...we have mice in the kitchen. And apparently, I'm scared of mice, which was something of a surprise to me: I really didn't think I was. Although in fairness it may be less 'scared of mice' and more that instincts honed by Silent Hill tell me to either flee the as-yet-unidentified scrabbling, scratching, squeaking noises or HIT THE MONSTER WITH LEAD PIPING DAMMIT except I haven't got any lead piping so... oh, yeah, there's a mouse there, but so what?

Oh, god. How am I going to eat tonight if it takes all my courage to go in the kitchen and make a cup of tea? I had a horrible suspicion of this as this week I've been hearing concerning-but-it-could-easily-have-been-water-pipes-and-imagination noises, and I've been at a low level of concern anyway ever since I noticed mice strolling in a proprietorial manner across our patio a little while back. Which was one reason to welcome the fox, of course, because I'm not allowed a cat. Bah. But when I went downstairs just now the noises had escalated considerably and I actually saw one of the things. Actually, I held a conversation with them - or at least, I told them to go away or die, although doing the latter outside would be appreciated, and there was a chorus of squeaks every time I stopped talking. Which seemed odd at the time and even odder now I come to write it down. Perhaps they are the mice of NIMH (anyone remember that?) and we will be doing the world a profound disservice by speeding their removal from it.

...think I might go and get a curry, as waistcoatmark suggests: I can't even get something to throw into the microwave and just make a couple of desperate ninja raids on the kitchen, armoured to the teeth (or something), because they appear to be behind or possibly even in the microwave and I'm too much of a wuss to investigate properly. (And don't want to risk the appetising odour of baked mouse permeating the kitchen for the hereafter...)