I didn’t sleep that well last night. The thought of that little mouse running across the foot of my bed or right above my head was enough to keep me up until the point of sheer exhaustion.
After work yesterday, A went to Lowe’s to purchase a wide variety of traps in an effort to buy back my sanity. Unfortunately, A took my blog a little to literally and bought traps large enough to entrap a rat instead of a mouse. (He will be the first to point out that I compared our lovely mouseguest to the size of a softball, not a baseball.)
Anyway, you’d think that nearly 10 traps would make me feel a little more at ease. This is not the case. With every passing moment, I’m convinced that the furry bugger has moved on from the basement and is now upstairs cohabitating with us. (I just trembled again.)
I keep trying to picture Gus and Jack – the friendly mice that helped Cinderella escape the evil grasp of her stepmother – but that’s just not cutting it. I never knew how incredibly scared of mice I was.