Throughout history brutal dictators have realised and used the de-personification of their enemies to make it easier for the general population to do nasty things to them. Think of Hitler, who considered the Jews vermin.
Now for a wild jump in subject that is going to leave you reeling. You'll get it in a moment, I promise.
It's my Mum's Birthday today - Happy Birthday, Mum. (You can't say that I didn't warn you that you would get whiplash from the change of subject!) She is not in anyway related to Hitler, nor brutal dictators. My parents were strict, but not that bad.
I was up early because I wanted to make a cake before church, so that it could cool while we were at church, so that I could ice it after church but before Mum and Dad, Grandma, Nan and Grandad all arrived for lunch. Good plan. Nice thing to do for the woman who has done so much for me.
We had a big day yesterday - madly cleaning in the morning, followed by a trip to catch up with some of my Beloved's family who were visiting family friends in Toowoomba. We did get back reasonably early, but it was still a bit of an uncomfortably early start this morning.
I think I've mentioned before that I'm not really a morning person. I mean it. My family could sign Statutory Declarations regarding my not being a morning person. I only have minimal function until after about 7.30am - to the point that the couple of times Queensland has trialled daylight saving I've been a burnt out wreck by about three weeks into the summer. I just can't do the extra hour early. Every morning. For months. Particularly not in the early and late summer when the sun isn't up yet. Please Mrs Bligh, don't make me do it!
However, this morning I was up by 6.30. I was vertical. I won't say I was awake, but I was able to focus on the task to hand reasonably well, because I was baking from a recipe I use all the time and only ever goes wrong when I'm baking for a church cake stall.
I went into the pantry to get the bits that I needed and I heard scurrying noises from the highest shelf. The rustling sound of mouse on plastic bag. The following thought popped into my poor half-asleep brain, "Russel would be a good name for a mouse", and although I tried immediately and desperately to rescind the thought it has stuck. Russel it is. Mouse personified in a way that is going to make getting rid of him very difficult.
What is the chance that I'm going to be able to have anything to do with setting and baiting the trap?
... Approximately None.
And thanks Dee for the heads up on cage traps. I think I'll be down at Bunnings first thing!
It's still messy, but I think I am growing
12 hours ago
6 comments:
You will be fine, just don't make eye contact with Russel because if you do he will be sitting at the dinner table swapping stories about his day unless you are careful!!
Love it. That is a great name for a mouse!
Oh no! Ask my sister about it - she has some great advice for killing mice. Well, it's funny advice. When we talk about mouse-killing, we realise that really, we're city kids at heart.
Hehe... one of my brothers is named Russell, but he's not very mouse-like.
My rodents have taken the bait. I mean they've taken it away completely, container and all. I think I might have been hearing their death throes in the ceiling yesterday. Trying not to think too hard about it...
I've realised that every mouse is different, and every type of trap has its own pros and cons.
Good luck dealing with the smell of dead mice in the ceiling, Femina. In a week you'll be wishing they were still alive. Baited mice don't always die outside, and behind the piano is one of the last places you look for the source of an awful smell.
I've had the cage trap work once, but the downside is that you're left with a live mouse to deal with. Do you let it go free? Or do you hop from toe to nervous toe and THROW the whole cage in a bucket of water, then run away madly with your hands over your ears going, "b-l-b-l-b-l-b-l" with your tongue?
I'm not sure if they're still in the ceiling, but the advantage of renting is that I can ring the real estate agent and say "I think something has crawled into the ceiling and died there" and the owner will pay for someone to come and remove it (or get one of his mates to do it). I know ALL about that smell - I worked in the office of a bread recycling plant at one point and there were rats EVERYWHERE. It took quite some time to find the rat that had died behind the bookcase...
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