I don't know how things are where you live, but there's been a drop of snow down Pudsey way overnight; the scene above was what greeted Jamie and I a few minutes ago as we set off on the short trek to nursery.
Unless you are a child (excluding Jamie who doesn't appear to be that keen on winter at this stage of his development), it is clearly a day to stay indoors if you can. And this also applies to animals. Or, more specifically, mice. Because we appear to have one living with us.
Vanessa noticed signs of nibbling on the top shelf of our kitchen cupboards over the weekend, and yesterday attempted further exploration - before bottling it over fears of an attack by Jaws the Mouse.
She asked me when I got in last night if I'd help her finish the job before we went to bed. But, keen to do anything that might take my mind off the fact that there's Guinness in the house which I cannot drink (at least until the last weekend in the month), I had a go myself whilst she was at the gym.
And I did rather well, even if I do say so myself (which I obviously just have done).
The top shelf is now fully cleaned up and disinfected (get me), and I even had a a sweep and clean underneath the cupboards where I also discovered more tell-tale signs of Jaws' presence.
The next stage is both gruesome and exciting in equal measure.
Yes, friends, Jaws must die.
I know you can get these "humane" trap things which would allow Jaws the chance to terrorise someone else - maybe Barrington next door - after being released. But I don't think that's what good neighbours do.
So I'm going to murder the little bugger, before placing his bloodied mousey head on a spike on top of our garden fence.
Today the search for the tools to do the job begins with a visit to Wilkos.
Is there such a thing as a mouse gun?
A mouse electric chair?
Mouse acid?
I'll keep you informed on progress of the hunt.
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