I hate mice.
And in case I wasn’t clear enough…I hate mice!!!
Over the course of my life, I’ve lived in three apartments that I had to share with the awful critters. So when I saw that this house out in the middle of the country had absolutely no evidence of rodents, I was more than happy to buy it. And I’ve enjoyed slightly more than six wonderful, mouse-free years here.
All that wonderfulness ended this past Sunday when, after deciding I needed a late-night snack, I found Jasper playing with a mouse on my kitchen floor. Two days later, I found that same mouse sprawled out dead in the middle of the hallway.
At least I thought it was that mouse. Can’t be sure now because there was another dead mouse in the dining room today.
Did I mention how much I hate mice?
These women are obviously not as afraid of mice as I am.
Apparently all the snow we’ve had this winter has revealed an entrance that hadn’t been accessible to the filthy rotten little varmints before.
This is making life pretty miserable for me. Yes, I’m the woman who will run screaming for the nearest piece of furniture when I see one. I am also the woman who will either stomp her way into another room, or send her son in first. The son who isn’t terrified of mice, and who laughs his butt off at his cowardly mother.
I know. I know. I’m an adult. I’m a lot bigger than a mouse. And I try to tell myself what everyone else tells me. Those little mice are a lot more scared of me than I am of them.
When something scares you, you stay away from it. If mice truly were afraid of me, they would avoid my house like the plague, and obviously they have not chosen to do that.
I can’t stand spiders, but I’ve made my peace with them. Mice… Yeah. Never. I’ll never make my peace with a mouse, or any relative of a mouse.
What about you? Is there something that causes you to run screaming for higher ground? If it’s mice, how do you handle it when they’ve invaded your home?