These days at our house are pretty dark. The mouse problem is, like, really serious. We've made the call to the professionals, and they will be here soon, to provide us with their astronomically-expensive extermination quotes, I suppose. We don't really have a choice I think, it's that bad. Really bad. I killed a mouse tonight (who surprised me after I drug his/her nesting box out to the back yard) with a shovel, in the dark. It would have made a good scene in The Shining. And I am not kidding. That's how primal this whole thing has gone. Cute as Mr Jingles may be, my mouse compassion meter is pegged at zero.
Having never been through this before, we have been naively assuming that the only problem to be resolved is the extrication of the mice. Sadly, we would be wrong, then. The far worse problem is the destruction they have left behind. It's horrific stuff and way beyond bloggable. Patty and I had a HAZ-MAT nest-destruction date tonight, and let me tell you that there is nothing in the universe that is less romantic. We would look at each other about every 10 minutes and there was nothing that had to be said, but the eyes were like, "how did we ever get to this place?"
Yes, we are going a little crazy, but not body-posing-psycho-crazy. The following really happened. And on this night, in particular, it was excellent to have something to laugh about together.
|Brothers, or lovers? You be the judge.|
All I really give a krap about is that they're dead.