There’s been a mouse in our offices recently. How it managed to get up on the set of four desks I sit at, I don’t know. There were probably rich pickings there, though, given the number of crumbs I drop.
In return it left a number of little messages all over my desk, and all over my co-workers’ desks. I had finished wiping down and sterilising my desktop, when I began to type and ended up with something under my fingernail. For reference: keyboards do survive spraying with disinfectant. Our furry friend also managed to traverse the rest of the office, ignoring everyone else’s hoards, to get into the fruit bowl and eat out one end of a banana.
This story doesn’t end well. The estate called in pest control: both estate and pest control company being based in the Cotswolds, they hadn’t heard of humane methods. We were lucky they didn’t put down bowls of warfarin, I suppose. One dark night there was an unheard, plasticky snap; and the next morning, though our mouse was there, it was also entirely gone.