My house has been invaded. By evil little mice. I actually dreamed two nights ago that there were mice in our house and that one ran over my foot. I'm pretty sure it was actually just Jessie's foot, and I forgave him, because of my past efforts to smother him in his sleep. But then, I woke up this morning, and while feeding Madeline a bottle, saw a mouse sneaking around the corner into my kitchen. And promptly freaked out. I HATE mice. More than spiders, and that's saying something. I spent the rest of the morning upstairs, waiting for Jessie to wake up so I could inform him how much I HATE mice. Unfortunately, after about an hour, Madeline might have quite accidentally woken him up before he wanted to be coherent, and he was less than pleased to know he was losing sleep over a mouse. He essentially told me to suck it up. I essentially told him that we're all going to die from hantavirus. If we don't die of musophobia. (I had to look that up. I don't mind telling you that I had to look it up.)
I wanted to run right out and buy mousetraps to exterminate the little guy and any friends he might have invited over, but we hit a snag. To be more specific, we found out our car is dead. Which was a whole aggravating experience in and of itself, but its importance to this story is that it prevented me from buying instruments of death for the furry little invaders in my kitchen. (Don't tell anyone I said that. They might report me to PETA and my blog will get shut down by protesters. Which will upset my three readers. Totally ruin their day.) So here I sit, waiting for transportation and researching mousetraps on Wikipedia. Turns out there are a lot of cool mousetraps nowadays. My favorite is the one that notifies you by e-mail when it catches a mouse so that you can go reset the trap quickly. I'm betting that's a little out of budget, but if it turns out they sell those at the corner store, we're totally going that direction.
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