Our attic is over run with mice. I can hear their little claws scrabbling across the floor boards at night. I am terrified of mice, in spite of what my husband says. Yes, I know they are only “tiny harmless creatures, more afraid of you….” but still I would rather they weren’t setting up winter residence in our attic. Husband is dispatched to the local hardware store, which has become our most regular haunt of late – they really do sell everything – and comes back with some mouse traps. I may not like mice but I don’t like the idea of poisoning them, not that I am quite sure how catching them in a trap is more humane? Still they have to go. Husband heads off up into the attic with two mousetraps fitted with the obligatory tempting morsel of cheese, taking to his new role as rodent exterminator with more enthusiasm than he had shown earlier when I first said the mice must go. Now he pulls down the attic stairs and heads off each morning to see how many of his prey he has managed to trap. In the begining all went well – mouse sees cheese, mouse goes for cheese, mouse in trap. His first mouse was large – I take his word for it – I cowered in the kitchen while this took place. After that each mouse caught got progressively smaller, until the last one was nothing but a baby – a veritable mouse family. I sighed with relief for a few days, no more scrabbling sounds at night. But, it was short lived – the scratching has started again and this time they are not fooled by the cheese – they are wise to it now. Husband has heard that mars bars work a treat in the traps. I’m not so sure that will end well. I can see it now..”one for you.. one for me…” That’s all the excuse my sweet-toothed husband, who really ought to be on a diet needs.