The end, when it came, was fairly inevitable really. Indeed, so much were the odds beginning to stack against Jaws the Mouse that he may well have hopped onto his deathtrap voluntarily.
I'd spent any free bits of time I had yesterday seeking more and more advice from friends and work colleagues on how I could give myself the best chance of sending him to Mousey Heaven. And I used my lunch break to buy not two but three extra traps and a jar of peanut butter.
What I didn't realise until the last couple of days was the number of people I know who have had mouse problems - and how strongly they believe in their own particular method of dealing with the little blighters.
One of the big decisions I had to make was whether I went for traps that killed Jaws (deceased) or ones that simply trapped him for release later.
I had always thought that those people who used "live traps" did so either on moral grounds or because they were a bit soft. But Tracey, a friend at work, changed my view on this one yesterday afternoon. She was adamant that "live traps" were the best method of dealing with the problem simply because mice were more likely to fall for them.
"But I now hate Jaws," said me to her determinedly, "and it is therefore very important for me to kill him." (Not that a tiny, little mouse was getting to me or anything, clearly).
"So why don't you do what I do?" replied Tracey with an evil grin. "Get the mouse into the live trap - and then chuck the whole thing into a barrel of water and drown him!"
But, as it turned out, I didn't have the chance to finish Jaws off in this way because he was already lying waiting for me when I got home from work - in a dead mouse kind of a way.
It was the original trap, which he sprung on my first attempt, and some more cheap chocolate which did for him and clearly Vanessa and I were pleased with the outcome - the only downside being that our alcohol ban (until at least the last weekend of the month) stopped us from throwing a proper wake.
So that, we hope is that.
Or is it?
Because at about 8.45 last night, whilst we were catching up with the Thick of It, Vanessa swore she heard a noise under the cabinet where Jaws had spent his final hours. And the noise was, according to her, the exact same noise that he had made the previous evening.
She didn't hear the noise again before we went to bed, but I was taking no chances and promptly set up all three of my new traps - loaded with peanut butter - just in case. And this morning there was no sign that anything with a long tail and small ears had been near them.
But if there really is a Jaws II and he feels hard enough to have a go, I would only encourage him do so.
Because we all know what happened to that shark who thought Chief Brody wouldn't be as tough second time around.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZBkQx6dmv4
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