Chekov 0-1 Mouse

Last night my rodent nemesis delivered a humiliating reverse in the war of wits being fought in our front room. This morning I found that one of the mouse-traps had been tampered with and the piece of bacon had been removed (also presumably nibbled) before it was tauntingly deposited on the floor some inches from the device. The trap had not been sprung.

Previously the cunning freedom fighter had emerged once again from behind the television and disappeared into the cupboard housing our fuse box. This raised my hopes that I may have had him trapped. No such luck. The mouse might henceforth be known as Steve McQueen, because he had managed to find some minute route of escape.

This morning I sprung the trap myself and have reset it with the bacon more firmly lodged in the bait tray. I would, however, be unsurprised to find it gone tomorrow morning. My mouse appears to be a worthy adversary and it may be time to take the gloves off. Poison could be the only answer. I refuse to pander to the rodent lobby’s spurious rights agenda.


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