I used to think I was pretty smart. Not a first rate thinker with original, BIG ideas, but suitably clever. Clever enough to catch a mouse. Or so I thought.
Turns out neither My Man nor I are that clever.
It took a mouse 2 evenings to teach us that lesson in humility. The cheeky little bastard waited until My Man and I were well entrenched in our ritual TV viewing, at which point he darted out.
"Did you see him! Shit! What should we do?"
Before our butts had left the sofa, the clever little thing darted back to the safety of the radiator.
"Quick! Get the extra duvet. We'll throw it on him!"
That was our master plan: to use the guest room duvet like a net.* We didn't think about what we would do once we caught him. Sometimes it's better not to plan too far ahead.
We pretended to watch tv, but kept the duvet close at hand. When he crept out, we pounced.
I didn't realise I could pounce and freak out at the same time.
I can. My Man was quick to point it out. Just like the pair of woman's feet that sometimes makes a guest appearance atop a chair on Tom & Jerry.**
Unfortunately, I cannot pounce and freak out AND throw a duvet upon a scurrying mouse all at the same time. I had multiple opportunities to give it a go and failed on each occassion. My Man, while foregoing on the 'freaking out' fared no better. London mice aren't just clever; they're impressively fit as well.
The indignity of the situation reached its peak when we let down our guard for just the briefest of moments. We sat watching both the radiator and television when suddenly we felt the presence of our little guest. The little bastard had somehow made it across the room to join us on the sofa.
Unmatched freaking out ensued.
*Guests, you will be glad to know that the mouse was far too quick (or we were far to slow) and, so, the duvet remains suitable for your visits.
**How I surprise myself living up to stereotypes. Egad.