It’s a game of cat and mouse in the house
So, there we are the other day, me in the kitchen talking to Mrs P, who’s sitting in her favourite chair in the dining room a few yards away, when out of the corner of my eye, a little mouse walks across the floor.
Initially, I wanted to shout, “There’s a mouse!” As you do. But, knowing My Beloved’s absolute dislike for the little critters, I managed I to think quickly on my feet and change the subject.
Unfortunately, my attempt to change the subject with some stupid question completely unrelated to what we were discussing at the time only served to puzzle Mrs P, who quickly worked out something was amiss.
It didn’t help when I suggested she very quietly and calmly get up out of the chair she was sitting in and come around to my side of the kitchen bench.
Obviously, by that stage she was completely spooked and pleading/ demanding to know what was going on.
On that basis I had no choice but to tell her.
Now, I don’t know if you and your family are particularly fond of mice, but I can tell you in our humble patch of Paradise, Mrs P and particularly the Boomerang Child are absolutely scared witless by them.
On that basis, it should come as no surprise to you that once I delivered the news there was a mouse in the immediate proximity Mrs P let out an absolute screech and leapt up onto the kitchen bench. And there she remained while I set about capturing the beast.
It turned out to be no easy exercise.
For starters, the little ****** appeared to have gone underneath the big armchair Mrs P had been reclining in not two minutes earlier.
Naturally, this meant I would have to move it to see if he was still hanging around underneath.
Upon seeing me leap into action, George the Dog decided to get involved, jumping around excitedly or at least as excitedly as his remaining three legs would allow.
So now we’ve got this rather silly situation where Mrs P is sitting atop the kitchen bench quivering in fear. There’s a mouse, presumably underneath the aforementioned armchair, presumably quivering too, although it may have been with laughter rather than fear. And now George The Dog is sniffing around the base of the chair quivering in excitement and anticipation as I prepare to lift the chair up.
In fact, the only person who wasn’t quivering with anything was me.
So, anyway. I lift the chair up and sure enough, there’s little mousey staring back at me. Suddenly he makes a break for it, pursued by George ... and Mrs. P screams again, presumably just in case the people in the next suburb to ours didn’t hear her the first time.
A little aside here, I’ve never quite understood why people are so terrified of small creatures like mice.
I must admit to a hairs-on-theback-of-my-neck-raising dislike for cockroaches and other insects but getting hysterical over something like a mouse seems a little bit of an overreaction.
Having said that, I can relate the story of a cousin living in Australia who on a holiday at a campsite in the outback saw her young daughter running from a rather quick four-legged lizard known as a racehorse goanna.
The thing was perhaps a foot and a bit long and from what I am told they can run fast. Certainly as fast as the flying feet of a 6-year-old who had obviously done something to provoke its interest.
With my cousin galloping over as fast as she could to intercept the lizard, the terrified child sought refuge inside a toilet cubicle, where she sat on the seat and waited for Mum to rescue her.
Unfortunately, the goanna was not to be deterred and slid under the toilet door - where the cornered youngster by now was screaming in terror - and bit her on the toe. Imagine seeing that come under the door!
Thankfully Mum arrived seconds later and scared the beast away.
I gather to this day the child concerned is still particularly wary while out in the bush. And who
I delivered the news there was a mouse in the immediate proximity Mrs P let out an absolute screech and leapt up onto the kitchen bench.
wouldn’t be? I understand also, it’s very rare for a goanna to go after a human so perhaps one has to take the story with a little salt.
Either way, something unpleasant concerning a small creature happened.
I did think my cousin’s response to the entire episode was typically Australian.
When quizzed about the event and the effect on the child, she said with a shrug of the shoulders: “Ahh well. He wasn’t big enough to eat her, was he?”
But as I say, I digress. Again. Back to my mouse.
So, I’ve lifted up the chair. The mouse has bolted and George The Dog has gone after him. This time the mouse has run behind our log burner. The space is too tight and George can’t go after him. I’ve gone to the other end of the little gap there to stop him if he tries to come my way. Then I realise I don’t actually have anything to catch him in.
Mrs P is of little help while her emotional state is, er, shall we say, erratic to say the least, but from her position atop the kitchen bench she does pull herself together long enough to empty the three bananas, an apple and two avocadoes from our big wooden fruit bowl and hand it to me.
Momentarily it occurs to me I am most likely the first man in history to go into battle armed with a fruit bowl.
Apparently, Mrs P’s plan is for me to simply drop the fruit bowl over the top of mousey and the whole world will be saved. Just exactly what I do after the heavy wooden bowl goes over him, I’m not quite sure, but I thought, ohh, well, the fate of humankind is in my hands, I’ll give it a go.
Before I can put the plan into action mousey has doubled back and run between George’s two front legs and single remaining back leg. This causes him to collapse in an embarrassing twisted heap as he tries to see where the mouse has gone.
Luckily, I know exactly where he’s gone. Back under the big armchair.
It went on like this for a little longer. We saw him a couple more times but eventually we lost him. We have no idea where he is.
Mrs P eventually climbed down from the kitchen bench and we put the fruit back in the bowl. And although she’s been a bit jittery, she seems to have accepted the fact we had a mouse but now it’s gone. And life can continue.
I’ve had a look everywhere in the immediate vicinity and have no idea how he got in or where he came from. But obviously I’m keeping an eye out. And I’ve put a couple of traps down. Just in case.
I have to say, it’s pretty obvious the traps have not worked.
I can tell you this without hesitation because as I sit here with my laptop writing this column, I am directly opposite Mrs P who is sitting opposite me in the aforementioned big chair reading.
And as I’ve just looked over the top of my laptop, I’ve seen a familiar little head popping out of a small rip in the chair’s fabric.
Put your fingers in your ears, Dear Reader, I’ve a feeling there may be a rather loud piercing scream coming your way any second now.