Mouse House

It appears that our attempts to extend some generosity to the wildlife in our back garden has somewhat backfired. We've picked up some new tenants of the mouse-like variety, although since we have yet to see a rent cheque from them I guess that they better classified as squatters.

When we used to yearn for the pitter-patter of little feet, I don't think we imagined them coming from inside the walls. We've got no one to blame but ourselves, though. A few weeks ago we bought some birdseed and a feeder to hang in the yard, hoping to attract some of the little songbirds that live in our area. We are especially big fans of the fat and sassy little European robins. So much attitude for such a little bird. Alas, the only wildlife our birdseed attracted was Mr. and (presumably) Mrs. Mouse, who found the Costco-sized bag of seed hidden in our pantry. A couple of days ago we cleaned up the seed, removed the easy pickings and hoped that the ever warming weather (8C today) would coax the mice back outside. But we must have Livingstone and Stanley of mice, as they've since been exploring the rest of our home, running through the walls hoping we were stupid enough to leave another 10 kilo bag of mouse food just lying around unguarded. I'll give them another few days to figure out that the gravy train has pulled out of the station before resorting to more primitive and slightly less neighbourly ways of telling them they are no longer welcome.

On a positive wildlife note, some magpies are building a nest in the large tree outside our house. Interesting to see the missus in the half-formed nest squawking at her man as he attempts to put his assortment of little sticks in just the right place. I don't think he ever gets it right on the first try. It's nice to have a sign of home so close by ... magpies will always remind me of dear old Edmonton. Such a good, working-class bird. I'm also hoping that magpies guarding some young 'uns in a nest will keep the seagulls away from our house over the summer, allowing us to let the cool night breezes in the window without the awful accompaniment of squawks.

Finished my jigsaw over the weekend. Not before it managed to take another year or so off of my life, however. Imagine this, laying out 1499 of 1500 pieces all in the correct place, training your eye to distinguish between 50 kinds of blue, and as it comes time to put that last piece on the edge of the peaceful, glacial Moraine Lake, finding it doesn't fit. My brain just blanked. I can comprehend the second piece not fitting, or any of the 1400+ other pieces not fitting, but how can you end up with a perfectly made puzzle and have the last piece not fit? I came within seconds of just tearing the whole thing up (and not to start again, although thanks to all of you who do me the credit of thinking that was what I was going to do). But I reminded myself that this puzzle had the annoying added bonus of being one of those jigsaws that would sometimes trick you into thinking that tab C fit into slot B, when everyone knows tab A fits into slot B. So, in a true testament to my methodical character (or stubborn-ness) I spent another half hour scanning the entire puzzle for that one piece that was placed incorrectly. I eventually found it and finished the puzzle and my blood pressure has returned to its (still slightly elevated) normal rate.