Two disturbed nights later and I am resolved to get rid of the little bastard.

(Note to readers who missed yesterday’s post: I am talking about a mouse in the attic. The LTLP has not given birth yet).

It now seems to be purposely jumping up and down on the bit of ceiling right above my head, presumably as some kind of dare. But when I stick my head up into the loft and try to surprise it with a torch, it is hiding. It is a very juvenile creature.

I purchase some traps.

Acting on advice, I buy two ‘humane’ mousetraps. They are cunning devices – once the animals get in they cannot get out again, like a rodentine direct debit arrangement with a large mail-order book club. I bait them with a generous chunk of nice malty bread, which should lure them in unless I have found one with gluten intolerance. I then climb stealthily up into the loft, like a Norfolk Steve Irwin.

Having set my ambush, I retreat stealthily downstairs, chuckling slightly.

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