A worrying development

Miff, whose appalling lack of predatory instinct has led to widespread internet shame, as a result of the shocking mouse saga, was discovered today looking excited in the aquarium cupboard.

Sniff, sniff, sniff, went Miff, tail-a-quiver. I went to investigate, and found, after clearing out a pile of plastic bags to be recycled, a small heap of dessicated mouse poo.

Mice are incontinent, one of the reasons you should never be sentimental about sharing your food-preparation area with them. Fresh mouse droppings look like miniature grains of shiny black rice, and are usually accompanied by the pungent smell of mouse wee, which has an acrid aroma that once smelled, is never forgotten. Today's find was crumbling and pale brown in colour, with no smell at all. So I assumed it was old, and a relic of the defiant super-vermin that plagued this house earlier. After the Kitchens Direct endless saga, my living space has been gutted and cleared and I am still clearing up the plaster dust. There are very few places left now for a mouse to hide. Maybe this is a blast from the past; the final calling card of the legendary now-deceased super-rodent. Or perhaps, more worryingly, it is a descendant of his, returned to plague us once more and unleash havoc on our household, so recently restored to relative calm and tranquility.

I brushed, wiped, disinfected and bleached, and removed the plastic bags. I wondered whether I should reset the traps, or whether Fate had presented the indolent Miff with an opportunity to redeem herself. After all, last week she had presented me with a chewed spider that she had caught in the garden, and perhaps this was a sign that she was keen to prove herself as a hunter?

It is more likely though that, coward that she is, she was merely show-boating at the smell of old mouse, much as she used to do when the last mouse - the ex-mouse- was safely tucked away in his hole in the wall leading into the neighbour's sitting room. When the mouse actually appeared and helped himself from her bowl, regular readers will remember, she ran away and hid. Like the big pathetic coward that she is.

It will take more than chewing up the odd arachnid to redeem her shattered reputation.

Stand by to find out whether this is redemption, rehabilitation, or re-run.

There is much to be said for confronting your demons, but it is whether you stand and fight 'til the end, or run away when face to face with your enemy that is the mark of a warrior. Or a mouser.
Or a big soft pussy.