Have you ever been jilted? Or left standing outside a restaurant holding a bunch of flowers and a wan grin? This week, my heart was cut to the quick, writes Councillor Alistair McNair.

For a while, there’d been a rustling in the cupboard under the sink. Once, I’d caught a glimpse of a tail. Could I smell a rat? I found it somehow thrilling, if unlikely. Like seeing a tiger. It happened to be a place where we store bird seed. Don’t ask me why.

Off to Robert Dyas and the mousetrap section. It’s in a far corner of the shop where the lingerie, cigarettes and flick knives are stored. Don’t worry, I had no intention of killing anything, but I made sure no one was around before gingerly reaching up to pick the most glamorous trap. I threw a couple of tea towels into my basket to hide my embarrassment.

The trap was laid – a nice bit of Lindt. Which by the next morning had gone. We had something with taste.

The next day too. Gone. Who makes these traps?

Now, as you know, I’m as arachnophobic as they come. No hand of mine would go into any dark corner or cupboard. No way. If I’d been with Indiana Jones – well, I wouldn’t. So, it took me time to pluck up the courage to empty the cupboard of its seed, glass jars, toothbrushes, socks and 60p washing up liquid. But I did. Well, the wife and I did. I mean the wife did.

So, this time no food source. This time two traps. This time a nice slice of parmigiano reggiano in one trap; a nice square of Montezuma chocolate in the other. I had the wine. And we wait.

Next morning, there he is. I feel like David Attenborough. Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim’rous beastie is a better description of me than the mouse. He was Danger Mouse. He was fat and brown and looking at me in disgust – where’s the Roquefort? We named him Ponchik – Ukrainian for doughnut.

But where there’s one there might be two. So, we set another trap.

Who’d have thunk it? A second mouse! Hardly the first time in history, but still. There they were, Ponchik and Éclair, side by side in their temporary accommodation. A plastic box lined with the softest wood shavings I might add – a whole £1 from Tesco. A honey-covered seed treat. Water. They were living the dream. Maslow – all their needs were being met. And no council tax.

Over the next couple of days, they snoozed and, well, snoozed. Pretty boring pets really. But each morning and evening I’d look forward to seeing how they were. They were family.

Then one morning, nothing. I looked again. Nothing. How could this be? There was a hole chewed in the top of the box. At the thinnest part. They’d escaped. They’d spent three days scouting the place out, and when my back was turned – gone. How could they? I’d given them food, drink, chocolate, cheese, straw, love. Gone. Rejected. I felt like the boy in The Snowman. Or how our Dear Leader of the council must feel every time another family leaves this city.

Sitting in a recent spending committee, I must confess I had one eye fixed on the papers and the other on my mousecam. It was easy to confuse the two.

The council goes round in circles. Back in 2012, the council ditched the cabinet system for a committee system. Now the cabinet system is back – it will be a gilded cage they’ll soon want to escape. Ten Labour councillors – why so many? – making all the decisions. What will the other Labour councillors be doing? To date, only two scrutiny committees are planned. Why only two? Because Labour hates scrutiny as much as Ponchik hates captivity. They can’t even turn up to see residents in Patcham for a so-called “re-imagine” event.

The mouse wheel will be at full speed – a new Big Cheese (that’s the chief exec), a cabinet system, four directorates instead of five, and fewer staff. The council may have more of a blurred vision, like a cubist painting, than the “one council” promised in its slick new rebrand. What is this need for slogans you can’t keep? “We’re a listening council”, “We’re ‘one’ council”.

We’re promised a culture change. Actually, we just want our rubbish collected. And how do you change cultures? Verdi piped through the sound system?

As Robert Burns wrote, “the best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men Gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain”. Please come back Ponchik and Éclair – all is forgiven. Actually, I’m jealous – for we Brightonians, there will only be pain and no hope of escape.

Alistair McNair is Leader of the Conservatives on Brighton and Hove City Council