Mice again

I have arrived back in the Czech Republic to find pristine snow glittering with ice diamonds and clear blue skies. I have also found that I share my home with mice. I suppose it is hardly surprising given the long grass surrounding the house now a foot deep in snow. My local field mice have packed their bags and taken to the warmth of my house.

This is not the first time I have had this problem, as long-standing readers of this blog will know. Before I left the house I spent a great deal of time blocking holes in skirting boards with sadra (plaster) and cutting strips of wood to fit the gaps in the floorboards (my builders had very kindly supplied the mice with perfect nest-building conditions by putting insulation materials under the floorboards). All in vain, alas.

I had left one bed ready made for my return, I turn back the duvet ready to climb in and lo! - a pile of bean husks and mice poo. The following day I searched the house to find that the little furry darlings had knocked over a container of dried peas and struck lucky as the lid had come off, not one pea was left to be seen. Well not to be seen there, all day I found stashes of peas - among the bedclothes, in the towels, in my stationary drawer. Then as I lifted a pillow off the wardrobe a huge quantity of peas fell through a hole which had been gnawed in the pillowcase. I still cannot work out how they got up there, I had to stand on a chair to look, sure enough there was another pile of peas.

Back in the bedroom where I had first found the remnants of mice midnight feast, I suddenly noticed the corpse of a mouse by the table and then, as I picked that up with a shovel, another under the radiator. There was no sign of injury on them and they were as fat as mice who had been living on the products of my larder should be. I carried them into the yard and left them for the farmcat. I am hoping the dried peas disagreed with them. It will save me from extracting mangled corpses from mousetraps if so.

Mys

We are currently enduring an invasion of mice. Not grey housemice like the ones I am familiar with in England, but their larger brown country cousins. Our house sits next to a orchard with long grass in the summer, which backs on to countryside. Now the rich pickings have disappeared and the field mice have moved home. These wee beasties are brazen little beggars, with the ability to scale vertical obstacles and get everywhere. The pantry of course has been the scene of their forays – almost every packet has been gnawed, not enough to empty the contents but just enough to necessitate their disposal. The box of cleaning stuff has been raided for nesting materials – they are particularly fond of washing up sponges which they tear to shreds. The decorative candles on the windowsills have been stripped of their wicks. I found a hoard of pasta tubes inside one of my old shoes. To cap it all I came to bed the other night to find that there were droppings on my nice white duvet and the mice had even been under the covers.

My friend says “Get a cat, or allow the neighbours' one in”. But whilst the local cats are good mousers, they are not housetrained and I have had problems before. And so in desperation I went to the ironmongers and bought some mousetraps. Not knowing the Czech for mousetrap, this was achieved with some high-quality miming on my part - I must have looked a sight squeaking whilst making a simultaneous chopping movement, but it worked. The traps set, we caught two in a night. Looking at the beautiful little things with their large ears and warm brown fur, I feel like a murdering cur. But then I remind myself that it is one thing to share a little of my food with these lovely creatures, quite another to share my bed and my heart hardens.