The mice are eating the food on the traps but not getting caught.
Strutting about the place, giving me the finger before scurrying off behind the back of the sink.
Wee bastards, outsmarting me.
So now I’m just laying on peanut butter and chocolate and cheese and other goodies for you to enjoy, is that it? Fill yer boots. Tuck in you’re at your auntie’s.
Aye, right. Wee shower of bastards.
The smorgasbord stops here, fellas. No more feasting at my gaff, no more free-for-all in my kitchen.
But the wee fannies got greedy. Kept coming back for more, returning to the scene of the crime after they’d cleaned it out and eventually the trap snapped.
You hear the crack from the other room and go through to see this wee grey body contorted into some strange hideous crucifixion death shape.
Sorry for the bloodlust and that, but one two three in a weekend.
Nae luck, humane removal.