Our back garden after the latest snowfall this morning.
Yesterday evening, after watching the Terry Pratchett programme on his Alzheimers, I noticed a curious, disgusting smell in the room. After much searching, lying on the floor looking under things, and eventually overturning furniture, I discovered a decaying vole on the front runner of one of the recliners. It was instantly flung out of the front door into the snow-covered bushes.
About 3 a.m. this morning, Clare misguidedly opened the bedroom door to the carpet-scratching cat. A few minutes later there was the sound of screeching and jumping: the cat was having the time of its life as it brought a new and lively vole in to play with us.
I lay still feigning sleep (not too difficult) as Clare chased the cat out, took it downstairs and locked it out in the hall, next to its catflap. I have to say our subsequent sleep was troubled, knowing we were sharing a room with a frightened vole, capable of almost anything.
I found it this morning, curled up next to the Roomba. I grabbed it by the tail and picked it up: it promptly bit me. It was then propelled out of the window and down into the soft snow, where after a moment to collect its wits, it scampered off.
Clare has a theory that the voles live in our refuse pile in the back garden, so later this morning - apparently - the stack of branches and grass cuttings is going to be taken apart and pulled into the garage.
If this creates a vole diaspora, then logically Shadow is going to move onto birds. A pigeon in the house? Don't let's go there!