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Not a creature was stirring, except for the mouse.

There’s a mouse in the house.

Usually I’m able to, uh, stop them at the garage. But this rodent rogue must have slipped by and darted into the kitchen while I scooped dog kibble in the mudroom .

I know it’s here because, as you know from your own disgusting experiences,  this morning I detected the droppings left behind in his foraging of countertops and the pantry. Ugh.

After pulling jars, the turkey roaster pan and the rest of the seldom-used appliances from the pantry – and giving the shelves a good wiping down with ammonia – out came the mouse trap, now strategically tucked in a corner in the pantry, locked and ready. Mice can’t resist peanut butter.

Now you know me. I’m one of those soft-hearted guys who likes to believe all creatures somehow have the cognizance to recognize I’m not one of them average, run-of-the-mill cruel bastard humans. We can and should cohabitate. But don’t poop your way around my kitchen.

 

Published inCerebrations

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