On Halloween our door was open for a good part of the evening while we were handing out candy. After we were done we heard some skritch-scrathching (is that a word?) over our heads, but figured it was the furnace vents trying to get it together since we’d recently turned on the heat.
Why couldn’t we be right? As we were headed to bed, I heard D say “ummm…you see that?” and I knew. Fear, dread, and loathing crept into my soul. Yup, Mickey and nem had rolled in while we were on candy duty. Perfect timing…cold night, open door…new home. Le sigh.
I know I have no rational reason to be scared of something that’s two inches long and weighs all of about 4 ounces, but I saw “Ben”. I grew up in New York with the occasional project rat. Mouse always = project rat, even though I’m fairly certain what we have is a simple field mouse given the fact that we live next to the woods. Better yet, a lab rat I can work with because I invited it into my life. I’ve worked with them before and don’t mind holding them and cleaning their cages, etc. But this/these rodent(s), I most definitely did not ask to come over.
The next morning D sent me out to Home Depot to get some mice traps. Why was the aisle packed? A whole bunch of people swarming over some glue traps and bait bricks, hmmm. I looked at one woman and she just said to me “Halloween” and I knew that we were *righthere*.
It’s now Wednesday and Mickey hasn’t been seen since Sunday, so I’m assuming he’s dead, but I’m still treading lightly. I’m mad at myself cuz I’m still tripping over something the size of a ping pong ball, but I’m not going to rest easy until it’s been a week mouse-sighting free or until I see dead mouse (and D picks it up–I don’t do rodent carcass). Ugh.
