Or, "I’d like someone else to do my killin’, thankyouverymuch."

One of the more disturbing discoveries I’ve made during The Great Declutter of ’08 is the unmistakable evidence that we are not alone in the house. Yes, it looked like Mickey and Minnie were shacking up with us.

Like any self-respecting shame filled home-maker, I bought a medium sized package of glue traps. Why glue traps? I have no idea. In the past, when Mickey and Minnie have tried to move in with us I’ve gone with the tried and true Decon. Then, when they go to the  big cheese block in the sky their little corpses dry out in the walls and I don’t usually have to deal with them. Once in a while I’ve had to sweep up a little fur covered skeleton.

But this time, I picked up glue traps. It was a tragic error, I tell you. I put a couple down in the broom closet behind the plastic dog food caddy and next to the brooms, where I’d found the first telltale signs.

That was last Wednesday or so. Nothing on Thursday. Nothing on Friday. Nothing on Saturday. Maybe, the sign was old and Mickey and Minnie had gone off to their summer home in the backyard?

Saturday, I was out with SrK & J and petting cows and talking about other people killing those silly beasts to make tasty tasty dinner for us. And not really having a problem with it. Because I’m apparently VERY GOOD at compartmentalizing my thinking. Or something.

Sunday morning, I glanced behind the dog food caddy and was jolted to see a chubby little body quivering on the black plastic tray. I didn’t stand and stare, nor did I take pictures. I shoved the caddy back toward the wall, and ran screaming into the living room. And screamed and screamed. And then I think I screamed. When I calmed down a little more, shook all over and then….what? Ah yes. I screamed.

And then, I left Libby the Wonder Poodle out of her crate, and left for church. Once safely outside, I called DS1 and DS2, because of course, they were with their father this weekend. And I was suddenly quite certain that I was not going to be the one to deal with that situation.

None of them picked up. I know it’s not actually malicious, but I have to admit accusing X of living in a dead zone just to mess with my head on this particular morning. So I stooped to the lowest place I think a divorced woman can stoop. I left a message on my X husband’s voicemail, hysterically asking for my teenaged sons to stop at the house and "take care of it before I come home." I may have begged. I’m pretty sure I whimpered.

When I came home from church the boys had taken care of it. I got enough details to cover my ears and shout "La-la-la!!!" They loved it. Especially DS2.

Off to their dad’s they go for the rest of the afternoon (Germany was playing Spain, after all) and I was left alone to continue cleaning. Or watching "Hello Dolly!" One of those. And maybe, because of all the stress, the Wonder Poodle and I might have taken a wee nap.

At any rate, about 8:30 in the evening I look up and a little face is peering out around the corner of the dining room wall, catches a glimpse of me seeing it (and maybe, I might have screamed a little) and it scooted back the way it came. Of course, it had disappeared by the time I crossed the room. (which might not have been right away.)  The brazenness!

I called my neighbor and asked if I could borrow her cat. She declined the opportunity, citing Libby the Wonder Poodle and her cat’s tendency to mark territory. Er. No thanks. So, off to the store for the tried and true. The gloves are off mousey: I’m getting the Decon.

The boys were home when I returned (with some off brand, but I think the same formula as Decon). We set out the six packets and talked about what the next steps would be. Then, with all of us still up, lights blazing and the dog laying in the middle of the floor, the furry little bastard scampered from the basement door to the refrigerator across open floor!

And anyone who suggests it wasn’t the exact same mouse I saw earlier in the evening will be blocked. I’m not kidding.

Today, the boys had a much longer list of chores that included tidying up the place we store the ramen and such. And when I got home we went around the outside of the  house shoving steel wool into any crack or crevice or hole in the foundation we could. I set out some real Decon and on Thursday when we all leave for a few days, I’m going to set out six more mousey snack stations.

Hopefully, when I return on Sunday, the other mouse (singular or whatever) will be long long gone. And I can move on to the next "adventure" of the summer.

I’m continually amazed at what I’ve learned about myself in the last four years. And this incident underscores a few things:

• I do not like rodents in the house.
• I do not like killing them.
• I’m squeamish and grossed out by them.
• And, if there is an alternative to doing it myself, even if that alternative involves groveling and begging I will grovel and beg in order for that to happen.

Note to whatever man decides to get mixed up with me (platonically or not): Be prepared to deal with the inside mouseys. please????!!!!???

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