JEWS

The internet is a clusterfuck.

An anonymous aggregation of idiots and geniuses whose differences are not always easily distinguishable.

Sometimes it is very quiet.

So quiet you can hear a mouse fart.

Don't talk to Celeste about mice.

Celeste?

My empathic abilities lead me to assume that you "have an attitude" regarding mice.

I just hope that you can try to remember they are just like us; they are only seeking shelter and food. Mice have needs very similar to our own. They are prone to become attached to the humans that they live with and perhaps even "love?" them?

Yes, kill them if you must but remember, when you find them dead, you might want to ask yourself: "I wonder if it loved me?".

I'm going to eat my yoghurt now :)

Carry on.

I had a mouse terrorist in my house last year. They have personalities just like us, and this one was barking mad. It's a colourful story. Wanna hear it?

Please.

First I could hear him in the chimney breast for days. Then, one night I awoke to hear this rustling sound. I assumed it was something outside. So I put the bedroom light on (it fell silent) and crept towards the window. Never got that far. I have a wickerwork waste-paper basket in my bedroom, which I always line with a plastic bag (doesn't look too pretty, but makes it easier for emptying). And Mad Mouse had a thing for plastic bags, it turns out. As I draw level with the basket, Mad Mouse sticks his head out. We both froze, staring at each other. He was the first to move - straight into the airing-cupboard. Whoosh. He'd found a way into my living-space. Next he started crapping on my bed when I was at work (but only where I lay). Next I awoke to the rustling again (I had some unopened Xmas socks in a plastic bag on my bedroom floor). This time I didn't put the light on, but crept forward, grabbed the bag and fastened it by the neck. Now you try putting on a dressing-gown with one hand. So there I am, first thing in the morning, wandering off in my jim-jams towards the quarry to tip Mad Mouse over. Didn't have the heart. Left him in the hedge. Next thing? A week or so later I awake to this pounding sound and Mad Mouse (I kid you not) is leaping up and down on my pillow, right next to my head! I think I might have gone, "Aaaaargh!" or some such.
So I had to kill him in the end. And still feel the guilt. But it was me or him, my friends. Oh yes. Me or him.