As winter days slowly wind down (or at least that's what I tell myself to stay sane), we inch closer to spring. Not that spring means much here—just slightly less gloomy skies and the occasional sun that’s so rare it should be taxed. But hey, the calendar says we’re moving forward, so who am I to argue?
We recently had a cozy catch-up with our ‘Marath-moley’ friends. Naturally, the conversation drifted to Britain’s unofficial national obsession—gardens. You’d think we spend endless summer days basking in floral glory, but nope! We get precisely 31 sunny days a year if the weather gods are feeling generous. Yet, we chat about gardens like we own the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.
One friend ranted about how garden mice had devoured her tulip bulbs. I, being the zoologist I never was, confidently declared, “Oh, it must’ve been a fox!”—because why blame small mice when you can blame a fox with attitude?
This reminded me of the day we saw a fox casually hop over our neighbour’s tall fence like an Olympic gymnast, munch on our flower bulbs and then—the audacity—stand on our shed roof, striking a pose like Simba surveying his kingdom. My mom shook her head and said, “No one fears the landowners in this country.”
Clearly, not even the wildlife.
We then shared our own intense encounters with garden mice. A few years ago, a tiny mouse decided our kitchen was the new hotspot. It had beady little eyes, adorable ears, and such delicate features that we almost welcomed it like a fifth family member. That is, until it nibbled through our precious, specially-imported Tilda Basmati rice.
Now, you’d expect us to go into full pest-control mode, right? Nope. We’re a family of softies. Kiran and the kids decided to generously place the entire bag of expensive rice outside in the garden, buffet for Mr Mouse. But did this gesture keep the mouse outside? Of course not. The ungrateful rodent waltzed right back in, this time upgrading its palate to Kiran’s beloved liqueur chocolates.
Well, that was the final straw. Rice was one thing, but touching Kiran’s sacred stash of boozy chocolates? Unforgivable. We immediately ordered a humane mouse trap. What did we use as bait? Cheese? Nope. Rice? Nah. We went straight for the high-stakes lure—liqueur chocolates.
We set the trap, and voilà! A mouse was caught faster than you can say “cheese.” Gargi, being the humanitarian she is, decided to release the mouse far, far away from home. But plot twist—the mouse just sat there, looking dazed and confused. Gargi had to literally shoo it away like a drunk uncle at a wedding. That’s when it hit us: the mouse wasn’t traumatised—it was tipsy! Turns out, it had a bit too much of the liqueur filling.
Eventually, the chocolates disappeared (guess who helped with that?), the rice vanished, but the mice kept coming back like they were part of some loyalty program. Frustrated, I called pest control. The guy sealed every possible mouse-entry point with the precision of a NASA engineer.
Peace at last. No mice. No drama. Just us and our priceless, miceless days.
Until this morning… when I spotted a fox playing hopscotch in the garden.
Sigh.
I know, I know—the Earth belongs to all living beings. But dear living beings, could you kindly leave my garden and its flowers alone?
Ciao… (for now).
9/2/2025
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