I don’t think there’s any shame in admitting we have mice. They’re not indicative of a dissolute lifestyle, they’re just one of those things.
We had them in the garden for ages, which was fine. Gave the local cats something to do. Then, a couple of months ago we heard one in the cupboard under the stairs and it’s been like a long, gruelling nightmare ever since. They get EVERYWHERE. They just run riot in your house when you’re not about, until one day they start running riot when you are about. i could just about – just about – live with them downstairs. Then on Tuesday night, the unthinkable happened.
They’re in the bedroom.
Oh, god, I am so effing tired right now. They are so bloody disruptive! Scratch scratch scratch squeak squeak squeak all the time. I mean, i was hopeful when we caught two in our (humane!) mousetraps. Two! That’s loads! In fact, last night we got two more (one of whom was suspiciously tubby in a pregnant sort of way) and it almost makes you feel hopeful. And they’re so cute! So very extremely cute! How bad can it be? You convince yourself that it might be ok.
until, of course, you speak to someone who knows about pest control. Then you get told that you are, basically, fucked. Visible infestation in a terraced house? They’re going to stay. You can perserve with humane traps, and live with mice forever (not an option) or you can poison the ones you have (no!) and seal your house like a tupperware tub to stop them reinfesting. Reluctantly we have ordered some poison but my god I don’t want it to come to that. But the Rentokill man was quite clear – if the population becomes critical, they are going to need so much nesting material that they might well strip your wires. Then you could get fires starting.
It’s them or us, in other words. Well, them or us and them.