When I walked into the kitchen last night and turned the light on I surprised a mouse on its usual path. They like to run along the back edge of the work surface, close to the wall, round the back of the sink and then along the next bit of the work surface, below the shelves with jam and tea and coffee, to a little hole where they disappear. But this one stopped in a corner. We looked at each other. It seemed to be looking right at me with its black eyes and its nose trembling slightly. Then it was off. They move so fast they seem to fly.
I’ve lost the will to kill. And I went out into the garden a few days ago and surprised a young fox, one of the cubs which drove me mad in the spring with their destructive ways, but now sad and mangy. Like the mouse it stopped and stared at me, then walked away. Is it something to do with their inner city life style that makes their coats so dry, ragged and moth eaten?
I caught a mouse in a trap a few years ago. I’d picked up a bag of porridge oats and the oats flowed from it like water from a colander. I was really pissed off. I’d only just set the trap, in a cupboard, when I heard a loud click, and I opened the cupboard door to see a mouse caught near the back legs, nearly cut in two but pushing up still with its front legs and arching its back, mouth open in a little scream.
What to do? The attached photo shows how neatly a mouse eats an avocado.