I Declare a War

Don't worry, my dislike of the French is not going to cause a diplomatic row...just yet. Please note my use of the word 'dislike' instead of 'hatred'. Progress.

No, this is a civil war and I am negotiating living space. Me and my mouse are at war over who has rights in our 17 square metres of living quarters. I thought we had agreed he gets the one square metre that is the cupboard and I get the rest. To be fair, his one square metre has access to the infinite metres of living space that is the inner walls of the entire apartment building and probably the buildings next door.

After three sleepless nights (two of which whilst I was sleeping on the floor due to guests being in my bed) I have finally concluded the only way to end this is death. Namely his. Although the blighter has bested me today as I could not find anything to kill mice today. I am considering making my own concoction of bleach and cleaning products as an experiment. Or stealing a cat for a few nights...actually that is really not a bad idea all round.

So why such drastic measures? Well mouse has become rather comfortable with the fact that he is not only safe with me but actually a little cared for. After his appearances last week, mentioned in the blog below, and culminating in me leaning down to get my water bottle whilst happily sat on the sofa watching a DVD to find him happily sniffing around next to me, I realised drastic measures were needed. I have taken to beating inside his cupboard with the base of my mop at the first sign of movement. This worked the first time but now he has figured out he can hide from this beating he has taken to waiting for me to stop and then continuing on his merry way.

So last night, my guests had left and I was very tired on the sofa watching films loudly to stop him from coming out. I heard him. I beat the cupboard, inside and out. I then saw a flutter of my butter packet (rather stupidly left on top of my fridge) I looked up and although I didn't see him, he clearly knew he'd been caught because with a rather teenage sounding squeak I saw a flash of movement and heard the scrape of metal as he climbed down the back of the fridge. This is the first time I realised he was climbing up the back of the fridge and the metallic scratching I have taken for him climbing up the wall this whole time has likely been him coming up the back of the fridge. The silence that followed would have been due to him happily gouging himself on butter or creeping across my worktop. I found evidence of both this morning. So butter thrown out and new butter in tupperware in the cupboard up high I have put in it's place two little candles happily burning away. Everyone's scared of flames right?

Last night, in this our biggest row yet, he was talking to me. At one point he was clearly distressed as he was squeaking as if in tears. I thought he must have hurt himself and was quietly satisfied he might collapse and die. I think, on reflection he was just hungry and upset that I wouldn't let him out. He started a new attack shortly after and after a mad dash I believed he was about to run out of the cupboard. I had been sat in wait for this moment with my mop, waiting to flail at him and hoping for a direct hit but in reality, when I thought he was about to appear, in amongst his rustling I let out a loud scream of terror and I swear to you he screamed back with the loudest squeak to date. That and the frustrated squeak when he got caught eating butter, which I can only compare to that of a teenager sulking when forced to stay in for a family do. I could swear I saw him shrug. Just the fact he vocalised his frustration, it wasn't his fear, he's not scared of me. Yet. At the beginning, the first time we fell out he did the squeaky tears but he's never loudly spoke to me before. Normally I just hear this weird clucking.

Anyway, I am sat here relatively happy in the early evening light but knowing the minute darkness falls the enemy will strike again. He was walking about inside the cupboard this morning but so far, his strikes have been at night. Who knows with war though. I'm going to spend my night reading battle tactics from World war two and think of ways to surround him. In the meantime, I couldn't get poison or that plug that emits a sound they find distressing so I am going to play him Lady Gaga at FULL volume. No one can stand a night of that. I'm sure his tiny ears will explode in protest. I might even download a bit of Justin Beiber. In your face mouse...I have the internet which is a weapon you cannot compete with. Tomorrow morning it will tell me where to find poison, traps, noise plugs and wood to baricade you in. You have been warned.