A Mouse in the House

Wednesday 21st April 2010, 9.30om, Dormitory Room - Bounty Island

I'm not sleeping in the bed I'm supposed to be sleeping in. That is because my designated bed is a bottom bunk, and that is far too near the mouse for my liking. About an hour ago I came in to our dorm room on Bounty Island to find Ella perched on her top bunk, peering over the edge into the corner of the room.
"Ells, what are you..."
"Ssshh, listen!"
I listened, and I heard it too. The unmistakable sound of scuffling and chewing that only a small rodent can make. I promptly leapt up on to her bed with her and we both sat there in anticipation and quiet anxiety, staring at the bag from which the noise was emanating. I have some previous experience of rodent room occupation having spent a night on Gili Air sleeping in the hammock on the veranda after hearing a family of rats steadily munch their way through the wicker ceiling above my pillow. It was a choice between bad back and 10,000 mosquito bites versus being woken up by rat falling on face, and I took the back ache and the itching like a trooper. The bungalow's resident cat had also joined me for sleep in the hammock, her disinterest in staying inside to hunt was an indication of the size of these killer rats.

I quite like mice though, they're cute little things, but I do not fancy the prospect of one crawling over me in the middle of the night when I'm not expecting it. We sat for some time together on her bed, watching out for any noticeable movement from the hijacked bag and wondering what we were going to do about it. Thankfully, just as our planning stage had reached 'stay here all night and sleep in the same bed without risking the run to the bathroom to brush our teeth', the gallant owner of the occupied backpack, Ruben, came back to the dorm. "Oh thank god!" we cried in unison, and without so much as a hesitated shudder Ruben pulled his bag into the centre of the room, unzipped it, and began to pull things out whilst Ella and I clung to each other and retreated further down the bed.

It didn't take long to find the pesky critter. He'd eaten through half a pack of Super Noodles and a bag of crisps, and had made quite the cosy little nest for himself with Ruben's t-shirts and the lining of the bag, he'd also obviously been very busy marking the backpack as his territory by urinating over everything. He looked quite sweet sitting there gazing up at us with a guilty 'uh-oh, you caught me' face, and I felt silly for having been frightened by such an amiable little animal. Ruben, as you'd expect, was less enthused by the mouse's "cuteness". On his discovery and exposure of culpability, the mouse (who we shall call Brian), deserted ship and darted into a dark corner of the room. Ruben is sorting out which of his clothes haven't become mouse bed linen, Ella and I are currently sat on two top bunk beds trying to work out if Brian is still with us. We suspect he is.

All will go quiet for a little while and then you'll see him poke his tiny head out from behind a bag or a bed, checking if the coast is clear for him to return home to Ruben's bag/nest. We have moved all of our bags off of ground level and are trying to be brave; we've agreed to take the 'at least it's not a giant cockroach' approach to the matter. Despite the initial fright, Brian is alright in my books, and I don't mind him sticking around as long as he stays on the floor. Hey, I've shared bedrooms with much more contemptible creatures than him.