It is day whatever,
In the House Mouse Saga. This is getting to be ri-Goddamned-diculous. The constant reader knows everything : the area (s) of target, the death methods chosen, the angst and sleepless nights. I even wear my tennis shoes to the bathroom ion the middle of the night - a moment of gross-out is worth me getting to just stomp his verminy ass to death. But then I'd have to toss (or donate !) the shoes... Still - all that heartless bitch does is somehow (miraculously - there is no possible way) climb /fly/catapult/rappel onto the butcher block and leave threatening "fuck you" mini-turds all around the traps. We keep adding new morsels to the sticky death traps - how about a little oatmeal, scarecrow ? Nothing. Not a word. Until yesterday (no, still not dead). Sparky and I are peacefully acting out an episode of Gray's Anatomy (aside : we have watched all available seasons (5) on an endless loop since 12/09 - Lifetime has 3 a day. So we mute it and act it out. She is amazing - knows actual lines - she says them as the actors speak - good times. Chief asks : "is she majoring in Gray's Anatomy ? What about all of her summer homework ?" To which I say : "I'm sorry, you're breaking up - I'm going into a tunnel...") So, all of a sudden, the muted TV is accompanied by a horrified look on her face : she is stock-still, and mouthing something that looks, to the somewhat trained eye, to be "fucking mouse." Oh lawsy lawsy : long afternoon unforgivable short : there is a scratching (like a cat clawing itself on the furniture) between Sparky's Chair and the couch. Then, some scrabbling from behind the chair. I shit - I am stoned to the Mother Ship ( the chair I favor in the living room). (I actually heard the bastard in the kitchen last week - and had to call my sister, Aunt, to talk me through the closing of both kitchen doors and the application of about 13 library books - I had to stack them because I swore I saw a shadow. Trapped - right ? Wrong.) We feverishly call Chief at work, and begin whispering hysterically. He is appalled : what the hell are you people doing ? Why whisper ?! By this time, I have closed the window (to block outside noise) and snuck into the kitchen for traps : if I make it physically impossible for It to escape from back there - we got him. I had somehow convinced myself that he never left the kitchen... He apparently does. BitCH. One trap under the chair, one near the most obvious place he'll try to escape. I up the ante with a juicy grape stuck to the sticky, and I lay another grape at the door of the one trap that looks like a little chapel. We wait. I am hot now, so we have to re-open the windows. Which is dicey, as I keep screaming things like : "WHY DON'T YOU JUST DIE, BITCH ?!" or "I'TS YOU OR ME - ONE OF US AIN'T GOING TO DINNER TONIGHT !" Chief has said to make noise - but now I worry about CPS coming to call. So I start saying "BAH !" really loud until Casey tells me that I may be speaking Chinese and what will the neighbors think ? It's always some damned thing... Chief comes home, upsets the big chair, finds nothing but me curled in a ball on the Mother Ship. He scolds : "what - did you leave offerings ? Sacrifices ?" No, I reply, those are BAIT ! Him : "It's a mouse - not DiDi (aka Didi The Tree Man from, like, Borneo - he is a tree, but he has such a great disposition. He even has children !) My latest plan involves the possible sacrificing of the entire butcher block for all eternity - after all, it is nothing more that a turd holder now. I say we paint a thick coating of some kind of deadly poison with a brush all over the thing, and see who, if anyone, lives through that.
Bah !
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