Take my word, mice are cunts. I wage a constant war against them in my greenhouse, where they chew on anything and everything.
Recently hostilities escalated to new heights. I opened the back door a fraction and in squirmed Fatfuck our lardarse moggy, with a twisted, crazed leer on his face. I knew he had something, and chased him into the hall, pointlessly yelling ‘oi you arsehole!’. This prompted him to drop his prey, which shot off into the living room and disappeared. Yes, cats are cunts too.
So in came the traps, and a 48 hour war of nerves began. At about 1 am, I was awoken by the satisfying ‘thwaaack!’ of a trap. I leapt out of bed, only to find to my disgust that Mighty Mouse had sprung the trap and fucked off with the bait.
Next day again saw Mrs K scuttling nervously about going ‘where is it? Go and see if it’s in the bathroom’ etc ad nauseam. Needless to say I ended up losing the rag, shouting ‘look! it’s two shitting inches long and it motors about like Usain Bolt on roller skates. How the fuck am I supposed to know where it is?’. ‘Tsk’ came the reply, ‘the older you get, the worse your language becomes’.
Mercifully, next morning saw the coup de grace. The little bastard was spreadeagled, Madam la Guillotine having done her grim work. With immense satisfaction I hurled the mortal remains into the bog, and proceeded to wave them off to the coast with a friend.
And what of the fat twat responsible for causing the trouble in the first place? Well with a monumental show of indifference, it promptly retired to its spot on the sill above the radiator, where it spent most of the hours in question either snoring, scratching or sniffing its arse. Cat or mouse; I don’t know who’s the bigger cunt of the two. Bastards both.
Nominated by Ron Knee
