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!