It pains me to have to put this in writing, but snow and winter have arrived, and along with have come mice.
Dirty, disgusting little devils. I hate them.
Or maybe I should say more accurately, I’m terrified of them.
The D-con commercial that is airing right now is my favorite, because I feel a kindred spirit with the woman who is sneering at the mouse as it eats peanut butter in the kitchen.
We don’t get along, mice and I. They really hardly ever show up in our house, but this time of year always brings one or two that try to escape the nasty Nebraska winter weather.
Too bad for them that they don’t know upon arriving that the best mouse-hunter in the world lives here. (That would be Jon, not me.) That would be reason #90453 why I love my hubby.
He has traps set in nearly every corner of the kitchen floor.
And this afternoon, I was holding my napping baby and on the verge of a nap myself when I heard one SNAP in the kitchen.
So my initial reaction was, “Ha ha, you little stinking mouse. Serves you right for trying to invade mi casa.”
But then I heard, “squeaksqueaksqueaksqueaksqueak.” And that’s when I realized my worst nightmare had come to life. The mouse was not dead.
And THEN I heard it dragging itself (with trap attached) across the floor. ACROSS THE FLOOR, PEOPLE.
I almost fainted.
I kept hoping the noises would end and the thing would have a respectable mouse-trap inflicted death, but no. It just kept scraping it’s way along, trying to escape. Well, at least that’s how it sounded. I didn’t actually see it scraping along first hand because there was NO WAY I was going near enough to check it out.
So I did what any self-respecting city-girl-turned-country-girl would do.
I called my mother-in-law and begged her to come over and hunt the little sucker down.
Which she did, bless her.
I owe her a BIG ol’ Christmas present this year for taking care of that little…situation…for me.
Now I know where my husband gets his excellent mouse hunting skills.
Best mother-in-law EVER.