Open letter to our incontinent mouse
Dear House Mouse:
OK, let's get something straight. At one time in my life, I killed (yes, SLAUGHTERED) 15 of your cousins out in New York. Don't think for a minute that I'll let you continue to live rent-free under our roof. And don't expect some sort of new-agey humane trap to await you next time you smell peanut butter. My DH and I, we're old school. We're talking super spring-loaded trap here, Mr. Mouse. Because I'm the queen of this house, and a rather off-with-your-heads type of royalty. But here's the deal. You've got to get more brains into your operation. The thing is, if you didn't poop every two inches whilst running all over the counter, in the cupboards and in the drawers, you'd never get caught. I might not even mind your presence but for the aforementioned evidence of your existence and presence in our humble abode. I enjoy a clean house like anyone, but washing dishes because someone took a laxative and decided to run around in the kitchen with no underwear is no bowl of cherries. I've heard there are enzymes you can take to control that kind of problem. But I digress.
The thing is, this house ain't big enough for all of us. We recognize that there's only four of us (one of which is a mere baby) and probably 300 of you all (since I just read a reassuring blog that mice can produce 263 offspring in one year). But we hope you know in your heart of micey hearts that your game is up. We are taking no prisoners, this is an all out war against you and your kind. Prepare yourself (or don't).
My advice: go find a nearby barn to raid because (a) they have more food there and (b) they probably have a friendly cat to play with. But before you go, just know this. Your decision to visit us has actually convinced my husband that cats just might have a reason to live, and for that I thank you. But the bottom line remains. Get out. Get out before I lose my mind and do something I'll later regret. (Like move into a concrete box sealed off from all rodents.) You give me the creeps.
Sincerely,
The LCS Family
OK, let's get something straight. At one time in my life, I killed (yes, SLAUGHTERED) 15 of your cousins out in New York. Don't think for a minute that I'll let you continue to live rent-free under our roof. And don't expect some sort of new-agey humane trap to await you next time you smell peanut butter. My DH and I, we're old school. We're talking super spring-loaded trap here, Mr. Mouse. Because I'm the queen of this house, and a rather off-with-your-heads type of royalty. But here's the deal. You've got to get more brains into your operation. The thing is, if you didn't poop every two inches whilst running all over the counter, in the cupboards and in the drawers, you'd never get caught. I might not even mind your presence but for the aforementioned evidence of your existence and presence in our humble abode. I enjoy a clean house like anyone, but washing dishes because someone took a laxative and decided to run around in the kitchen with no underwear is no bowl of cherries. I've heard there are enzymes you can take to control that kind of problem. But I digress.
The thing is, this house ain't big enough for all of us. We recognize that there's only four of us (one of which is a mere baby) and probably 300 of you all (since I just read a reassuring blog that mice can produce 263 offspring in one year). But we hope you know in your heart of micey hearts that your game is up. We are taking no prisoners, this is an all out war against you and your kind. Prepare yourself (or don't).
My advice: go find a nearby barn to raid because (a) they have more food there and (b) they probably have a friendly cat to play with. But before you go, just know this. Your decision to visit us has actually convinced my husband that cats just might have a reason to live, and for that I thank you. But the bottom line remains. Get out. Get out before I lose my mind and do something I'll later regret. (Like move into a concrete box sealed off from all rodents.) You give me the creeps.
Sincerely,
The LCS Family
posted by Left Coast Sister at 9:18 PM
4 Comments:
can I stop laughing yet???
There is no way that a literate mouse with internet access is going to cross you.... you are one bad momma!
amen sister!
after living on a tree farm for 5 years
hearing the ever comforting sound of mice crawling in the walls right by my head each night as i drifted to sleep
& having burned into my brain the vision of my 80 year old grandpa with a shovel chasing a mouse around our bathroom
i can tell you that D-con is sent right from heaven to homes with micey friends...it drains every fluid right out of them...seriously...it is sick...but they are dead & that is my favorite kind of mouse...
D-Con... we're going out of town this weekend, maybe I should try that stuff! Yay for modern science and medival torture tactics.
I am so sorry. It could be worse though, my parents new "houseguests" keep moving the traps - yup, they are big enough to knock them over and move them, you can hear it through the walls - CREEPY! Best of luck with your exterminatin efforts!
Carrie
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