Kayt Turner: 'I see no need to get rid of one loathsome pest by bringing in another'

THERE'S a moose loose aboot this hoose. For a week or so I thought I'd been catching sight of something whizzing by out of the corner of my eye and was getting rather skittish – so much so I actually jumped at my own shadow at one point. Mr Turner told me not to be so silly and that if I was starting to see things then maybe I should cut down on the gin.

Then the little blighter made an appearance at dinner. Fork halfway to my mouth, I thought I saw a movement over the other side of the kitchen and nearly jabbed myself in the cheek.

Mr Turner's exasperation – "for goodness sake, woman, will you just calm down" – soon evaporated when our little friend scuttled across the kitchen floor in plain view.

Now, before you get the wrong impression, I'm not one of those women (or men) who stand on the chair, hitching up my skirt, screaming.

I'm certainly not modelled on the Tom & Jerry maid. Neither, unlike a friend of mine, am I completely phobic about mice (she moved out of her flat for two weeks until she could be convinced that a rodent was gone).

We live in an old building and I accept that we are occasionally going to see one and, given that there was a bit of building work going on upstairs, it was almost inevitable that we would soon hear the patter of tiny feet.

Neither do I buy into the lone mouse theory. They breed like billy-oh and the idea of Jeemie living a solitary existence on the crumbs from our table doesn't really hold water. So I have no problem at all with traps and even poison. I won't, however, go as far as getting a cat. I see no need to get rid of one loathsome pest by bringing in another.

Since our early days in the flat, we have tried to moose-proof as best we can. Mouse mouldings were put down all around the skirting boards. Cayenne pepper was sprinkled at obvious gaps or mouseholes, and everything stored in the kitchen press is in air (and rodent) tight Tupperware. We learned the hard way that a mouse can get through any gap you can fit a pencil into. We had stored our boxes of cereal and bags of flour in the kitchen cupboard. Then we went away for a long weekend and came back to find what can only be described as mouse Ibiza.

Well, the little critters weren't getting anywhere near my Frosties again, thank you very much. But, just as I was putting the poison out into little trays, he made another appearance. This time, however, he certainly wasn't as swift. To be honest, he looked as if he should have a miniature Zimmer frame.

It took us both a little bit by surprise – but eventually he disappeared behind the washing machine.

There was an air of concern in the kitchen. Mr Turner reckoned that it had looked a little mangy. Possibly it wasn't too well. Frankly, I thought that was all for the better. It surely meant it could be dispatched that much easier.

We returned our attention to our meal, but, strangely, our appetites had gone. I went to clear the table and he made yet another appearance.

He moved very slowly across the kitchen floor. "I could just whack it and kill it now," said Mr Turner. I looked at the wee, slow, feeble thing shuffle its way onward. "No," I said. "Let's just leave the kitchen so we don't scare him."