The Great Teatowel Takeover

Ah, the humble teatowel—once a simple tool for drying dishes, now the prime real estate of an insufferably bold, biscuit-munching lodger. This sculptural tribute, carved from cypress wood and painted in oil, immortalizes one such fearless intruder in all its smug, snack-hoarding glory.
For the past year I have waged an ongoing battle with these tiny trespassers. They scoff at my traps, feast on the bait without so much as a “thank you,” and leave behind nothing but mystery and mischief. But their real pièce de résistance? A deep, unwavering love for my teatowels. Piled high, folded neatly—no matter how I try to reclaim them, the mice seem to view them as their personal kingdom, a fortress of fabric where they can lounge, plot, and occasionally taunt me with their existence.
This particular mouse, caught mid-kit-kat heist, was inspired by my friend Eilidh’s real-life horror-comedy moment: drawing back her bedroom curtains one morning only to find a tiny thief nibbling away at a stolen bar of chocolate. The audacity! And so, with a mix of admiration and exasperation, I’ve carved this little villain, perched atop a towering stack of teatowels, as a reminder that some battles—especially against creatures with this level of cheek—are simply unwinnable.
At least now, the only mouse ruling over my laundry is one that stays exactly where I put it.