The mouse in the house... well in the bathroom of the flat

Last night I very nearly urinated all over the floor of my bathroom. No it wasn't anything to do with alcohol, surprisingly enough. Instead it was the result of a furry little house guest, who appears to have taken up residence in my building. There I was standing there in my underwear, in front of the toilet, doing my thing — it's not a pretty sight, don't spend to long thinking about it — when something scurried out from behind the toilet. The little mouse, for it was a mouse doing the scurrying, made a bee-line straight for my right foot. To my enormous credit I did not yelp like a girl (c.f. my mother) at this point, instead I lifted my right leg and performed an elegant pirouette to my left, with only minimal spillage, as the mouse sprinted for the safety of the kitchen.

When the mouse made it to the door and tried to turn left into the kitchen it performed the cutest little cartoon dance. The kitchen has a wooden floor and as the mouse moved from the linoleum of the bathroom to the wood of the kitchen it lost all of its grip. Thus causing its back legs to swing round, much further than its front legs, and its little legs to move into overdrive as it searched for grip. It really looked like the cartoon way that Tom (or Jerry, for that matter) would run around corners. 'Twas very cute.

I suppose I'll have to go and get myself some mousetraps, humane or not humane that is the question. Ho hum.