Two mice; the mouse on the left has more fat stores than the mouse on the right. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“What’s that noise?” I said to my wife one evening whilst we were watching TV.

“What noise?” she replied disinterested.

“There – can’t you hear it? A kind of scratching sound.”

Together we crept around to the kitchen to see if we could find the source of the noise. Anyone would think we were trying to catch a burglar in the act.

Eventually, we traced the noise to the medicine drawer. We exchanged “get ready” looks as I carefully grasped the handle of the drawer. I yanked the drawer open and scanned the interior.

I could see nothing but medicines, but judging by my wife’s scream and the way she was clutching my arm in a vice-like grip, she had obviously seen something. I slammed the drawer shut as fast as I’d opened it.

“What did you see?”

“A mouse!” she screamed.

I carefully eased the drawer back open to check the scene of the crime. I watched warily, for truth be told, I am only slightly less squeamish about rodents than my wife. The mouse had gone, probably scared off by the slam of the drawer, so we could sift through the contents. The mouse had eaten its way through an entire pack of paracetamol.

Confident that no mouse could eat that much paracetamol and survive, we thought that was that. However, our mouse is made of sterner stuff.

You would think that having a cat in the house would be sufficient deterrent against our rodent friend but unfortunately, mouse hunting is definitely not part of her job description. Lazing around on furniture – yes, miaowing a lot – definitely, making a nuisance of herself – indeed but absolutely nothing about rodents.

It was a while later when I went to feed said cat when reaching inside the cupboard containing her food, instead of coming across a box full of cat biscuits, I found a box with a big hole chewed in the side lying on top of a pile of cat biscuits.

The mouse had returned.

This time we were ready. Having invested in some mouse traps, we should now have the upper hand. Traps duly placed, it can only be a matter of time before our furry friend is an ex furry friend. Unfortunately though, not only can our mouse eat a whole ton of paracetamol and survive, he also has the survival skills of an SAS soldier and can spot a trap a mile away.

The hunt for this mouse is in danger of taking on Captain Ahab proportions.

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