Squeak?

Oh bugger. I can hear little squeaky noises. I have seen two mice in here (one tiny, a mere mouselet no bigger than my thumb) and another, possibly the mummy mouse. There has been poison down for a while, behind the kitchen unit kick boards from the time I saw a now very deceased and rather big mouse. But yesterday Mr Patel came round (we got him through our bank account perks – we get two free visits) and he put down some sticky bits of card, which the mice are meant to stick to. And die. "They suffocate," he said, not a jot of emotion on his large face. Well, I don't suppose you could do his job and be all sentimental about the creatures.

But I feel terrible. There I am, all "Aaah" over anything from rabbits to giraffes, and yet I get someone in to murder these tiny little mice. I've heard squeaking all day. I keep opening the window in the hope that a small bird is perched there tweeting away happily but the opening of the window and the squeaks don't coincide. It could be a baby bird. But it could also be a mouse. Dying. I'm too scared to move the kick boards and look.

Well, this afternoon, my sleep guru told me to double my dose of tablets. He was surprised that I am still grinding my teeth (I'd emailed him to see what he reckoned). When I expressed my worry at the "you will be addicted tone" of the leaflet in the tablet packet and the stuff I've read on the internet, he told me I must not worry and that he would get me off the tablets. He has a reassuringly reassuring air and said "Take care" as he ended the conversation. It's liberating to be taken seriously, finally. People who have never suffered any sleeping problems can't possibly understand how debilitating the effects are, unless they have a fertile imagination, or have been cripplingly drunk and had to go to work the next morning to cut million-pound deals day after day after day...