As readers of previous entries will know, I have declared war on one of natures most cunning forms of mammalian life, the humble and yet formidable mouse. Today that war has moved beyond declaration and moved into action, in the form of the no nonsense looking pest control man who came round to my flat.

He was a little stern when I opened the doors, and had clearly seen much and become hardened with many years of battle in vermin control? He had the presence of a well-groomed cage fighter. There was a suspicious glint to one eye it seemed to me, and he possibly imagined I may be living in squalor? But upon arriving in my well-groomed and art laden living room (I need to sell more work) before being shown to the kitchen, his mood seemed to lift and be relieved that I wasn’t possibly hording rotting veg behind the cupboards?

The hazard symbol for toxic/highly toxic subst...

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I then spoke about the night raids of the mice, and how a mentally unwell man who used to live the flat underneath used to feed and encourage them, old flats, cracked walls, gaps in airing cupboard floor boards etc… as he blithely layed out the poison; though the quantity however seems enough to paralyse a baby elephant? Seven little white plastic trays filled with tainted grain that look to me like little blue gems of death? He handed me a sheet to sign and then gave me another with a list of poisons, indicating with a circular mark which kind was being used on my unsuspecting mice. He then said to call again in two weeks, gave a friendly good-bye and left.

Whether or not this new tactic will work on these mice I don’t know? They are clever. I remember a trick that Mr Twit played on Mrs Twit from the great children’s classic by Roald Dahl, where he either altered the furniture, moved it around or stuck it to the ceiling. Now I did not stick my kitchen to the ceiling (that would require far too much glue?) but I did change things around a little. Looking at my kitchen through a ‘mouse’s eye’ I saw that I had inadvertently created a play ground for my fury guests to delight in. Little side boards, things plugged in higher up, a cable to run along etc… I could just imagine their nimble little hands clambering every where, and them ‘blessing the host’ when saying grace before they tucked into my seed bread?

So with quiet pleasure (and an inner raised eyebrow smirk of self-satisfaction) I changed a few things around to confuse them, and it worked!

…For one day.

The mice had given me ‘the two fingered salute’ with a few trophy shits again to let me know they were undefeated. So all I can do is wait, and let them nibble here and there of their own demise? A pearl of wisdom that was offered to me (like those given to any one fighting the undead in a vampire movie) was that the only true protection against mice was ‘wire wool’. It was to be stuffed into every crease and crevice. Apparently their continually growing teeth cannot chew through it? So after depleting the population as much as I can with poison galore, I will get some of it and stuff every nook, crook and cranny I can find in my living space; and judging by this old flat I think I will need quite a big bag of it?