Okay, it is official, we have a mouse problem. Everywhere and in everything. Almost. So we’re just moving. Period. Wait, we were already doing that weren’t we?
I have illusions of trying to be elegant and live elegantly. But sometimes circumstances shatter my ideals.
Case in point, last Sunday we were driving into town for an evening meals and fellowship, curving down the picturesque mountain road, freshly graveled with spring greenery and prolific white blossoms overhanging the meandering drive. I was especially smitten with the white apples blossoms with the pink kissed petals and cogitating on gathering some of their branches when the driver starts doing gymnastics and smacking herself.
There was a winged creature you see. After it disappeared, we kept driving and I tried to find it on the flour and finish exterminating it when my eye caught the most distasteful sight under my seat. Dead in the trap, its mouth open enough to show miniature vicious little teeth was a mouse. Very stiff and dead. Reality is a painful thing.
We’ve been having mice in the house and it is just something we’re battling, but until today, I’ve always been under the impression that they are outside and merely come in at night to pillage. Apparently I am very naive . Today we were moving a bookcase and unearthed a rather large nest, and then it started moving. Scream!!! No, actually not, but we grabbed the pellet gun and a broom and called for Little Brother on the radio. “Mice, please help.” Really, I did say that as a final, desperate appeal for help. I love rearranging movie lines for my own purposes.
I’m trying so very hard to “man up”, but rodents just aren’t my thing. Especially when in the middle of the night you only half wake up to what sounds like a right merry mouse shindig. I smacked my mattress hard in my half wakeful state to let them know that humans still existed and it did quiet down. But my mind was not to be deceived. It makes for a less than restful night.
I don’t dislike cats, but being slightly allergic, I’m not a cat person. However, this might call for desperate measures. Either that or we might have to start tiling our floors with traps. Which it will be the firm responsibility of the men of the house to empty. Don’t get me wrong, I do believe in equality – I firmly believe the men should share this task equally.
I could tell you a worse story, but I won’t. And it doesn’t have anything to do with mice.
Should I just go back to posting pretty pictures of cooking and flowers?