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I've got a talent for discovering mice. So far I've found 4, in various states of mortality. And this always seems to happen when my roommate is out of town. And I always find them right after coming home. If you aren't familiar with my mouse saga, otherwise known as mouse-pocaplyse please give the post a quick look and you'll see just how traumatizing this all is.
A week or so ago I discovered what was left of a mouse on this sticky pad trap thing that had been sitting around behind our spice rack for MONTHS. It was more bait that sticky stuff really. There was gooey peanut butter on there, cracker crumbs and I think what used to be a moist piece of feta cheese on there. Each element was added in hopes of luring, what we thought, was the sole mouse in the apartment. It finally worked. While searching for some delightful spices for a chicken breast I did a double take at the sticky trap and registered that there was indeed an itty bitty mouse body on there. It looked like it was sleeping. I told myself it was sleeping. And I'm sure it was still sleeping when it got thrown onto the garbage truck. And I thought that was the end of the reign of terrible mice.
Until tonight.
So I get home after suffering through a terrible bus ride from NYC to Philly. [My experience with MegaBus has been awesome so far, and the service was fine today. I was just surrounded by every child passenger on the damn thing. I was first in line so I was totally stoked to get the front seat on the top level. They have cup holders. I succeeded in holding down my territory for a bit until all at once, right when I thought I was in the clear, three families ascended the staircase and positioned their cranky children in the seats surrounding me. And the seat kicking began. Thanks to some Coltrane on my ipod, and an interesting book in my lap I quickly fell into the rhythm of travel and finally arrived back home. Still, I was in no mood to dispose of a mouse. Which is, of course, what I needed to do.]
I made a cup of tea and threw my latest Netflix into the dvd player when I heard a rustle. We've gotten in the habit of putting a lid on the cast iron pan when we're done cooking with it, but it's still too hot to wipe out. I looked toward the stove top, a favorite land of the mice-folk, and saw in the reflection of the pot lid--a tail. A little wiry tail. THE MOUSE WAS INSIDE THE POT. AND THERE WAS ALREADY A LID ON IT. My work had practically been done for me. Still, I didn't want to deal with the matter. It was too late to call my mom to get her input on the situation. Naturally, I informed my roommate of the fourth occurrence in which I'd been the one to find the mouse and called my boyfriend to get his emotional support. They both gave me the same answer: throw it out the window. I did. So RIP little buddy. I'm glad you got the chance to fly.
