|image:Danilo Rizutti: freedigitalphotos.net|
Oh dear! Mr GP disappears to cycle ev'ry mountain for a week and what do I discover? We have mice. Not in the house...so far, (I suspect GP dog and cat would soon give them a run for their money), but in the garage, attracted by sacks of pet food. When Ms GP phoned last night she uttered a shriek of horror at learning that I've set some traps. I feel eternally guilty as well, especially given my Franciscan credentials: "What would Francis Do?" asked daughter. She's promised to pass her ultrasonic mice deterrent devices on to us when next we meet. I guess he would probably have gone for more humane methods of pest control: delivered a suitably meece-flavoured sermonette or even a merry ditty on his fiddle (the medieval equivalent of an ultrasonic deterrent device?). I'm dreading the moment of truth, when I have to go out and check the wretched traps. Ah well.