They're Baaaack

I was drying my hair in the “guest bathroom” this morning (because our “master bathroom” is so small I would be banging my elbows on the walls if I attempted anything other than showering/toileting/teeth brushing) when I had an unexpected visitor. The rodents are back, people. All dramatics aside, I’d like to (calmly) announce that we are moving. A mouse should not be in my house, and definitely not UPSTAIRS, in my bathroom, unafraid of the three dogs, the hairdryer and me, and most definitely should not have used my foot as a little mouse bridge to wherever he was headed. Gulp. Let’s process this for a sec.

The mouse crawled over my toe. I was not wearing shoes. Or socks. And he was not in a hurry.


(deep breath)


Ahem. Dramatics aside again. I think it is safe to say my neighbors have probably never heard such a blood-curdling scream in their lives. But, like the dedicatedly uncurious, uninterested and unconcerned people they have proven to be over the last year, no one came running (or even strolling, gawd) to see what all the commotion was about. Well, at least now I know I can be safely murdered in my home and without worrying that any of the dogs or my neighbors will interrupt the fun.

Speaking of the dogs. Two out of the three are pit bulls. One of the pits was in the bathroom with me during the incident, and instead of displaying the legendary prey drive, she leaned over, ears cocked in curiosity, followed the whiskered villain out of the room, and let him slip nonchalantly into the hall closet. Then she and the other pit sniffed around the closet door for a bit, presumably making sure the mouse was comfortable, that he had everything he needed, that the new room was to his liking. Prey drive my ass.

Since never going home again is not an option, and neither is selling the house (in its perpetual state of improvement), I believe the next step is borrowing Sister’s cat and rubbing him all over the walls.

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