Thank you for the kind suggestions about what to do with my little mouse-in-the-dog-food issue. Because I know the people are dying to find out what happened, I can tell you … I followed Karen‘s advice and left the mouse in the closed dog-food container for my sweet husband.
Yes, I’m a feminist. But marriage is about collaboration.
I did not, however, follow Karen’s advice to a T and flee to the safety of a margarita bar, where I would then call her for backup. This was, admittedly, a huge oversight on my part. However, because I stayed sober and on the scene, I was able to shut.it.down. when My Guy showed up and thought he would capture the mouse in a cereal bowl.
Yes, a bowl from which we eat food. A shallow-ish bowl.
I looked at him and looked at the bowl. And earning triple points with Jesus, I refrained from saying, “Are you fucking kidding me?” No. Instead, I said, “Hmm. What will you do with him after you catch him?” You know, completely skipping over the fact that it was a cereal bowl and wouldn’t even contain the varmint.
I guess my sweet husband was looking to appear to take charge without actually taking any action. He shrugged and put the bowl away, and we agreed that the mouse could lounge in the dog-food container until we came up with a better plan.
Two days later, we dumped the remaining dog food and the mouse in the trash can. Trash day is tomorrow. Either the mouse has eaten himself to death, or he’s about to go for the ride of his life.
I guess it’s the path of least resistance. My hope is that it’s the ultimate mouse death – dying doing something you love.
I do think we should all take a moment and appreciate CookingWithGas, who reports that she drove around in a car infested by mice. That should definitely qualify for some sort of Girl Scout badge – maybe for creating an art installation, or just generally being a badass.
Me? I’m OK with skipping the mice-related badges.