I mentioned several posts back that there is a mouse running around this house, and the only person it seems to cause great distress is ME.
The first time I mentioned it to Tater Daddy, he simply said, “Call the exterminator.” He wasn’t concerned with how I knew we had a mouse. Or the fact that I nearly had heart failure right there in the kitchen at 2:38 a.m. when I saw it dart across the floor. Nor was he concerned that Tater Tot was living in a house with a mouse that might just decide to climb into his crib at night and snuggle!
“Um…I don’t think mice are the snuggling kind,” he said. ”Call the exterminator. And, this is just a suggestion, but maybe you could take one or two fewer drama pills tomorrow. You know, just for me.”
Hard as it was, I let that one pass. He was, after all, managing to remain calm and keep a sense of humor in an extremely difficult situation.
The exterminator came and put out a couple of black triangular things that should have taken care of the mouse invasion. Should is the key word here. But that little stinker of a nuisance is still scurrying about, and he’s getting pretty sure of himself. Why shouldn’t he? There are four dogs in this house, and not one of them has lifted a paw to stop him. Thanks, pups.
I have seen the darn thing three times in the last three days. Yesterday I actually grabbed a skillet. Yes, I’m afraid I did. (Seriously, like I was going to whack the little devil to death with a skillet.) I’m not a violent person. My plan was to cover the mouse with the skillet and then wait for Tater Daddy to get home and let him deal with it. (See earlier comment about drama pills.)
By the way, I’ve named the mouse Eddie. If you were a fan of Friends, you’ll recall that Chandler once had a roommate by the same name who wouldn’t leave. There you go.
Today, while Tater Tot was napping, I heard something scratching around in the kitchen just as loud as you please. Oh, he’s not even trying to hide the fact that he’s here. And I’m not even startled by him anymore. I leaped into the kitchen, samurai warrior-like! I had no plan of attack, other than hoping that Eddie might fall out due to the shock of seeing me move so quickly.
Ha! He just stared at me for a couple of seconds before vanishing. WITH A SCRAP OF BREAD IN HIS POINTY LITTLE MOUTH! That’s right, y’all. He was in the bread basket, had opened a bag of bread, dragged out a slice, and took a piece for the road.
Better put on your little mousy helmet and knee pads, Eddie. ’Cause Tater Mama accepts your challenge. And she’s playing to win.