RODENTS ALWAYS COME IN TREES

Following on from my gerbil confessions of yesterday, today was the day of the mouse. These Jerry-mandered little buggers are running amok between the walls of the house that houses my home. I've not seen any lately, but their cutesy little mouse poo is apparently smeared all over the shop. Lukily, the neighbiour living beneath me has a rat-catcher cousin.

Bob popped over this afternoon. He walked up my stairs, opened the door to the airing cupboard and peered inside. He groped underneath the boiler and shaked his head disgustedly, confirming his worst fears.

"You've got mice," he said.
"How do they get in?" I asked.
"They come in on the pipes," he replied.
"Don't they drown?" I asked, in all seriousness, as I conjured up images of pipe-diving Mousekowichs.
"Not IN the pipes [you moron], through the holes around the pipes."
"Ah," I said.
"You can tell you're an office worker," he added.
"Do you by any chance shove mice up your arse?" I enquired. Okay, so I didn't say that. But I bet he does.