Friday 21 November 2008

The mouse who came in from the cold

We had a visit from a small mouse last night. I woke up several times, listening to him poke about in the house, wondering what he was doing, thinking of the piece of baklava I had bought from that lovely lovely Egyptian man who runs the falafel shop on Clark street. This morning I discovered my bag had been unlocked, opened, and there was an explosion of half-eaten baklava (that still looked deeply yummy) all over the bottom of it.

There were small mouse claw marks on my brown leather wallet. He had clearly used it as a perch from which to enjoy his baklava. It was a cold night last night. We had had some hot whiskeys, and I there was a little left in the bottom of one of the glasses on the counter, about half of that left this morning.

That mouse had a good time.


  1. Reminds me in an oblique fashion of my father's assessment of the preferences of Santa Claus. I recall pouring a glass of milk for the jolly old elf to enjoy with his plate of cookies, only to cave in to my father's suggestion that Santa might prefer hot buttered rum. Sure enough, come Christmas morning, every drop of the rum had been drunk.

  2. mmmmm, hot buttered rum. i would like some of that too!

  3. Though I rather liked my THX1138 identity, there are those who find it difficult to pronounce, so I am reverting to the safe and familiar.

  4. i'm still on hot buttered rum. makes me think of hot butts, hot buttered hot cross buns, and the gigantic wallop of cream cheese plastered all over my pumpernickel toasted bagel from the corner place this morning. I have lived four months in this house without ever going in there, until this morning.

    I am also reminded of rum hot chocolate, and my friend Clare, and her raving about it and making me a cup, one morning, on the cusp of a new year, in her in-laws' home in the English countryside. Hot buttered rum.

    Hot buttered rum!

  5. Jesus, watch Proper Capitalisation fight its way through over the course of that comment...