All things bright and beautiful...

In my life I have had four animal companions. The first was a spider that lived and died in my bedroom. Our union was brief, about a week at most but I buried him at the bottom of my garden and made a little headstone. The second was a half wild, half domestic rabbit that my friend Naomi's rabbit had produced after an unfortunate incident with a wild rabbit in the neighbourhood. This rabbit was looked after, lived and was fed at Naomi's house but was mine in name. My mother wouldn't allow pets, this was the best I could get. This union also didn't last long because the wild half side of the rabbit was stronger than the domestic side and he escaped along with his siblings and his mother into the great unknown.

The third of my companions came into my life uninvited and most definitely unwanted but we grew to an understanding. In fact, I found his corpse squashed under my door before I left and I like to think he died trying to get closer to me. The fact I'd been systematically killing 'his' babies might have been the real motive for his attempt to get closer though and so I'm grateful that he lost his life in the effort.

Johnny, as I went on to name him, and I were introduced in the middle of the night. Much like Mickey and I. Also, like Mickey, Johnny came to me when I was living alone and attending drama school. How sweet that the universe should send me friends in my times of need. Although, the form in which the universe sent me these friends is questionable, for Johnny was a cockroach and Mickey is a mouse. Two of life's most unwanted house guests. But don't be a racist. Look at you judging a vermin by his race and an insect by his armour.

Again, like Mickey, Johnny and I conducted our relationship at night. I would leave my basement bedsit to go to the toilet in the middle of the night. I would turn the hall light on and there in the middle of the corridor between my room and the bathroom would be Johnny. This was a rather sinister sight. The first few times caused an immense amount of distress. However, I quickly learned that Johnny was as scared of me. Our routine was such that I would turn on the light, greet Johnny, turn off the light or as time went on simply turn my head away, Johnny would then run and hide. I'd go to the toilet and when I left the toilet we'd have to do the whole song and dance again. I gave him the name Johnny because he reminded me of Jack Nicholson in the Shining, the way he just appeared. 'Here's Johnny!' Johnny had apparently defected from his buddies upstairs who lived in the ground floor kitchen (I never had to witness the full infestation and was very grateful to share my lodgings just with the one Cockroach). I suspect Johnny had been sent to the basement as punishment for a clandestine affair that had resulted in the pregnancy that began to infest my basement with very tiny baby cockroaches. Yes, that's right, Johnny was a girl.

His babies were pleasingly easy to squish with the fingers as they were smaller than a mouse dropping and I took great pleasure in my mass execution of these fatherless bastards, bred of a scandal. I like to think I was doing everyone a favour and saving Johnny's honour. Maybe if we removed all trace of the babies he could be allowed to live upstairs again. And then Johnny tried to get under my door and killed himself in the process and I moved out, leaving I'm sure a good hundred odd of Johnny's bastards to bring joy to the next resident.

And now I have Mickey. Who really scared me on Thursday when I found a mouse dropping on the window ledge. I was sure he'd killed himself. No such luck/grief, he's still rustling away in the cupboard. We've had a few incidents this week. He would appear to be desperately hungry or, as I've long since suspected due to his erratic behaviour, he is a woman suffering the delights of PMT. I caught him up on the draining board at the beginning of the week. My light had been out a matter of minutes before I heard the metal scrapes that indicate his climb to freedom via the fridge has commenced. I turned on the light and caught him climbing back in horror at being discovered. He then threw a tantrum in the cupboard, bags being thrown and lots of frustrated scraping. I then suspected he had started nibbling the poison again because the first time he did that his behaviour became weird. I thought, maybe he'd finally got so desperate he was going to eat his way to death. But no. The next night he preceded to keep me awake and infiltrate my dreams by throwing plastic bags around the cupboard repeatedly. For what purpose I have no idea but when I looked in his cupboard in the morning he had created a little mountain and I have to say I like what he did there. He's got a flare for interior design. He'd moved the plastic egg box around to create a rather interesting sculpture. Not sure how he will feel about the fact that I took it out and cut out two little egg cups for myself today. I put it back, not in the right place though. I'm all prepared for one of his now legendary tantrums.

I have to say though, Mickey's night of creation entered my sub conscious and I found myself dreaming that he was taking apart the flat. In the dream I woke to find crockery smashed, the fridge door open and rubbish strewn everywhere. I woke just as he was walking out the front door. And I thought, well, what a way to go that would have been. I was thoroughly disappointed to wake and find I didn't have a little Johnny Depp mouse trashing my flat.

Hannah 2 - 3 Mickey.