Urrrggggggghhhhhhhhhh

So – came downstairs this morning and sat at the dining room table, faffing on the laptop.

Kind of noticed that Mojo wasn't being her usual attentive self, desperately trying to climb onto the keyboard as she normally does – well, not being attentive in my direction anyway. For some reason her little green eyes were focused on the corner of the room, which I took to be her watching the fence in case the rogue cat was coming for a visit.

And then the scratching started….

A little soft noise from the corner of the room. Starting, then stopping. Was it real? Was I imagining it? Took me ages to pull back the curtain as I thought some horrid bloody rat-nasty might be there… but no, nothing in sight. Then thought it must be some animal in the wall cavity as there was nothing to see – but it sounded a bit closer than that.

Hawksey in the meantime was hiding on the sofa with his feet up – the masterful big rugby laying hunter-gatherer leaving his poor fiancee to work out the source of the noise and Mojo's corner fascination.

And that's when I saw the tiny feet. Or rather the silhouette. INSIDE the bloody curtains – the mystery scratching was something up inside the curtains, right at the top. All I could see was a pair of squiddly feet and scrawny limbs desperately trying to cling on. With an anticipatory Mojo by this time at the foot of the curtains, looking hopeful.

And then the sliding began. Like little claws on a blackboard, down the inside of the lining, faster and faster as whatever the hell it was lost its knackered grip and slid inexorably towards the jaws of Mojo.

And out popped – a whopping great mouse, Squeaking its terrified head off. Charmingly crapping for Britain as it finally hit the deck and legged it for the safety of the radiator.

Cue me standing on the table with the camera and Hawksey retreating even further, the big girls blouse.

And Mojo losing interest, wandering off, so the mouse pegged it into the understairs cupboard. Where all the wedding champagne is, so if you get a bottle with some gnawing marks on it, you'll know which cat (and fiance) to blame! G-ross.