Elvis has left the building. Not a sign of life. The traps must have scared them away, or else they were called away to Gloucester to embroider waistcoats*. I can but hope. So I shall dispense with the traps and wait the statutory two years until the next autumn mouse hunt becomes necessary. (Besides, some small children will be visiting this week, and a kitchen festooned with mousetraps including the snappy oldfashioned sort seems like a combination with ominous potential).
And no, I'm not going to recycle the cheese/chocolate/golden syrup mousetraps, they're all being thrown out.
Nor shall I tally the cost of the exercise. Thanks to all who sent useful suggestions!
(OK, I admit it, the mouse won).
* Beatrix Potter reference.