Waiter, waiter, there's a mouse in my raclette

Faced with a constant urge to be innovative in the kitchen, it was decided by she who must be obeyed that we introduce Ottawacker Jr to the delights of raclette.

Down into the depths of the basement I went to dig out the raclette grill, which since its last use (in around 2009) had been steadily accumulating dust. 

And mice.

Seriously, what is the point of having two cats - there have been four since 2009 - if they are incapable of fulfilling the one function they are good for? It's not as if they don't go patrolling the various corridors and rooms of the house at all times of day and night. Yet a mouse can live with impunity in our basement.

Or rather, it had lived. The only evidence of the mouse now was its droppings, which appear to have been in an area around the raclette machine. So I am assuming it is the mouse I caught - me, not the bloody cats - some 3 years ago (and released in an adjacent park, I am too much of a Buddhist to hurt anything deliberately - I do enough of that without realizing)  - and after which Mrs Ottawacker was supposed to have cleaned up while I was catching and releasing...

So out came the sprays and the boiling water and the soap and I sterilized and scoured and soaked and washed everything twice. I've no idea what is in mice droppings - apart from raclette cheese, of course - but I don't want mice droppings in me.

This meant a somewhat delayed dinner, not that Ottawacker Jr minded. Au contraire, he declared that the raclette meal was the best I had ever cooked and could we have it again tomorrow please? Of particular pleasure seemed to be the strands of melted cheese getting caught in the gaps in his teeth.