We've got mice. And this isn't really a problem- I like mice, find them amusing, and catching them via the medium of an expensive humane 'trap and release' device has become something of an evening hobby, in Small Blue Mansions.
The other night, I was entertained by two of them- very small ones- who stampeded into the bedroom just after I'd turned the light off, like tiny elephants, and who showed absolutely no fear of the bemused human sitting up talking to them as they shot about, having loads of mousey fun.
Except. Every other night, the trap doesn't work. Doesn't matter what I bait it with, and how I balance the snickers on the spring-loaded ramp, the next morning the trap is empty and unsprung. It's been driving me mad, and I'm beginning to wonder if we have a particular Super-intelligent mouse, quite able to develop anti-trap techniques.
However, last night, my dream explained it all to me. Hearing a noise in the kitchen, I got out of bed and began to descend the stairs, only to become aware of one of Armando D'Ossorio's Blind Dead templars, standing at the foot of the stairs, gesturing to me to follow him into our kitchen. I followed, and found a bunch of his dessicated mates in there, standing round the mouse trap and pointing at it.
Inside the mousetrap, was a weasel. A weasel in tiny top hat and monocle, who had managed to avoid setting the trap off my stretching his neck over the ramp and picking the snickers and peanuts up with his mouth, but had become stuck this time.
The templars gestured that they wanted me to free the weasel. I freed the weasel. The templars filed out our back door and I went back to bed.
SBT
