It’s almost Christmas. Which means—as it does every year—that the furry little jerks are sneaking indoors, again.
Wednesday morning, I found a dead mouse in the living room. My two cats—who had managed to kill the mouse, even though they’re old, fat and declawed—sat proudly nearby. I picked up the mouse and did my heebie-jeebie dance to the garbage can. Problem solved, right?
Wrong.
Dead Mouse had not come alone, and now his buddy—Mouse #2—was intent on revenge.
Thursday morning, the toaster was surrounded with mouse poops. Not just a few of them, either—clearly, Mouse #2 had taken a laxative. I set a trap beside the toaster, and by Friday morning Mouse #2 was resting in peace. Problem solved, right?
Wrong, again. As I sit here, I can hear Mouse #3 slowly scrabbling his way up through the wall beside me. And my dishwasher—which is less than two years old—has suddenly stopped working. If I disappear, please alert the authorities.
Do not envy you. I remember mice crawling through the wall, nesting in the vacuum cleaner, scurrying across the kitchen floor going “You can’t catch me.” They were right. So we acquired a cat. No more mice. (Though I did have to remove a couple dead bodies before cat came on board. *shudders*)
My cats do the same thing – they bring the bodies upstairs, plop them near me and then sit there, looking proud of themselves. My favorite house mouse is a DEAD house mouse, but still…yuck!!