That hole in the sourdough – was it mouse-made? Composite: Guardian design; jirkaejc;CreativeNature_nl/Getty Images View image in fullscreen That hole in the sourdough – was it mouse-made? Composite: Guardian design; jirkaejc;CreativeNature_nl/Getty Images The pest I’ll never forget Animals The pest I’ll never forget: I awoke to the sound of my bedroom bin rustling At first the mice were just a distant pitter-patter. But soon they had an unblinking confidence that they owned the entire house and all the food in it
Gabriel Stewart Tue 22 Sep 2026 08.00 CEST Last modified on Tue 22 Sep 2026 08.31 CEST Share Prefer the Guardian on Google L iving in a nine-person house in Vancouver, Canada, far from my UK home, came with plenty of benefits. Cleanliness was not one of them. A dish left behind quickly multiplied and bins overflowed in little more than a day. I’m not saying the endless strew of disposable coffee cups was the cause of our year-long mice infestation, but it no doubt helped.
In the winter of 2023, one of my housemates began to hear the sound of creatures rattling around in the ceiling of her basement room. The pitter-patters grew louder and louder; others began to report sightings from across the house. It wasn’t long before I was waking to the sound of my bedroom bin rustling. I had to accept it: we had mice.
When I saw my first mouse scuttling across the kitchen floor, my body filled with dread at the battle I knew we had ahead. Sleep quickly became a luxury. My housemate claimed she could hear hundreds of mice partying above her head. Frustrated with her inability to sleep, she would regularly hit her ceiling panels and be rewarded by a mouse falling on her face in return.
Read more There was rarely a day when any food left in the cupboard hadn’t been gnawed through. I spent many mornings staring at my sourdough bread and questioning whether the large holes in it were from natural causes or mouse-made. I even began to believe I could recognise the taste of food that had also been sampled by our tiny friends. It all sounds mad, but it became hard to work out what was real or not when every time you walked into a room you were greeted by a squeal.
We tried to get rid of them. Exterminators came and left, to no avail. The steel wool we placed over any holes was easily chewed through. Nothing seemed to stop the furry creatures from infesting every part of our home. I told myself they’d be gone in the warmth of summer. But summer came, and the mice remained.
As time passed, they grew in confidence. I’d watch as they casually walked towards me while I sat at my desk. I’d shoo one away and it would barely move, staring back blankly as if I posed no threat. Eventually I just accepted their presence and resigned myself to the occupation of my space. The most brazen incursion came one morning when a housemate woke to find a mouse chewing their hair.
I don’t remember exactly when the infestation ended, or if I just left the house before the mice did, but I know I’ll never again dismiss the sight of one mouse. Behind one lies a hundred.