In and amongst everything, you’re vaguely aware that it’s been over a week since you last saw Steve Mouseman running around in the house.
Because it is.
We’ve never found him.
We’re working on the assumption that he’s left, as we’d had the back door open most of the day the last time we saw him, and most of the day after. I’m sure he left. I’m sure he saw the outside world and just made a massive run for it as quick as his little Steve Mouseman legs would carry him.
That’s what we’re working towards.
There’s a tiny chance there’s a dead mouse in the couch.
We’re not working towards that. And, to be fair, there are none of the signs we’d expect if that were the case – no huge swarm of flies, no smell of decomposing Mouseman, no mouse police with their white body tents and what have you. None of that. So he’s probably not dead in the couch.
Or under the cupboards in the kitchen.
Or behind some shelves.
But he’s totally gone out.
It’ll be fine.