Thursday, May 17, 2007
I've known I've got clothing moths in my wardrobe for a couple of weeks now. They've been fluttering around for a while (everytime they flutter too near to me I crush them into dust in a karate kid manouevere) and I ordered some stuff on the net a week or so ago which I plan to use this weekend. Fumigate the hell out of them, and me in the process no doubt.
However, last night I discovered I had another unwanted guest.
Whilst I was sat on the sofa watching The Apprentice (the advertising agency episode - couldn't miss all the pretentiousness being lampooned by Alan Sugar) a small house mouse ran across the floorboards, had a sniff of the Scrabble board and then scampered out down the hall towards the kitchen.
He's either JUST moved in or has suddenly taken a big bravery pill, because despite me obviously being in situ on the sofa he repeated this move at least three times, bold as brass, his little nose twitching away.
After the initial heart skipping moment when I thought "There's a mouse. In my house. Should I be tucking my feet up and screaming at this point?", I realised I thought he was quite cute and my heart sank as I thought about how I would have to 'do something about him'.
Humane live trap and then drive him to Clapham Common and release him into the wild where he will curse me roundly until he gets eaten by a fox or dies of exposure. Or kill him with poison or a mechanical trap? Or get a cat round and let someone else do the killing for me?
Crushing clothing moths in my hands seems acceptable but its amazing what a cute sniffly nose will do for an animal's survival rate in my house...
Maybe I can keep him?
The other hideous realisation that all of this brings on is that I need to clean my flat, more often.
Dammit, life's too short for housework.
at 7:00 pm