Guilty of mouse murder

I checked the trap around 7 AM today. I could see, in the shadows behind the fridge, that the yellow bar had dropped, meaning the trap had been sprung. I turned the light on, and there was a poor little mouse in the trap, dead. We all know mice are dirty, stinking vermin. They're destructive, and spread diseases that are harmful, even fatal, to humans. So why do I feel so guilty? Heck, I even feel guilty every time I mash a fly, and I hate those things more than mice. Oh well, it's done now.

One amusing little aside to the mouse incident, arrived in the form of yet another Wayne-ism. I told my dopey cousin about the mouse. Guess what Wayne said? 'Aw. At least it's only a cute little mouse. It could be worse'. 'Yes', I said. 'In a couple of weeks time, when one mouse has become a dozen, it'll be a lot worse'.

Wayne has only owned one pet in his whole life. Many years ago, he had a little pet mouse called Ifor Bach (Welsh for Little Ivor). Well, Wayne used to let Ifor Bach out of his cage, to enjoy a run around the bedsit he then lived in. The trouble with that, is that Wayne would then have great trouble locating and re-caging Ifor Bach. So, inevitably, the mouse vanished one day, a week or so before Wayne was due to move to a new flat. He assumed the mouse had exited via the window, and perished. So, he headed off to his new flat.

About a month later, Wayne and I were in the Uplands Tavern, during the days when it was known as Streets. His ex-landlord came up to us. 'What was that mess you left in the bedsit, Wayne? There was even a bl**dy mouse running around in there'. Luckily, the ex-landlord realised it was a pet mouse, caught it and found it a home. Or so he said. I'm not so sure, as I always thought that man had very shifty eyes. Still, I can't condemn him, mouse murderer as I am.

I'm now so paranoid, I'm going to re-bait and re-set the trap tonight. I'm not expecting to find another mouse in rigor mortis. Blinking well hope not, anyway. If I do, I will officially declare myself a skank, and have a sign made for my front door, which says 'Welcome to Skanksville'. Funny how one little mouse can leave someone feeling so paranoid and unclean.

Oh well. Laters....

Yet more Wayne-isms

My cousin Wayne called me the other night. He had intended coming to stay with me for a few days, but announced he couldn't make it. When asked why, he told me he'd secured a new job, just days after being made redundant by his previous employer. He continued to explain.
'So I can't come down to Swansea after all, because I'm being induced tomorrow'.
'Congratulations', I replied. 'so will that be a Caesarian or natural birth?'
He didn't get it. What he was trying to tell me, was that he had a few induction days for his new job. He was therefore being inducted, not induced. It was a relief to realize my cousin was not about to become the first male ever to give birth.

I'll say one thing for Wayne - he has his own unique way of re-writing the English language. He phoned again sometime in the week, going:
'ooh, awch, yuck. Guess what I just did? I just stemped on a dead bee'.
'Pray tell me, dear cousin, exactly what does 'stemped' mean?'
'What do you mean? What do you think it means? I stood on the nasty little f*cker'.
'Ah, so that means you either stepped or stamped on it, and being unable to decide which, you've invented your own word'.
'I thought stemped was a word'.
'It's not in any dictionary I've read'.

Note to self: purchase a dictionary and gift wrap it ready for Wayne's next birthday.