Wrong Sort of Mouse
Sunday, February 15th, 2004 09:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tamaranthSome of you will know that I have been plagued by mice recently. I even caught one the other day, but it got out (probably by bouncing its skull against the fishtank lid until it lined up with one of the < 1"-dia holes. Like one of those puzzles where you have to get the little silver ball in the hole.
Well, since then I've removed two pathetic little furry corpses from the traps. (I'm not squeamish: I'm sentimental). And tonight I captured a third, which was noisily making its home in a box of computer peripherals.
You know those sitcoms where a mouse runs up someone's trousered leg? Well, they don't tell you how to get the little darlings to run back down.
Let me backtrack. Study: opera CD: me writing Difficult Letter to recently back-in-touch French cousin.
Comes a rustling noise. I jump.
And another, and another.
Having been taught to mouse at an early age (unlike some) by the family cats, Ipounced on it and batted it around a bit got most of the stuff out of the box, spotted dinner the mouse, put the lid on the box, carried box and empty fishtank into the bathroom, and put them down in the bath. From which the mouse couldn't leap out. (Why, yes, there is still a hole in my bath, but it's sealed.)
Sadly no film crew was available to document the next five minutes. Mouse bounced around squeaking in distress. I leant down to herd it into empty fish tank. Mouse scrambled up my sleeve, over my shoulder and freestyled down my back. We did a couple of rounds of the bathroom, squeakily. Mouse discovered it didn't quite fit under the door, despite being very small. Mouse discovered Exciting New Hiding Place, e.g. next to my foot.
Then mouse ran up my leg. Under my jeans.
It tickled, too.
After considerable prancing around on my part, we ended up in the bath again. Mouse had taken up residence in the crook of my knee, and every time I moved it squeaked. And it was so light that I couldn't feel it move, except for the tickle of the tail.
Anyway: the way you get a mouse to vacate your trousers is by vacating them yourself. Very carefully. And then rolling them up, also very carefully, until the mouse appears.
Mouse is now in residence in an empty tea-bag box, with half a cereal bar and a squishy GenericOrangeCitrusFruit for dinner. I wonder how many more will turn up?
Meanwhile, if someone has any spare bicycle clips ...
Well, since then I've removed two pathetic little furry corpses from the traps. (I'm not squeamish: I'm sentimental). And tonight I captured a third, which was noisily making its home in a box of computer peripherals.
You know those sitcoms where a mouse runs up someone's trousered leg? Well, they don't tell you how to get the little darlings to run back down.
Let me backtrack. Study: opera CD: me writing Difficult Letter to recently back-in-touch French cousin.
Comes a rustling noise. I jump.
And another, and another.
Having been taught to mouse at an early age (unlike some) by the family cats, I
Sadly no film crew was available to document the next five minutes. Mouse bounced around squeaking in distress. I leant down to herd it into empty fish tank. Mouse scrambled up my sleeve, over my shoulder and freestyled down my back. We did a couple of rounds of the bathroom, squeakily. Mouse discovered it didn't quite fit under the door, despite being very small. Mouse discovered Exciting New Hiding Place, e.g. next to my foot.
Then mouse ran up my leg. Under my jeans.
It tickled, too.
After considerable prancing around on my part, we ended up in the bath again. Mouse had taken up residence in the crook of my knee, and every time I moved it squeaked. And it was so light that I couldn't feel it move, except for the tickle of the tail.
Anyway: the way you get a mouse to vacate your trousers is by vacating them yourself. Very carefully. And then rolling them up, also very carefully, until the mouse appears.
Mouse is now in residence in an empty tea-bag box, with half a cereal bar and a squishy GenericOrangeCitrusFruit for dinner. I wonder how many more will turn up?
Meanwhile, if someone has any spare bicycle clips ...
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no subject
Date: Sunday, February 15th, 2004 02:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Sunday, February 15th, 2004 02:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Sunday, February 15th, 2004 02:33 pm (UTC)That's... pretty much all I can say about this. So, um. Let me say it again.
o_O
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Date: Sunday, February 15th, 2004 02:42 pm (UTC)*cries*
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Date: Sunday, February 15th, 2004 03:53 pm (UTC)Once when I was walking through the Botanics a squirrel spotted me and ran up the leg of my jeans to check my jacket pocket and make sure I didn't have any peanuts with me today (I'd taken to carrying a bagful, that summer).
But fortunately, it picked the outside leg to run up. Yikes.
no subject
Date: Sunday, February 15th, 2004 04:25 pm (UTC)I'm so sorry...
Date: Monday, February 16th, 2004 12:34 am (UTC)Seriously though, if there are that many, you may want to get the Council's pest control people onto this. They don't appear to have a web presence (after a very cursory Google), but their phone number is 020 8314 7171.
no subject
Date: Monday, February 16th, 2004 12:38 am (UTC)*shakes head*
Or, as we would say mus. We don't distinguish between singular and plural because, let's face it, there's bound to be more.
no subject
Date: Monday, February 16th, 2004 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Monday, February 16th, 2004 02:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Monday, February 16th, 2004 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: Monday, February 16th, 2004 05:32 am (UTC)If you are indeed the Pied Piper of Lewisham, surely that would mean that the mice do your bidding? It's more "Tamaranth and Jerry".