that one time we had mice, part 352

October 26, 2010

(this is the fourth part in the ongoing series that I am so ready to be done writing, skip to part one, part two, or part three.)

The little mouse-burrito will forever live in the back of my brain to make me squirm in the dark with the creepy-crawly pony dancers. I wouldn't say I regret it exactly but... it was an unpleasant time in history. You may now mark down in your record books that when the occasion calls for it I can bring down the hammer of death. Or, at least almost certain and very painful death and then skip out on the actual killing because Ewwwwww, gross, iz mouskers!

The trouble was that over the weekend Jon had fallen horribly terribly ill for reasons still undetermined. In some ways that was what got us in to this mess. I went to the grocery store alone, which I never do, and that allowed me unsupervised access to glue-trap purchasing. It also explains how I was the one setting them, and then that next fateful day checking them. Jon was flopped out on the couch trying to remember how to keep breathing.

After the squirming furry discovery I ran into the living room, and yelled EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE (breath) EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, eeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! All while flailing my arm like some kind of horrible distressed bird caught in mid-flight by a lazer beam.

–And all while Jon stared at me lethargically from the couch under a blanket in his pajamas. And then I left. Because really I had no idea what to do about those mice and their sticky burrito threesome and EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

I took Jude and we went off to do our daily things. Jude ate a gallon of apple bars and I tippity-typed and clickety-clacked and you know, #OfficeLife.

I had nearly forgotten about the brain-scarring events of the morning when I pulled into the driveway to take Jon on a run for crackers and gatorade. I waited in the car for him to haul his poor disease weakened carcass out to join me and noticed some very large rocks sitting in the driveway. I looked closer and noticed that it was actually an old paving stone that I had painted with chalkboard paint– but that it was broken all over the driveway.

".........uhhhhhgggggggggggrrrrrrrrrr," Jon zombified, as he finally reached the car.

"What's up with those big rocks? What did you do about the MICE!?" (Clearly I was not putting two and two together yet.)

"I took care of the mice."

"Oh.  .....oooohhh.  OOOHHHHH."

Silence, as Jon tried not to die.

"Well uh, thanks?"

And then we went to the store.

The good news I finally get to report to you is that there have been no further signs of mice, which is excellent because dude, I think I might have a heart attack. All three kinds of traps have been set about the area and there are no signs of trouble on the horizon, knock on wood, knock on cement, knock on brains, knock on kidneys, amen. They never got to any food, they just hopped around on my pots and pans making trouble like tiny furry jerky assholes. Cute assholes; dead assholes.

moody kitchen floors

dear kitchen, i love you.

kitchen floor

Not a creature was stirring,

_DSC4101

not even a mouse.
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