heroic battle of man versus mouse The joyes oflife

THERE is a mouse in the house.

I haven’t seen it myself but there have been sightings. I am told it’s tiny, a little like a tadpole and that you could probably stamp the life out of it with just a squeeze of your foot. Not that we’re doing that; I might dislike them, but I haven’t lost my humanity altogether.

But something has been lost. Feminism in this house has been relegated back a thousand years because when it comes to a mouse, there is no equality, no rights and no #metoo here – the men deal with the mouse. End of.

We had a mouse before. And I do know I’m ignoring the mammal in the room whereby it is rarely just A mouse but rather several. However, I refuse to indulge that thought because to do so would have me running for the hills or at least the local mental asylum. I can deal with one mouse; one is an aberration, anything more is an audacious revolt.

You think that having a dog would help but she’s hopeless. As a golden retriever all she’s good for is kissing, cuddling, retrieving, eating and sleeping (in that order). If she saw the mouse – which she probably has – she would want to play with it and if there were more, well then “happy days, hey, let’s have a gaff ”. When it comes to her size she is extraordinarily oblivious and when it comes to fun she is consistently game.

I am surprised we have one. A mouse. Not the dog. We love her.

The last mouse on the premises was years ago and because that was such a traumatic event, I have worked it into the budget that every September the house gets baited. What does that mean? It means that uninvited guests entering the environs and consuming bait will promptly leave again due to their rising temperature and a need for their watering hole. We are still talking mice here – not humans.

That said, our “friend” has gone very quiet recently. I don’t know who came up with the “quiet as a mouse” business; urban legend. Still there have been no recent sightings and I am beginning to believe the migration has happened although his watering hole could well be frozen over by now what with recent temperatures. God, I should feel sorry for him, but I don’t; the joy of having my house back is too great.

I have lost my humanity.

Whatever about what has been lost, something has certainly been gained; my re-discovery of himself – the alpha-male husband. In the middle of the night, convinced I hear scratching and hysterical with the distraction, out of the bed the he-man leaps, off to confront, eyeball and out the tadpole. Watching, him go into the night, strong in stature and brazen in boxers – he might as well be slaying dragons.

Forgive me my fellow feminists – I know not what I’ve done (only I kinda do)!