Fun. Just went outside. It was dark. There was a mouse stuck in one of my cheap, 99p Store sticky traps. Young. About 2 months old. I unstuck it. It wiggled. I looked at it. It panicked. I got stuck to the trap. Stuck to the mouse. My hands got stuck together. I panicked. I couldn't get any of the glue from around its eye. Its legs were stuck together. Mum said "Eurg. *insert pained noise here* Kill it."
I said "Kill it?" She grunted. I said "I need a brick." She gestured vaguely with the dimly lit torch. I found a brick. Hands got stuck to brick. Hands got stuck to trousers. I unstuck, the laid the mouse onto the floor.
"If it runs, let it." Mum said. "Yeah?" I said. "Yeah, if it runs, you let it go. If not, kill it."
"Alright." We watched it struggle for a second, then fall. Good eye up, so it was looking at me.
"Nope. No, kill it." I looked up. "It's just gonna get stuck to the first thing it runs into. Kill it."
I wimpered. "It looks so sad. It's like it knows. Look! It does."
"No it doesn't. It's just scared." Yeah. That made me feel better.
I mushed it with the brick. I picked the brink up. Me and Mum grunted at the icky sight before us. I smushed the brick back down and ground the head. "I don't care if it's already dead, I'm not taking any chances."
I picked up the body. We looked at it. "You know what? I don't like sticky traps."
"No." Mum shook her head.
"They aren't even catching the rats. Mice aren't a problem, the rats are. Mice don't kill our chickens."
I don't like sticky traps. Not. At. All.
Thursday, 20 October 2011
Monday, 17 October 2011
17th October 2011
My sisters birthday tomorrow, she'll be fifteen. Lets see if our beloved 'father' sends her a card saying 'Happy Sixteenth' this year. He sent her a 'Happry Fifteenth' card last year. With the plastic still on. He still expects us to love him, but he doesn't recognise me when I walk past him in the street. Yay. We get £2.50 a week child support. Wow. We can buy a itty bitty happy meal from McDonalds for one of us, and then starve for the rest of the week. Amazing how the CSA helps people. Not.
Anyway, moving on.
I'll fill you in on the stuff that's happened since July.
Our elderly friend Jeans sister had a little Shih Tzu called - surprise surprise - Gizmo. Anyway, Jeans' sister apparently kept him in a crate for the majority of his life, and let her children kick the shit out of it and him. The crate - which we now own - can attest to that, and Gizs' emotional scars also prove that correct. He flinches whenever you look at him, rarely looks at your face, doesn't understand a smile or a frown, absolutely terrified of you if he's in his crate. He used to pee everywhere as well, but he's slowly stopping that. He's stopped attacking us over the food, and now he's learning that we won't just randomly start beating the hell out of him, he's even started to roll over and let us stroke his belly as well.
He was horrified to let us do that before, the amount of matts in his fur, his bollocks was attatched to his arsehole and his ears were so matted that he couldn't clean himself. After I dematted him he spent the next week cleaning himself, poor little sod. He's getting better. We aren't planning to keep him, but I very much doubt we'll find him a home. Mum seems to think she's amazing and can do everything, find him a home, breed the dobies and not have any puppy shit, leave the cat with a uninary blockage and then magically cure him - she didn't. He died on the sofa and my sister chucked him in the bin, then mum came down and was like "Oh, oh now, oh my god, well, why did he die? He was fine earlier" then she blamed us. I know we had no money and couldn't afford the vet, but she has to constantly act as if it's a surprise and keep going on and on about it until she makes one of us upset. Christ. It's like if you fall down and hurt yourself, you're fine, you can ignore it, but you have one person constantly fussing and asking if you're okay and you burst into tears, thus branding yourself a pussy forever.
Anywho... Gonna have boiled gammon for my sisters birthday dinner, but we're having it tonight rather than tommorow because we have Cadets tomorrow and that goes on from 7PM to 9.30PM.
I'll update later. See if our arsehole father turns up.
Anyway, moving on.
I'll fill you in on the stuff that's happened since July.
Our elderly friend Jeans sister had a little Shih Tzu called - surprise surprise - Gizmo. Anyway, Jeans' sister apparently kept him in a crate for the majority of his life, and let her children kick the shit out of it and him. The crate - which we now own - can attest to that, and Gizs' emotional scars also prove that correct. He flinches whenever you look at him, rarely looks at your face, doesn't understand a smile or a frown, absolutely terrified of you if he's in his crate. He used to pee everywhere as well, but he's slowly stopping that. He's stopped attacking us over the food, and now he's learning that we won't just randomly start beating the hell out of him, he's even started to roll over and let us stroke his belly as well.
He was horrified to let us do that before, the amount of matts in his fur, his bollocks was attatched to his arsehole and his ears were so matted that he couldn't clean himself. After I dematted him he spent the next week cleaning himself, poor little sod. He's getting better. We aren't planning to keep him, but I very much doubt we'll find him a home. Mum seems to think she's amazing and can do everything, find him a home, breed the dobies and not have any puppy shit, leave the cat with a uninary blockage and then magically cure him - she didn't. He died on the sofa and my sister chucked him in the bin, then mum came down and was like "Oh, oh now, oh my god, well, why did he die? He was fine earlier" then she blamed us. I know we had no money and couldn't afford the vet, but she has to constantly act as if it's a surprise and keep going on and on about it until she makes one of us upset. Christ. It's like if you fall down and hurt yourself, you're fine, you can ignore it, but you have one person constantly fussing and asking if you're okay and you burst into tears, thus branding yourself a pussy forever.
Anywho... Gonna have boiled gammon for my sisters birthday dinner, but we're having it tonight rather than tommorow because we have Cadets tomorrow and that goes on from 7PM to 9.30PM.
I'll update later. See if our arsehole father turns up.
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