The mouse saga is an ongoing aspect of life since it is actually a domestic war — what with gnawed pipes and all that. We have a sonic mouse-deterrent which may or may not be inhibiting them from coming in (this is what it is aimed at). But those already in, Miss Cat is dealing with with admirable firmness. When I was in London the week before Christmas, she brought the Professor four, and I found another on the duvet as a lovely present when I got back. The night before last, the small hours were enlivened by a sudden outbreak of scutter-scutter-scutter-CRASH suggestive of an encounter on the rather slippery wood-effect flooring in the bathroom which had been, shall I say, not crowned with victory. It has to be remembered that the household is passably hygienic. We have ceased to keep stuff bound for the compost heap in the cupboard under the sink, and there’s actually now very little for mice to eat, apart from exercising their teeth on PVA pipe. On the other hand, there is a saucer of cat food in the bedroom for the foolhardy. Last night, Miss Cat took an hour’s nap, and then vanished on what was evidently a stake-out. Hours later, a sharp. high, triumphant cry announced victory. This was followed by a variety of juicy, crunching noises. Ah, nature red in tooth and claw.