Mouse Encounters.

There’s an embankment behind my house, held back by a dry stone wall. And being a dry stone wall, there are gaps between the stones. They’re much favoured by bees which build hives in the earth behind, and it’s a regular sight in the summer to see the workers going in and out.

I saw a bee approach one of these gaps last night while I was washing the dishes in the kitchen. I saw it get close and then pull back and hover. A mouse appeared in the hole and leapt down to the ground beneath, at which point the bee continued its entrance. I wondered whether it was an example of creature protocol, or whether bees are naturally polite.

And I’ve got used to seeing another, smaller, mouse emerge from the undergrowth beneath my living room window as twilight is approaching. It runs around the path gleefully (assuming the concept of glee is present in the brain of a mouse) before heading off to forage for bits of food beneath the bird table. Last night it took up a position on a kerb close to my leg and watched me replenishing the food. And then it did a bit more gleeful running about before scouring the ground for bits of seed and rolled oats.

I’ve become quite fond of these two mice, but one I wasn’t so fond of was the one that took up residence in my house a month or so ago. Its particular claim to infamy was the stealing of some medications in tablet form which I kept on my bedside table, and it further settled its fate when it started leaving a stock of food under my pillow – first crushed tablets, and then bird seed which it must have brought in from the outside. I caught it in a humane trap eventually and turned it out by some trees down the lane. And then I felt horribly mean and guilty because that’s what I’m like.