‘I think we should just buy another hamster,’ Dad was saying.
And Mum was saying – as if Kitty wasn’t even in the room, or as if she were a little kid who could not understand what grown-ups were talking about – ‘It would be a relief not having to clean out her cage every week. Maybe we should have a rest from hamsters for a while.’
‘Or there’s always the possibility of a D.O.G.,’ said Dad.
‘Dad!’ said Kitty. ‘I can spell dog, you know! I am eleven.’
‘If we had a dog,’ Mum said, ‘it might deal with the mouse problem. Have you seen the larder this morning? One of you left a packet of biscuits on the shelf…’
‘It wasn’t me, Mum,’ said Kitty.
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Dad.
‘And they’ve eaten their way through the corner. There are little shreds of paper all over the larder floor, and crumbs and mouse droppings –’
‘How do you know they’re mouse droppings?’ Dad asked.
‘Oh, don’t be so annoying,’ said Mum. ‘And the smell. We must do something to get rid of them. If they keep on bothering us, I’m going to buy sticky-traps. Mum often discussed such problems as mouse – or moth – infestations with their neighbours. ‘Alan and Rupert say sticky-traps are the only way.’
‘They are so cruel,’ said Kitty. ‘The mouse gets its feet stuck on the trap. It can’t run away. It can’t move. It’s just trapped there.’
‘That’s the idea,’ said Mum grimly.
‘You could scarcely put one of those things down while C.H.U.M. was still at large.’
‘Dad,’ said Kitty, ‘I can S.P.E.L.L. – right?’