The Mouse Strikes Back

I was doing a last minute re-read of Friday's post, hit the wrong key, and lost the whole damn lot. Idiots unite. So now I have to try and recreate from memory, and that's not something I would usually rely on. Now Lindsay tells me "Why didn't you just press UNDO?"  Duh, mental head slap. To paraphrase Cary Grant (in Arsenic & Old Lace) stupidity doesn't just run in my family, it positively gallops. 

Anyway here goes. Do you remember the mouse that we chased around the house and never caught a couple of weeks ago ? Well he or his stunt double came back.

We were all watching TV one evening when Grady wanted a snack. He grabs a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch or some such thing. Anyway, we all ended up having some, eating it dry.  As usual I wasn't paying attention, and it was only when I got to the bottom of the bowl that I noticed some little black bits. I won't repeat what I said, but it was a pretty spectacular string of curses, I did myself proud !

I showed Rob my bowl, he turns three different shades of green and starts choking and gagging, which under normal circumstances is always good for a laugh. You may have realised by now that the black bits were, yes that's right, mouse turds. We spend the next five minutes tripping over each other at the bathroom sink, gargling with mouthwash, dettol and probably even rat poison if we'd had any. I determined that no one had actually eaten any of the black bits, or maybe that was just wishful thinking, but that didn't stop me from thinking we'd come down with the Bubonic Plague or some equally horrific malady.

Next task, empty the cereal cupboard. Anything that was edible and even some things that weren't, got tossed in the bin. Rob noticed a small hole in the back wall, which must have been the mouse's entrance & exit, so he blocks it off. Just to be on the safe side he decides to set a trap as well. Not one of those humane, namby-pamby-don't-hurt-God's-creatures-traps, oh no, this one meant business. It positively reeked of "Death To The Rodent". Unfortunately it also reeked of "Death to Rob's Fingers", because he had a hell of a time setting it up. I'd hear a loud snap, followed by a howl of rage, a few assiduously chosen words (which do not bear relaying here) and then he'd repeat the process all over again. Each time I found it funnier than the last, like I always say if you can't laugh at your spouse, you have no business being married.

The next morning Rob eagerly opens the cupboard and there is the mouse. However it is not lying prone in the trap, gasping it's last, but instead is sitting right beside it, licking peanut butter off his whiskers. As they sat there eyeball to eyeball, neither willing to give way, I swear that mouse gave Rob the middle finger.  You can't accuse my husband of not thinking on his feet, as he grabs the nearest cat and throws it in the cupboard at the mouse. This of course accomplishes absolutely nothing, except for the furious screech from said cat as it's tail got shut in the cupboard door.

Back to the drawing board, and Rob ends up replacing the whole back wall of the cupboard.  That seems to have worked for now, but something tells me we haven't heard the last of our furry little friend. 

I really hope we don't get a visit from the Health Department after this has posted.  Maybe the fact that I lost the whole first draft was a warning not to continue ?  At this point I'd love to be able to say I took artistic license in writing this, but unfortunately every last sorry word is true.

Have a great weekend everybody, and I sincerely hope I haven't put anyone off their Wheatabix.