Of mice and men

I'm off to Cornwall for a few days tomorrow, back at the weekend, but before I go I just wanted to share the story of the Election Canvasser And The Mouse.

Y'see, since I've been on my own for the last couple of days, the cats have been feeling needy. It seems my 24hr attention still isn't enough, and they need to remind me that they can do very well by themselves, thank you. They do this by bringing me mice and birds (two of each in the last three days).

On Saturday, Jack brought in a mouse. While he growled at Spike and Daisy, he didn't seem to see me as a threat so I managed to take it from him fairly easily. It was still alive--but even if it hadn't been, the memory of finding seven dead mice under the sideboard is still fresh, so I was reasonably anxious to get it away from him.

Usually what I do when picking up a mouse is grab it by the tail. I figure this probably isn't very pleasant for the mouse, but on the other hand, it's a whole lot more pleasant than getting eaten by a cat, and it tends to prevent the little bleeder biting and scratching me. I also usually put live mouse outside the front door, since it gives them a bit of a headstart on a cat who has to exit through the back of the house.

Unfortunately, just as I prised the mouse from its hiding place at the back of the radiator (visions of it staying there and dying of fright while the whole house stank of decaying mouse), someone knocked at the door.

Was it anyone I might know? Anyone who wouldn't think I was mad for carrying a wriggling live mouse by its tail when I answered the door? No. It was a perfectly nice man asking if he could count on the my vote in the next local election.

See, I never know what to say to these guys anyway. I'm advised that telling every candidate you'll vote for them is usually the best way to get rid of them (and is also why you should never believe in polls), but I had a bleeding mouse in my hand behind the door. It wriggled. It scampered. And it eventually climbed onto my hand.

All the while the nice man was telling me about his party's stance on eco-towns. Don't ask me what it was, I was too busy trying to remember when I'd had my last tetanus shot.

He was there for ages. He gave me a leaflet I tried to read with one hand. I realised that if I hadn't disclosed the presence of the mouse immediately, I was going to look even weirder doing it halfway through our chat. And this isn't a big village. Even if this guy was a stranger to me, he'd know someone who knows me. I'd be the mad mouse girl. I'd be--

Wait a sec. I'd be someone election canvassers didn't want to visit.

Dammit. I should have shown him the mouse.