If only the cockroach at work had been the end of things. . .
Alas, it was not.
Late yesterday evening, I was calmly sitting on the coach working online when I happened to glance up toward my kitchen. There, on sitting just as calmly on the kitchen floor was a tiny brown mouse.
Surprisingly, I remained casual, pointing it out to my roommate just as it took off for the pantry. We both jumped up, and in an extremely brave move I actually entered the kitchen and prowled around to see where it had gone.
In typical ridiculous fashion, Becca and I decided it would be a good idea to vacuum to discourage further mouse invasion. Becca took the proverbial bull by the horns and broke out the vacuum. Then, she headed into the kitchen and started vacuuming. I retreated back to the couch.
From a few feet away, my attention was still focused on Becca. Mere seconds after the vacuuming starting, mousy came flying out of the pantry in a total panic. I wish that words could truly describe the scene that ensued:
As the mouse frantically dashes around, Becca hops from foot to foot shrieking before she manages to climb up on one of our bar stools. My response is to launch myself to a standing position and run back and forth across the couch also screeching in fright. The mouse disappears, more scared of us, no doubt, than we of it (well, that's what Becca keeps saying anyway).
In the wake of the great mouse escapade of 2010, Becca and I threw almost an entire cake and bag of candy corn away, set up two glue traps and contacting some men, lining them up for potential dead mouse disposal services.
We've upped our game today substantially. And as of this afternoon, our arsenal has increased from glue traps to poison and snap traps.
Someone told us last night that naming them makes trapping them all the more sweeter. So, little Hubert. You're going DOWN!
Alas, it was not.
Late yesterday evening, I was calmly sitting on the coach working online when I happened to glance up toward my kitchen. There, on sitting just as calmly on the kitchen floor was a tiny brown mouse.
Surprisingly, I remained casual, pointing it out to my roommate just as it took off for the pantry. We both jumped up, and in an extremely brave move I actually entered the kitchen and prowled around to see where it had gone.
In typical ridiculous fashion, Becca and I decided it would be a good idea to vacuum to discourage further mouse invasion. Becca took the proverbial bull by the horns and broke out the vacuum. Then, she headed into the kitchen and started vacuuming. I retreated back to the couch.
From a few feet away, my attention was still focused on Becca. Mere seconds after the vacuuming starting, mousy came flying out of the pantry in a total panic. I wish that words could truly describe the scene that ensued:
As the mouse frantically dashes around, Becca hops from foot to foot shrieking before she manages to climb up on one of our bar stools. My response is to launch myself to a standing position and run back and forth across the couch also screeching in fright. The mouse disappears, more scared of us, no doubt, than we of it (well, that's what Becca keeps saying anyway).
In the wake of the great mouse escapade of 2010, Becca and I threw almost an entire cake and bag of candy corn away, set up two glue traps and contacting some men, lining them up for potential dead mouse disposal services.
We've upped our game today substantially. And as of this afternoon, our arsenal has increased from glue traps to poison and snap traps.
Someone told us last night that naming them makes trapping them all the more sweeter. So, little Hubert. You're going DOWN!
You named the mouse and didn't tell me!?! I hope that when Hubert is dead in the kitchen (bet that'll be a pretty sight) in the morning you don't wake me up. Continue your calm streak. And send me a text so I can IMMEDIATELY call Zan (like before I even leave my room).
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