Had my first night of proper work the other night. Brought my laptop to listen to a few tunes since that building is old and huge and strange. We used to live there for, like, six years and it freaked me out then too. So the music made it feel less empty.
Slogged my arse off, including cleaning the outside of the back door which hadn’t been opened since last winter. Also cleaned the bathroom window and various other windows. I like when glass is clean. I don’t know.
Anyway, there I was, last task of the night, hoovering away in the back office and I looked under the desk. Thought I saw something like paper or something. Didn’t want to hoover it up in case it was important. I bent down to pick it up and investigate. In the dark shadow under the desk, it looked like a clump of dust but felt too substantial in my hand. That’s when I saw its little face. Dead mouse.
Horrified, I threw him out of my hand and, not knowing what to do, hoovered up his little cadaver and ran upstairs to the bathroom to wash my hands, barely thinking to turn off the hoover in my rush. Scrubbed the hands off myself and got the Boy Wonder to ring me to calm my nerves. I couldn’t go back in the office for a good fifteen minutes, terrified that the little mouse mutated in the hoover and had grown huge and had burst out was going to exact his revenge on me for my less than respectful treatment of his little body.
Which he didn’t in the end. But I had the shakes for the rest of the night. And I feel awful for hoovering him up. And I feel awful for him being dead.