Strange things happen with country living, but this one has me puzzled. I’m still trying to work it out.
Intruders into domestic life are not entirely unknown. The cat enjoys the occasional wee timorous beastie – I can’t help thinking of of Mr Cameron’s attempt at humour, the one where he ended up sounding like a plummy mouthed tit when I think of Rabbie’s wee ditty – and memories and repercussions of those clothes moths are still too fresh to be funny. But this latest one is simply unpleasant.
At first I wondered if someone may be trying to make salad more appealing; to add some bite to the lettuce. But it’s never going to replace a plate of chips, a hot pie, or even a sticky toffee pudding. And green stuff is still not for real men, even those that might eat quiche.
But recently we’ve found them climbing the kitchen cupboards, heading for the chopping board, beside the kettle, on the floor. Even the cat ignores them; the stray one too, the one that eats anything.
We are talking here of slugs, in the house, in the kitchen, on the worktops. Now I can understand outdoor life seeking a refuge from the vile weather, especially when it’s overly wet, or too cold. But it’s not been that cold of late; damp yes, soggy even, though I thought that’s what slugs liked.
So it’s a bit of a mystery. There may be a hole in the floorboards under the cupboards, created by some other burrowing rodent. Or it may be related to the washing machine hose and the leak I thought I’d fixed. I’ll need to look. But for now we keep the slug pellets with the peppercorns.