...by some of these.
Euch! Mice. I still can't believe there's (how many?) up in our loft/ ceiling cavity.
Of course they are quite hospitable guests through the day. Quiet, hardly a squeak (sorry), but when darkness falls those little fellows think that our house is one massive playground.
Bait has been laid, but the darling things aren't biting. Hmm. What do we do? Wait for them to leave of their own accord or evict them forcefully?
Little Miss E has been awake at 5:30am for the last 3 mornings because of the scratching above her room. We've had numerous conversations about getting rid of the mice. She gets very concerned that we're going to kill the little tikes and as every mother of a 3 nearly 4 year old will know, many, many, MANY questions later, we're no further forward with her concerns. It literally is like a vortex of interrogation. I'll stress my point again that children of this age should be used as interrogators by the armed forces. Not that I condone war or indeed that kind of interrogation, but hey they would be good at it!
So, here we are 3 days later and how many mice? How long is the gestation period for mice? If the poison doesn't work, then in 7 more days, how many mice will there be? STOP. NO. I can't handle this, I'll be having nightmares of the world being overtaken by vermin if I just don't stop thinking about it...
If the poison works then who will collect the mice? How will we know we've gotten them all? We don't know how many there were to start off with. There's a lot of space up there. Nooks. Crannies. *holds hand to head in dismay*
Before I do, here's the first verse to one of my very favourite poems by Robert Burns (famous Scottish Poet) called To A Mouse.
Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
Oh what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hastie,
Wi' bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an chase thee,
Wi murd'ring prattle!
You can read the rest of it here.
This is too much for me, I'm off to lie down.