Big ears, small face, he'd hop in to watch me work the computer at all hours of the night. Cute and curious he would next hip-hop into the newly painted kitchen area, pristine white and sanitised to within an inch of its life by my sibling sister.
Unfortunately the hapless little marsupial left a trail of mouse droppings (blink and you would miss them) in his favourite cupboards and though I chose to ignore the matter - 'the best-laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley'. Totally accepting of Old Fred the frog who caught moths amongst our verandah greenery, Sister drew the line on Mousey droppings in cupboards so scrupulously decontaminated. No. The mouse must go. Up to the local hardware store and, under the guise of purchasing orchid fertiliser I nonchalantly mentioned the subject of rat poison.
"Humane or not humane?" The guy was known as a real softie and we left with a little device called a TRAP-EASE. You should know about it. Upon entry the little marsupial is locked in for the night until his release next day. We scattered low-fat cheese in the back compartment but Mousey wasn't into cheddar. Back to that nice young man. "Try pumpkin seeds, he may be a field mouse."
Bingo on the second night, but where to release him? The Mitre 10 next to the sports oval fronting the industrial complex seemed the go. About a mile away. The store had a marvellous (and easily accessible) garden and seed centre out back where The Mouse would be perfectly happy.
Mousey is free and holidaying far from the house.