My partner had flown from New York with me to meet my parents. Sadly, I didn’t count on being caught up in my dad’s war with a rodent
“Be careful,” I warned E as she stood on the doorstep, suitcases next to her. “You’re walking into a trap.”
I meant it literally. There was a mouse in the house and my dad had been trying to catch it for days. Standard traps having proved useless, he had spent hours on YouTube researching homemade devices and had fashioned an elaborate rollercoaster of doom from a plastic bottle, a bucket and a piece of wood. The kitchen looked like a scene from a Wallace and Gromit film.
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