I had a mouse. Or rather, a mouse decided to move in whilst I wasn't looking. It took a little while for me to realise, until there were too many glimpses of hairy lumps flitting about to allow me a state of blissful denial. It was fine by me. We lived alongside each other in a spirit of non-interference, except for the occasional biscuit I'd leave in an accessible point.
Until I went rummaging through my mail. The little bastard had made his home in a box of letters, shredding the lot into little pieces to make himself comfortable. He just had to move on.
Ever tried to catch a mouse? The cell was only 7 feet square, a bed, table, chair and locker. And still he ran me ragged, flitting from one obstacle to another, giving me the beady eye along the way. The only time I got close earned me a bite on my thumb. It turns out that mice have needle-sharp teeth.
One night the little bugger was keeping me awake and it seemed sensible to execute a major assault. I am in the habit of sleeping naked, but I put on socks as mittens to protect me from being bitten again. Armed with a 12 inch ruler to prod the bugger from under the furniture, I set about the hunt. From corner to corner, bed to locker, the little sod ran me ragged as I crawled around the cell. Having my knackers waving in the breeze only made me more determined. Mousey won the day. He skipped past me, flattened himself, and slid under the cell door, never to return.
The next morning I was given a message from the night-patrol staff. They had sneakily been watching this fiasco through the door's Judas-hole and just wanted to say “thanks for the entertainment”.