When one gets caught up in the romanticism of having something they really desire, then the price of the object seems to become unimportant. Whether it by buying Kylies panties, re-engineering the Spice girls to be conjoined sextuplets, thus making posh and scary share the same poop hole, or my latest purchase which is a real fire place. When I say fire place, its more of a hole in the wall, for which I paid 41.6 pence per square inch of nothingness (its 20x20x12). Quite expensive for air.
Anyway, this waste of money dawned on me, and as I drowned my sorrows in another bottle of wine I thought that maybe I could rent out the hole in the wall as a mice house. But then I would burn down their house every few days when I used the fire, so I crossed this one off the list. It could be a summer home for mice though, but then I couldn’t work how they would pay me, in cheese perhaps, I’m not sure what currency mice deal in these days.
I hate cats as well so I thought developing the mice relationship would be a good one. I could catch cats for the mice in summer, skin them and hang them to dry, and burn them on the fire in winter. I would get free cat fuel in the winter and free cheese from the mice in the summer, perfect. There was only one snag, could I really butcher a helpless population for no reason apart from my own self gain? Bush seems to have got away with it so I set my conscience aside and got on with business.
I drew up the cat killing / rental / cheese favour agreement and sat down to business at the mouse negotiating table. I didn’t get what I wanted, only half the cheese I desired. They had me over a barrel really, the chief mouse pulled out a brown envelope, and inside was a picture of me in my Kylie panties. Crafty little rodents.