MOLE WARFARE (2)

My being away in Spain, West Jutland and the U.K. over the summer has allowed the Mole Army to regroup. The new commander has decided to attack out of the compost heap, even having a foray onto the back lawn (something, which has not happened for a while). With attacks in all directions, and only a limited number of traps, I have been pushed back on the defensive.

So you can imagine my surprise when I came out into the paddock the other day, and found a mole out in the open, lying dead on its back. A very unusual event. It was right next to a series of very shallow supply tunnels that I had been keeping a beady eye on; but there was no trap in the vicinity. The only explanation I could think of was that it had been caught by Cleo. Cleo (short for Cleopatra) is our schizophrenic black cat, brilliant at catching field mice, eating the nice bits of them, and depositing the rest as gifts for us near or even inside the house. She must have seen the mole trundling along the tunnel and nabbed it, before deciding in her picky way that "taupe saignante" was not as appetising as "souris bleu".

All in all, I felt a bit like Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo, after Blücher turned up with the Prussians. Relieved, and grateful for the help.

Walter Blotscher