I have just shed tears over a dead mouse.
We had just showered after our morning cycle ride and I was dressing in the bedroom. I looked up and saw a mouse scuttle along the edge of the bath in the en suite. I squealed, as women tend to do, and slammed the bathroom door shut. Paul came upstairs to find out who was murdering me and seemed unperturbed by the news of the unwelcome guest in the bathroom.
“I’ll sort it later, I’m in the middle of making a tomato sauce for lunch.”
I finished dressing, cleaned the bathroom and as I was standing at the basin washing my hands the little devil ran across my feet. Again I squealed and fled the bathroom. Paul didn’t even bother to come upstairs this time. I told him the intruder was much bigger than a mere mouse and must surely be a rat! He continued to make the tomato sauce.
I went outside into the garden, and picked more tomatoes. Paul took some mouse traps up to the bathroom . When he came downstairs he was not happy. I had left the tap running in the bathroom and nearly flooded the house. Oops! The temperature was still rising and a hot wind was blowing from the south, too hot for lunch outside today.
We ate indoors in the cool gloom, the tomato pasta was delicious. While I was clearing the lunch things Paul came downstairs carrying a dead mouse. Not a rat, just a poor little mouse. I don’t know why I cried. It must be the heat.