Mice are tenacious wee bastards, aren't they?

And they don't seem to understand that they are supposed to go into the mousetrap, instead of prancing about our kitchen.

Having said that I just went downstairs to make a cup of tea and discovered our mousetrap did indeed contain a willing victim (who has just been relocated at the bottom of the street).

Let me begin at the beginning. A few weeks ago, in a land far far away (depending on where you live) we began to suspect we had a mouse problem. When I say "we began to suspect", what I actually mean is that we kept seeing mice in our kitchen. Well, when I say "we kept seeing mice in our kitchen", what I actually mean is that we kept seeing mouse arses/tails disappearing down the back of our oven. In fact some of these critters had actually taken to pooing on roasting trays left in the oven (clean ones) and larking about in the cupboards and pooing in my wok. Annoying. So it was decided that something had to be done and, after much searching, I finally found some humane mousetraps. Jo was favouring the 'splatter them all over the place' traditional trap, but I thought that a little harsh seeing as they were only doing their mousey thing, so we bought the humane one.

This took some negotiation as they were really pushing their luck with Jo by holding little soirees in the crumb tray of her Dualit toaster. They don't know how close they came. My campaign against them began quite gloriously. In fact, I caught two of the wee buggers in a single evening. Hurrah for me!!! And then it all went quiet. Not being foolish enough to think it could be that simple, I left the trap in situ.

For the last two/three weeks at least one mouse has been merrily partying away in the kitchen without even as much as poking its nose in the trap. Damn. Jo's patience with both the mice & the trap was wearing thin and there was talk of "bait" & "poison" being bandied about at the dinner table (very Borgian - and yes I did check that this is an actual word. Its used by the Vatican, no less.). The conflict was about to escalate.

Then the impasse was finally broken. Yesterday (Easter Monday), following an epic dog walking adventure of almost 4 hours, Jo & I were both in a state of minor collapse on the sofa watching 'Edward Scissorhands' on DVD (just giving you a visual) and having just consumed a fine lunch of fajitas when Jo claimed to hear a rattling in the kitchen. Off she went to investigate. The trap was indeed closed, suggesting a prisoner, but it can be a bit temperamental so I asked whether she was sure there was something in it. I usually test this theory by giving the trap a bit of a shake to see if it has anything inside (probably defeats the 'humane' aspect a bit), but Jo had tried the failsafe method of actually opening the lid and peering in. She offered to let me have a look, but I had visions of high velocity mouse leaping to freedom in my face, so declined. Off I wandered to the long grass behind the church hall to release the beastie.

Once a safe distance from our place I opened up the end of the trap and gave it a little shake to encourage our little friend out. Normally at this point a high speed leap is the chosen option of the mouse, but nothing. Strange. So I peered into the trap only to see a very wide-eyed vermin beast using its paws to wedge itself against the end of the trap in a style I can only imagine it had picked up from James Bond films - you know that classic using your hands and feet to wedge yourself on the lift ceiling so you can drop on your enemy. Nice try sonny. A firm flick of the wrist dislodged the mouse and I must confess it was quite athletic in its leaping through the undergrowth.

Back to the house and all is calm. Jo's now finely tuned mouse detecting ears were ready for any further encroachment, and later that evening something caught her attention. Off to the kitchen to investigate. No sign of the mouse/mice, but one giveaway clue. Gert hadn't eaten all food that evening - she doesn't like the new dog biscuit stuff we bought at the weekend, I don't blame her it does smell a bit like disinfectant - so there were some left over biscuits in her bowl waiting to be chucked away. Now these are quite chunky biscuits, I'd estimate at least a couple of centimetres square, but one of our combatants had managed to get one out of the bowl (which is polished metal and pretty slippery), past the sink edge and to the edge of the bread bin. Jo saw this as a blantant act of defiance, yet I had to grudgingly respect such initiative. Plus it gave me a massive hint as what to use as bait in my trap.

My first capture just now confirms that Gert's yucky dog biscuits do seem to be effective. I'll keep you updated.