Posts tagged ‘mouse’
He is bored because no-one is paying him any attention. C is out and I am working from home. Despite the cat. Maslow has done everything in his power to distract me. He has played with my computer cables. He has stolen my pen. He has sat on my pad. And, he has walked up and down my keyboard.
Once it became clear that he was not getting any food, he has been running around the house like a demented thing, howling at make-believe monsters that live in the corners of the ceiling, and chasing sunspots.
And now he is playing with his toy mouse. The killer instinct. You never lose it.
I am not happy. I seem to have a nest of mice living under the bonnet of the Audi Q5…….
I noticed a while ago that something seems to have been nibbling on the rubber padding around the engine. More recently, I noticed that the little buggers have been shredding the insulation and padding. I am not sure whether they have been taking the material to line their nests elsewhere or are actually nesting in the warm, dark seclusion of my sleek piece of German engineering.
It has made me a bit paranoid. I wonder whether the rodents will eat through anything vital that will force me to lose control during an overtaking manoeuvre on the motorway or such like.
I have actually put poison down under the hood but I am not sure if it will do any good. I imagine that I am leaving a steady spray of rat poison behind me every time I go over thirty miles an hour.
Does anyone have any ideas of how to get rid of the little buggers?
- Eek! Mice Are Evolving An Immunity To Poison! (neatorama.com)
Spring Is In The Air
The daffodils are blooming. The hedges are beginning to turn green at the edges. The man who cuts our lawn has put the first stripes down for the year. Birds are nesting in the eves. It is light when the alarm goes off. And, it’s not always dark when I get home from work.
Birmingham City seem intent to throw away their automatic promotion spot. The car park has not resembled a swimming pool for at least a week. And, they are forecasting snow and an “Arctic Blast” for next week. So it is official: spring is in the air!
Actually, the fact that Maslow doesn’t kill the mice he catches is kind of the problem. They escape. He has a poor attention span. He loses them. He forgets where he puts them. Or they run away and hide. That is why, in the past, we have awoken in the middle of the night with a mouse climbing up the curtains of our bedroom. That is why we find mouse droppings behind the wine rack in the dining room. Once, we even found mouse droppings in the spare bed. That is why, when we had stripped the old kitchen out, we found evidence of a mouse nesting in the silver insulation of the boiler! And, that is why C and I are not content to let Maslow bring his presents without taking action. Action means catching the little critters and attempting to liberate them. Or giving the weak-hearted ones a decent burial. In the corporation dust bin.
Maslow brought one in last night. We had just finished dinner. C was stacking the dishwasher and I was in the lounge when C shouted. I rushed into the dining room and closed the door to the lounge behind me. C had already closed the kitchen door so that the mouse could not get at her. Maslow was whirling around the room in pursuit of his quarry.
This mouse was slightly bigger and older than the others that Maslow had brought in recently. It was slightly wiser and a lot, lot quicker. So, quick I couldn’t grab it. At one point I was lying on my front under the table, my head between chair legs, with Maslow flitting about before my very eyes. I grabbed for the mouse. I missed. I lost sight of the mouse. Maslow lost sight of the mouse. I thought that I felt the mouse run across my outstretched leg. And, then it was gone. Vanished. I looked everywhere for it. Maslow looked everywhere for it. I moved the bookcases. I moved the wine rack. I checked the pockets of my jacket that was hung on the back of a chair. I checked behind the radiator. Vanished. I checked behind and in the wellies by the cat flap. I checked under the draft excluder and under Maslow’s litter tray. Nothing. Mouse gone. Vanished.
C told me it couldn’t have escaped so we opened the back door (a path to freedom) and she and I retreated to the lounge, being careful to shut Maslow and the mouse behind us. We left it for a while. Until we got a bit cold in the draft. Then we both went to close the back door and to survey the scene. It was at this point that I felt something in my trousers. ;) Ooh, er, missus. I felt something in my trouser leg. I shook my trouser leg. And, the mouse dropped out. Mouse fell to the laminate. Mouse was not well. Mouse was slightly flattened. Mouse was dead. It had not been a weak heart or the shock that had killed mouse. It was me. Obviously, when I thought I had felt mouse run over my leg, it had actually run up my trouser leg. Obviously when I had taken refuge in the lounge, on the sofa, I had sat on him. And, killed him. Sorry mouse.
This is quite scary. This seems to be further evidence that I am turning into my dad. I had nightmares all night about mice, and rats, and small dogs, and Maslow. This has reminded me of an earlier instance described in my post – My Family & Other Animals Part 1 (Deaths In The Family) – when my dad sat on my pet gerbil, Tom. Serial-killing seems to be genetic………..
On one occasion, Maslow, our pet cat and furball baby, was having to go to the vet for a general anaesthetic in order to have his teeth cleaned. Consequently he was not allowed food or the liberty of the great outdoors that night. Being the soft parents that we are, with concerns over anaesthetic risks, Maslow was allowed to sleep upstairs….never the best tactic for a restful night, but eventually we all settled down and managed to get some sleep despite the “boy” fidgeting at our feet and the sound of his gentle snoring. It could have been C but I don’t think so. It certainly wasn’t me…….
At 5am in the morning I was awoken by this strange scratching noise. At first I thought it must be Maslow seeking attention but then realised he was still fast asleep at the foot of the bed. I listened again to locate the sound and opened my eyes to see a dark shadow climbing up the bedroom curtains. I leapt (yes, even at my age) out of the bed and switched the light on, which prompted mutterings of complaint from both Maslow and C alike.
I went to the curtains and there, sat on the curtain pole, and looking down at me, was a field mouse. When I made a grab for it, it leapt to the floor and took refuge behind the wardrobe. The big, heavy, immovable wardrobe.
Maslow is a flawed mouser! There then followed a couple of hours of Maslow and I running from corner to corner of the bedroom, in a Benny-Hill-like pursuit, trying to catch the blessed rodent….to no avail. Maslow eventually got bored and went in search of food and liberty……in vain. He couldn’t be fed until after the vet. C and I eventually got bored and decided to shut all other doors except the bedroom and leave a clear path for the mouse to he front door, which we left open. It was very cold……..
Fortunately, Maslow survived the anaesthetic and came home with pearly white gnashers. He has been given some toothpaste to help keep them that way, which he absolutely adores. Also, fortunately, the mouse has not been seen again…..unless he sprouted wings.
I came around quite quickly. I soon located the source of C’s distress. A bat! A furry little vampire mouse on wings, circling our bedroom. I opened the curtains. I opened the two windows, but to no avail. The bat, being blind, could not see it’s way to freedom.
Unlike birds, bats do not fly towards the light.The bat also seemed unable of smelling (do they have a sense of smell?) the fresh air of freedom, nor could his sonar detect the open windows. The bat continued to circle, swooping ever so closely to my head. I don’t like bats. Not when they are so close you can see their teeth. Clearly, this winged rodent was not going to find its own way out.
So, I retrieved a towel from the washing basket, climbed onto the bed, and proceeded to twirl the towel around my head in an attempt to drive the bat towards the open windows, without attempting to hit it of course. Thank goodness, it was not later. If this had been 9 am on a Sunday morning instead of 5, the pony club that passes the house at that time, may have had a bit of a shock if they had looked up to see a 40 year old beardie, fully naked, jumping up and down on the bed, twirling a bath towel around his head……..
Fortunately, after about 20 minutes or so, it worked. I managed to drive the little critter to the right height and eventually, it found the hole, the great outdoors, and, freedom!