(*apologies to a well-known chocolate manufacturer)
...helps you work, rest and play. Depending on who or what you are, of course.
Millie puts in the Work: she has reverted to being the Mad Mouser, bringing live prey indoors on a regular basis. Last week, however, I binned what I thought was a very dead mouse, found at the back door, stiff, cold, wet, legs in the air, mouth open; yes, definitely dead.
Margery discovered it the next day, wriggling indignantly in its bin bag awaiting release (duly bestowed). I found myself apologising guiltily to the little mite as it legged it nimbly down the back lane.
This week, some decidedly not-dead mice have been released in the sitting room, and Millie Rests, smug, triumphant, ignoring the shrieks and squeals - surprisingly loud for such small creatures - as Scooter takes over, tormenting by his very presence and fascinated gaze. The dog hops about, ears pricked, but unsure about what to do next.
No one seems interested in death or devouring. It's Play, live entertainment, not blood sports.
I step in; I have a box kept at the ready, and the mice are only too happy to scuttle into it, to be carried up to the top of the road and released into the undergrowth beneath the trees. I'm a much better mouser than Scooter, although he is very useful for pinpointing where the mouse has hidden.
Sometimes, after the freeing ceremony, a vigil is maintained where the mouse has been. This is slightly unnerving for me: were there in fact two mice behind the sofa together?
The box is also checked out very thoroughly.
I have a viewing tomorrow. The cats will either be locked in or out, well in advance of the appointment with an unsuspecting potential buyer. Selling a house is tricky enough without nerve-shattering sound effects from terrified rodents emitting from behind the sofa.
I sometimes doubt the wisdom of seeking a move to a more rural area. Can Millie cope with a wider menu of live prey? Can I?