mouse-pocalypse

this is no ordinary story.

                  this is the story of a mouse.

                                       not a cool mouse like this:

 

 <--------  or a bad ass mouse like this

this is the story of a mouse like this:

waiting to poop EVERYWHERE

we've known about him for quite some time. it started out as a once-in-a-blue-moon kind of awareness. a rustle. or the quick dart in my peripheral vision. then we named the mouse--Wallace. that was a mistake. Wallace became some kind of deranged little pet for us. he'd venture out while we were watching a movie, attempting to find some little morsel of human goodness to nibble on. then he got too comfortable. Wallace starting to shit. and oh boy, did he just poop everywhere. behind the microwave, on the rim of the sink, all over my cutting board and who knows where else.

i knew what had to be done. i knew he had to go. but how? i didn't want to hear little mouse screams as i was taking a nap or sipping tea as Wallace's spinal chord was crushed under the spring of a trap. my mother in her infinite wisdom gave me one of those glue pads that essentially acts as a tar pit as, i assume, the mouse struggles so much it eventually dislocates some joints. oh my. from there good old momma said "just wrap it up in a plastic bag and it will suffocate. it will be a horrible death". let me tell you that this is the woman that assured me that i had, indeed, killed the deer that decided to run across the rural highway and get t-boned by my volvo. such a comfort. needless to say i didn't want to be responsible for the horrible death of a furry brown little thing. my roommate did not have any interest in doing the deed either. nor did my beau, he had grown quite fond of little Wallace (that's because he wasn't cleaning up any of that damn mouse crap). so i knew it would inevitably fall on my shoulders. so naturally, i put it off. i vacuumed up mouse turds and silently shuddered to myself. until...

THE INCIDENT

as usual, i had hit a trough in my wave of productivity and neatness. my clean laundry pile grew dangerously close to copulating with the dirty clothes and lots of empty tea cups had compiled into a quirky skyline on my desk. before Wallace had only left evidence of him being in the kitchen, and i  naively believed that this was true. until last sunday. i was sitting at my desk, reading the internet, when i head a rustle. thinking it was my foot stirring the numerous wires on the floor and hitting something i shrugged it off. but then it happened again. and i saw something move. it was a plastic bag on the floor RUSTLING. i took a breath and tapped it with my foot. the bag RUSTLED AGAIN. so i looked inside and, sure enough, it was Wallace, or a member of his immediate family. there was a mouse in the bag. i nearly peed myself.

so i picked up the bag hastily, before the little sucker had a chance to escape. and rolled down the top. taking a deep breath i shuffled quickly out of my room, my haven, my personal space. halfway to the kitchen, the bag moved and heard the squeaks of a confused and most likely very angry little mouse. so of course i begin to freak, and i text my roommate who was out of town for this fiasco. he did his best attempting to console me, but alas, it just wasn't enough. in my vast contemplation of my options i held tight to the bag, feeling the panic of Wallace underneath my fingertips. and then it stopped. the bag grew quiet. afraid he was playing me only to leap out in a full on attack i stapled the bag shut. i had done the deed. it was over. or so i thought. out of the corner of my eye i see a flash of brown. ANOTHER MOUSE. i do admit i did for a moment think that my bagged mouse escaped and was off to formulate terrible plans of destruction. i dismissed this thought. i used to think i had mouse, but now...who knows how many of those little brown bastards are roaming around. this means war.

sigh, the traps have been set. and my roommate has returned. i'll let him take out the trash this time.

*one mouse was harmed in the process of this story.