OF MICE AND MEN

I have mice, or possibly a mouse, though are not mice like men, in that, as Aristotle observed, of men that is, they are political animals, only truly themselves in sociable communion with fellow men, or in the case of mice, fellow mice.
But enough of Aristotle as he is a) dead, his troubles are over and b) to the best of my knowledge he did not have mice.
Now I currently weigh, much to my great chagrin, 75kg, that is just shy of 12 stone in old money. I do not know what your average fully grown mice weighs but I would hazard a guess that it is considerably less, yet when confronted with one of these creatures I am filled with panic, dread, apprehension, I have the creeps, the heebie-jeebies, deep disquietude, Mr Roget himself has trouble keeping up with the verbal description of my fears.
All of this is particularly perplexing given that my DNA is a mere cigarette paper away from being that of a cave man, hunter gatherer, tiger wrestler. Unless of course my ancestor himself was afraid of mice; picture the scene.

Ug is woken in the middle of the night by a rustling sound, UG, he cries, (at least we now know the etymology of his name); leaps from his bed and walks out into the cold tundra. His mate Ugger reluctantly leaves the warmth of the bed to find out what is amiss.
“What is it dear,” she enquires in cave speak.
Ug visibly shivers,”eegh we have a mouse in the cave.”
Ugger nods sagely and disappears back into the darkness, there is an almighty wallop and Ugger reapers holding the aforesaid mouse between thumb and forefinger tossing it away to provide an early breakfast for a nearby Pterodactyl. Happy again Ug returns to bed.
The following day Ug thinks nothing of overpowering and bopping on the head an extremely irritated Tyrannosaurus rex, dragging it back to the cave.
“That’s nice dear,” says Ugger, “but I do wish you’d wipe your feet before entering the cave.”

In the meantime I have mice. I have bought traps and poison, so far to no avail. Annoyingly and even more curiously the packages contain cute pictures of mice! Do they imagine you are interested in killing the rodent variant of man’s best friend? There are even some traps designed to capture the mice alive, as if you somehow nursed dreams of taming them and setting up a mice circus.
If they do insist on having pictures on the packaging they should make the mice dress like the furtive creatures they are, i.e. dressed as Moriarty, Fu Manchu or if they want a more contemporary resonance a banker just about to pocket his bonus. Actually this last image of Fred Goodwin watching as a large mettle bar descends upon him, is an extremely satisfying one.

In the meantime I have mice. I baited the traps with expensive Swiss chocolate that I did not particularly care for, unfortuntely it turned out the mice did not care for it either. I am reliably informed that their favourite fare is peanut butter. How do we know this? Were mice introduced to a range of jams, marmalades and preserves, only for nine out of ten to vote in favour of peanut butter?

In the meantime I have mice………………………………….


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