Robert Burns, the Scottish poet, didn't get it right at all, a friend objects. The mouse he comes across is not to be described as a "Wee sleekit, cow'rin, tomorous beastie,/O what a panic's in thy breastie". The mouse, house mouse or field mouse - and in this case it's the house version - is as bold as brass, hardly bothers to run for cover as you come across it examining your food, and is mostly quite contemptuous of efforts to lure it to its doom, complains a friend. Even with traps baited with chocolate (melted to make it stick) or cheese, the traditional lure. And when it comes to cheese, the delicate Emmenthal or ordinary cheese from the cardboard packet will not do. You need to go upmarket, he swears, with a highly odorus Brie or Gorgonzola. Trouble with the latter is that it may crumble. You not only have to set the trap delicately so that it goes off from a slight tug or tread but it must be in or very near to their usual run. Now what is called in the books the house mouse (mus musculus), inhabits not just houses but shops (obviously), factories, warehouses, cold stores, piggeries, refuse tips and hedgerows. You may think, as our friend did at first, that you have only three or four mice under your roof, but Collins's `Field Guide to Mammals' warns that they breed throughout the year and may produce five to 10 litters of four to eight young. You would wonder how they get in, for there is a ravenous, scavenging dog which relishes even bluebottles in season.
They bring a distinct smell with them. In one part of the house you didn't have to sniff long before you were aware of the presence of mice. Old pictures and maps that were leaning against the wall were moved and inspected. Then our friend glanced into a tall vase that stood in the corner. Dammit, there was a dead mouse at the bottom. Without thinking of putting on a glove first, he reached down into the vase and lifted the creature out. It moved. It was warm. It was very much alive.
Standing there with a wriggling mouse in his hand, how could he bear to kill it. Lovely, small and even appealing. He went outside, made a rough hole in a large pile of dry oak leaves under the trees and popped the by now sprightly animal in. It's probably back in the house and at his cupboards again. Y