Not for the faint of heart....
On Friday I stood at the washing machine treating some of the many baby food stains on Lucas's clothes when I thought I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I looked and sure enough, I caught a glimpse of a mouse scurrying across the kitchen floor.
I don't think I screamed, but I did hightail it out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where I jumped up on a dining room chair. This got me off the floor, but it also gave me almost too good of a vantage point to watch the mouse's adventures across our counter (How exactly DID he get from the floor to the counter?). So I did what any self-respecting woman would do... I hopped into the den, stood on top of the desk and called my husband at work.
I cannot remember exactly how the conversation went, but essentially he said he was VERY busy at work and asked if I could take care of it myself. OK, I said, and hung up. At this point, I hopped back into the dining room, onto the chair, and looked back into the kitchen. This is where the faint of heart should stop reading.
I watched as the mouse crawled into the toaster (I can hardly say the words) and stayed there. And stayed there. OK, here is my moment to be a hero. I walk to the bookshelf and get the largest book on the shelf -- an Italian painting book from one of Chad's ex-girlfriends I have never liked anyway (the book, not the girlfriend... OK, maybe the girlfriend, too). I scurry back onto my chair and psyche myself up for what I know I MUST do. I run into the kitchen, throw the book over the toaster and run back to the chair. Then I run back to the top of the desk and call Chad at work.
Again, I don't remember the exact conversation but at this point I was in tears and I think he got the picture. He was on his way home. Now the baby is waking up from his nap, so I retreat upstairs to change his diaper and nurse him. Chad came in, assessed the situation, and as he walked out the door with the toaster in hand I yell, "Kill him!" Chad, my HERO, returns to tell me he let the mouse go (did NOT kill him, much to my chagrin) and asks what he should do with the toaster. Of course, I insisted he throw it away.
Here we are a few days later and we have trapped two mice and seen no more signs of others. I have been obsessively wiping up crumbs, putting food into Rubbermaid containters, constantly having the sensation of something running over my feet, turning my head afraid I am going to see something out of the corner of my eye, and generally living in complete and utter paranoia. People tell me having mice is just part of home ownership. Man, am I not cut out for home ownership.
I don't think I screamed, but I did hightail it out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where I jumped up on a dining room chair. This got me off the floor, but it also gave me almost too good of a vantage point to watch the mouse's adventures across our counter (How exactly DID he get from the floor to the counter?). So I did what any self-respecting woman would do... I hopped into the den, stood on top of the desk and called my husband at work.
I cannot remember exactly how the conversation went, but essentially he said he was VERY busy at work and asked if I could take care of it myself. OK, I said, and hung up. At this point, I hopped back into the dining room, onto the chair, and looked back into the kitchen. This is where the faint of heart should stop reading.
I watched as the mouse crawled into the toaster (I can hardly say the words) and stayed there. And stayed there. OK, here is my moment to be a hero. I walk to the bookshelf and get the largest book on the shelf -- an Italian painting book from one of Chad's ex-girlfriends I have never liked anyway (the book, not the girlfriend... OK, maybe the girlfriend, too). I scurry back onto my chair and psyche myself up for what I know I MUST do. I run into the kitchen, throw the book over the toaster and run back to the chair. Then I run back to the top of the desk and call Chad at work.
Again, I don't remember the exact conversation but at this point I was in tears and I think he got the picture. He was on his way home. Now the baby is waking up from his nap, so I retreat upstairs to change his diaper and nurse him. Chad came in, assessed the situation, and as he walked out the door with the toaster in hand I yell, "Kill him!" Chad, my HERO, returns to tell me he let the mouse go (did NOT kill him, much to my chagrin) and asks what he should do with the toaster. Of course, I insisted he throw it away.
Here we are a few days later and we have trapped two mice and seen no more signs of others. I have been obsessively wiping up crumbs, putting food into Rubbermaid containters, constantly having the sensation of something running over my feet, turning my head afraid I am going to see something out of the corner of my eye, and generally living in complete and utter paranoia. People tell me having mice is just part of home ownership. Man, am I not cut out for home ownership.
posted by Alyssa at 9:11 PM
1 Comments:
Mice can also be a part of rental life. I had them crawling up a drainpipe from the owner's place below mine and into MY STOVETOP in the house I lived in during graduate school. I used to sleep on the couch in the summer because it was cooler than in the bedroom, and from there I could HEAR THEM crawling around in the kitchen. I used to dream they would walk over my face while I was sleeping. So I know how you feel.
Next time you see a mouse, give us a call. If we're home, we'd be glad to lend you a cat or two ;-)
C. Faber
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