‘Mr Mouse’s days of fine dining are over,’ said the builder boyfriend as he put the finishing touches to his rodent anti-climbing device in the larder.
This was a slice of cardboard, gaffer-taped sideways to the shelf to prevent the mouse who has been lodging with us from accessing it after climbing up the metal grille at the back of the fridge, which he has been using like a ladder.
His ingenious contraption the BB called ‘the ratinator’. The mouse is so fat from eating our supplies that he is as big as a rat. He has been climbing up the fridge ventilator on to an electric cable trunking which runs along the wall to beneath the food shelves.
She sniffed the air, slowly, savouring it. Somehow she knew that was for the last time
After running along the cable trunking it was just a short crawl or hop up one brick of the wall to the firm corner of the nearest food shelf. But with the floppy cardboard taped next to that shelf, the mouse would hit a ceiling instead.
‘Watch,’ said the BB, and, standing there in paint spattered work jeans, he mimicked Mousey’s journey to the jam, sugar and flour by walking his fingers up the back of the fridge and along the trunking.
When his walkie fingers got to the end of the trunking and tried to crawl up on to the shelf as usual, they hit the cardboard. The BB made a squeak: ‘Oops! He’s hit the ratinator!’ And he mimed the mouse falling to the floor.
In reality, I think the mouse probably just wandered back along the trunking disappointed. Probably he grumbled: ‘Blasted cheek. After all the time I’ve lived here. Who do they think they are?’
But in any case, the next morning the BB was proved correct. For the first time in months, we found no droppings, no holes in bags of sultanas, no nibbled biscuits or ripped open bags of carrots.
Mousey had been foxed. And of course, we, like a pair of soft fools, had put off the day when we would have to put down a mouse trap.
The last straw had been waking up one morning to discover that Mr Mouse had bedded down for the night in Cydney’s basket, on the very first night after her passing.
My beloved spaniel left this world one Friday morning after 12 years of sheer joy and only a short illness, which was a blessing. She had slept all of Wednesday in my arms, fading away, or so it felt. She lay on her back snoring like a sailor. I texted the BB to come home from work as quickly as he could to say goodbye.
At 4 p.m. his pick-up truck pulled up outside and to my astonishment Cydney leapt out of my arms and hurtled towards the door. She wanted to run out to greet him as usual.
She managed to make it outside that evening, cheerful as ever, the dear soul, but she could eat no food. Nor the next day. We fed her a little rice pudding, just a spoonful to get her medication down. She began sleeping again. I called the vet and he talked me through it.
On the Thursday evening when the BB’s pick-up truck pulled up she was asleep again, having snoozed all day, but this time she didn’t jump up to greet him. So I knew.
She raised her eyes as Poppy, the other spaniel, ran out to him. Instinctively, I carried her carefully to the step. We sat down and as the BB got out of his truck she settled beside me and waited for him, wrapped in her blanket, my arms around her. Her face was serene. She sniffed the air, slowly, savouring it. Somehow she knew that was for the last time.
I carried her back in. We made her comfortable on the sofa. The BB slept beside her on the floor all night. I kept coming down to check on them and they were both sound asleep.
In the morning, we fed her another spoon of rice pudding with her medication. And then we made the journey. She was snoozing soundly on the back seat when our wonderful vet came out to the car. She slipped seamlessly from sleeping into leaving us for good.
Back at a friend’s farm, in one of her favourite places, the builder b took her in his arms wrapped in a blanket and suddenly he sobbed. Just for a second. But I will never forget it. He carried her to a copse of trees.
Only four days earlier she had run up the stairs early morning and leapt on to my bed carrying a cuddly toy that she flung at my face to wake me up.
She made everyone who knew her laugh. She was happiness. She loved and lived with all her heart.
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