kiwords

We have a mouse. No, not a pet. A nasty, skittery, filthy tiny mouse that has made his home in MY kitchen cupboards. My mother likes to make unnecessary suggestions that there is probably actually an entire family of mice. She has some ridiculous notion in her head about how by the time you see evidence of a mouse, there are actually many mice already in residence.
I hate my mom.
No, that’s not true. But I do hate the mouse. The singular mouse that lives in my kitchen. Shudder. Just thinking about it, down there…pooping and shedding germs…anyone know the symptoms of hanta virus?
I’m also a touch irritated with our beautiful, stupid cat Claire. What the heck is she doing? Why does she think she’s on the payroll anyhow? She recently brought a dead mouse to the back door, and at the time I thought it was further evidence of her hunter prowess. Now I’m thinking she probably didn’t catch that mouse at all. It was probably living in our house, gorging itself on our food, and as it was doing a little mousy macarana in the middle of the kitchen, it dropped dead of a heart attack (all that indolent living, you know). Claire probably tripped over it.
Dad set a trap for the mouse. It was actually called “A Better Mousetrap.” Yeah. Better…FOR THE MOUSE! The Better Mousetrap sat on the floor until it was licked clean of peanut butter by a tiny little diseased tongue. The trap never actually snapped shut, you understand. Rather than functioning as a mouse TRAP it seemed to function as more of a mouse DINER. So Dad got another mousetrap. A classic style mouse trap. Don’t breathe too hard in the direction of this mousetrap, because it will snap shut with a startling leap into the air.
It was also licked clean. I’m beginning to understand how this ONE mouse can get around so much. It’s an evil, magic mouse.
So Dad hauled out the big guns. Mouse poison. It’s there now, under the sink.
Look, I have to protect the health of my family, ok? There are sanitation issues to think about! I can’t have mice…er…mouse in my kitchen. Especially not an evil, magic mouse. I don’t feel guilty. Not one bit!
Damn mouse.