Saturday morning, I woke up to the dog next to me furiously licking his paws. This morning (Sunday) I woke up to the dog next to me furiously licking his paws. Except this time I realised he wasn’t licking his paws. About 1 inch from my face was a dead fucking mouse which he was licking! Yer, a dead mouse, which had been wrapped up in the duvet with me it appears, and judging by yesterday’s dog licking behaviour too, I have slept next to it, like actually next to it, for 2 nights!
Horrified, I jumped out of bed and went to get the rubbish grabber to get it off of Winston (dog) as his growling basically said, ‘I’m fucking having this’. I learnt if you over grab a dead mouse with a rubbish grabber you basically crush it and if you don’t grip it tight enough you keep dropping it. With the cat and dog walking along side me I took it along the landing and down the stairs. I dropped it three times. Each time I screamed and jumped and the cat shit himself.
Tony (husband) crashed on the sofa last night after we had some friends over for drinks. With the mouse outstretched in the rubbish grabber, Winston, Mr Nut (cat) and I tip toed past him into the kitchen, where I dropped the bloody mouse again and screamed again and then all hell broke loose!
Into the kitchen comes Tony, ‘what the fuck does someone have to do round here to sleep? What’s all the commotion’? ‘I’m sorry if my screaming woke you up but I just woke up basically spooning a mouse’! ‘What!…and why the hell are you holding it in the fucking rubbish grabber’? ‘Well, because Winston wouldn’t give it up. He picked it up in his mouth and the tail was hanging out like an extra whisker, so I had to poke him with the rubbish grabber until he dropped it. I used these to quickly grab it just now because I dropped it, but when I did the action flung it across the room into Mr Nut’s path, he shit himself and dashed across the room knocking into those empty beer cans from last night by the bin. The dog chased him and I grabbed the mouse’. ‘Right, well can you just be quite please’.
As we walk back upstairs, I say, Tony, ‘I’m worried about the volume of mice’. ‘Honey it’s hardly a plague of biblical proportion’. ‘Yer well that’s easy to say but you didn’t wake up tucked in bed with one…still I suppose it was better than when Winston was a few months old and we had visitors and Winston dropped a pair of knickers on the bed that he’d gone and sourced from their room when they’d gone out early sightseeing. Do you remember that honey? I had to pick them up on the end of a pen and put them back in the owner’s room but I didn’t know whether to fling them randomly back in or fold them and put them in the case? Get that wrong and they basically think you’ve been fiddling with their pants when they’re on the London Eye’. ‘It’s 6:30am, can we just go back to fucking bed please instead of you walking around with a mouse in a rubbish grabber talking about people’s knickers’.