mouse in the house

Generally I don't mind rodents. 

Spiders are another thing altogether, but mice or even rats are OK. I don't want them in my breakfast cereal, I should add, and if they move in I'll move them out, but I've lived with them in degrees of share accommodation in the past, and they don't bother me. 

So when a school-mum-friend asked if I could mind their mice for a couple of weeks before Christmas I said 'of course'. No worries. Two weeks. Walk in the park.

They arrived squeaky clean. And ohmygoodness cute


Stuart and Junior. 

And they came with their own little house! Cute!

But oh the smell.

On day two (day two) I went to get them out of the laundry and hang them up outside and was knocked over by the smell of their confinement. Stinky critters. 

By day three I'd learnt to hold my breath and air out the laundry before trying to do any washing. 

By day four I'd found a higher spot for them outside as my neighbour's cat liked to sit and watch them all day.

Day five I was considering calling for backup. 

But day six. Oh, day six.

Went out. 

Opened laundry door. 


No blood, no sweet fluffy fur, nothing. 

I stood stock still, thinking, if they're out, maybe I can catch them as they make a break for the door. I assumed a goal-keeper pose, heart still sinking. 

And then.

A wee little white nose poked out of the mouse house. My heart leapt. Junior was still there! All was not lost! I quickly slammed down the lid of the cage. And with the kerfuffle out came Stuart too to see what was going on. 

I've never been so pleased to see two mice in my whole life. 



(Just to be sure.)


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