The tinsel that squeaked

A couple of years ago, my mother bought a toy rat at Ikea to scare the bejasus out of my flatmate who had discovered a real rat in his box of Frosties one morning. On a recent shopping trip to the aforementioned Swedish emporium, she purchased a smaller toy rodent (for motives which are still uncertain) and has taken to secreting it at unusual locations aboot the hoose (for those of a Scottish persuasion). Tonight, it has been wedged in the tinsel on the banisters ... yesterday it was somehow balancing between the antlers of the metal deer head that was a house-warming present, which we put on the hall in the wall (ooh, hark at me the poet) and had given the festive treatment of many baubles which we felt befitted the noble beast. I do fear for the mouse's location tomorrow. I hope the piumbing is up to the challenge.