Mood:
loudNow Playing: Poker? Or Chess? Which is the best allusion?
Topic: Daily Doings
I DID SET EYES ON MY LANDLORD at about 8:12am, 12 mins following the close of my "clear up or else" deadline. I was on my way to the corner shop for more alcohol supplies and I pretended not to see him. I got up extra early to put finishing touches to my suddenly amazingly sparse-looking room. I drank lots of cyder in doing so. By the time 8am dragged itself round I was roaring drunk and ready for a confrontation. None happened. Which is probably just as well, I s'pose. I was in such a mood with him I honestly didn't care about consequences. Sometimes, in moments of despair, I believe I just was not cut out to live in a civilized house with locking doors, windows and an intact roof like the rest of 21st century man. I'm only fit to live in freezing squalour on the streets, I tell myself. But that is probably depression talking, so best ignore it, eh?
I was so tired at about midday that I fell asleep with Mousey running all over me at play. Of course I woke up about ten minutes later, checked my clothes and — gaah! — the swine has gone! Couldn't see him anywhere at first. Got his tank and tipped it sideways, hoping its nesty aroma would tempt him back in. But five minutes later there I saw him, pinging supersonically like a hyperactive vole. Man, this creature is seriously fast. Even when I'm knelt right next to him that's no guarantee of catching the little beggar. If you've ever kept a pet mouse, you'll know how dopey the petshop version is compared to his cousins in the wild. Fear and lightning reactions become tamed out of him. Well my Chinese Mousey is just as lightning fast as a wild housey mousey, if not faster. And certainly quieter. (Whoever came up with that expression as quiet as a mouse was either deaf or hadn't lived in a house teaming with them in the age of the modern carrier bag because house mice can be exceedingly noisy when the lights are off at night.) After one badly failed attempt I did snatch up the wayward rodent, whose ears went instantly down — all repentantly. I shoved him up my sleeve where he instantly calmed down and started washing himself and settled down to bed. He seems to think of it as home up there and relaxes. I blame the escape on my evil landlord. If he hadn't implied he'd be paying that visit at 8am, my sleep pattern wouldn't have been quite so desecrated to begin with.
Well that's about that about landlords and mice. Keep reading. There's some cringeworthy poetry below. And I'm not necessarily just referring to the William McGonnagal links...
