Trapped
I woke up to a loud scrabbling sound this morning. “Gotcha!”, I thought. Reel back a couple of weeks, and Mr. Bsag is showing me a cherry tomato which has a ragged hole in it. He thought that it had burst, but it had a suspiciously nibbled quality to my eyes. Sure enough, when I got a torch out and looked down the little gaps by the side of the kitchen cabinets, I found the tell-tale signs of a mouse. I’m extremely sceptical about the concept of a singular mouse, so let’s say mice.
How could this have happened? We keep a clean house, and we don’t leave food lying around (the tomatoes were in a vegetable basket, and were the only items of food not in a box or container). Still, the biologist in me knows that the little critters can get in anywhere and take advantage of whatever they find, and when winter starts biting, even field mice sometimes take shelter in houses. I cleaned even more obsessively, and vowed to “Get those meeces!”
