Mice can have five or six litters a year, each with at least four babies, I read online. You might understand that I wanted to get rid of the mice in the attic.
Not that it had anything to do with my yarn being stashed there. I keep my yarn in plastic boxes, so I had no worries about the mice stealing my skeins to knit sweaters for all their kids to come.
It took me ten minutes to realize that the weird sound was probably a mouse in the trap.
‘We got him,’ I said to my partner.
Indeed, there was a lovely, fluffy thing with beady eyes and round, transparent ears. It was a bank vole. Before my partner set it free in the garden, I told the little fellow that he or she was welcome to take up residence in the shed and that it could get free meals in the Greasy Spoon. I call it the Greasy Spoon, but it is nothing more than our bird’s house filled with grains and seed and the occasional apple sliced in two.
Then we caught another mouse, and another, then there were none. Oops, there was another one. It might get busy in our local diner.
I predict happy days in the Greasy Spoon. I was even thinking of donating some yarn, so they could have a knitting gathering once a week. I wonder what the birds would make of that, or the cats.
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