a not-mouse in my house

Yes, you read that correctly. Mickey/Mrs. Frisby was falsely accused. We put out about ten mouse traps, of the sticky variety. We found the shredded evidence upstairs and down, but no mice. We added a few snap traps and some really huge sticky mat traps, baited it all with chocolate and walnuts (we keep a peanut butter free house) but still no Mickey/Mrs. Frisby.  I think CD is a bit relieved since the sticky mats don't kill the critters and he knows it is not worth a discussion with me about which of us will do the drowning duty. Plus, the big mats are too big to dump in a bucket of water.

We looked up the phone number of the critter company, but didn't do anything with it.  Yesterday morning we heard a scuffling during breakfast. I accused the sort-of-but-not-always broken coffee maker of making weird noises. Until when the kids left for school and we heard it again we were by the coffee maker and the noise was in the cabinet by the dishwasher which holds leftover containers and art supplies. (Yes, doesn't everyone keep those together?)  Last night we discovered a chewed up ziplock of the remaining chocolate pretzel candies.  Argh. But still we remained lazy and hoping the traps around the house would come up with something. Or they'd just move out.

So then, to the not-mouse statement:  After a particularly frenetic morning which included microwaving the leftover mac-n-cheese for lunchboxes and finding that there was no milk for cereal and needing to use the microwave to thaw something else at the same time as the lunch making, then having Bug insist on wearing his jacket right-side-out even though he was running late and Pook have to come back in for his saxophone which he had never practiced yesterday but which he seems to carry around a lot, CD finally bundled them into the car because they couldn't walk due to continued rain which seems as if it will last all week, I sat down at the computer. 

(I am in a new paragraph because that sentence was so long. I'm getting to the not-mouse part.)

Something caught my eye.  I turned toward the kitchen (desk and computer are in the eating area) and Nicodemus (Jenner? Brutus?) ran.  I did what I was supposed to do under the circumstances. Get my camera? (no, that was the 2nd thing I did) scream? But of course!  Maybe more of a yelp, but yes I screamed!

He/she/it turned toward me, looked me deep in the eyes... and reversed direction, back toward the dishwasher. I heard CD drive into the garage, so I calmly stepped out, (ha!) and tried to tell him of this utmost emergency which needed his immediate attention.  He was dealing with a torn recycling bag which was leaving a trail of cans and bottles in his wake. I summoned (some) bravery and returned inside, back to the desk.  Then the disgusting creep did it again!  He/she/it took off running toward the pantry/closet/door out of my sight. 

Now I knew where he/she/it wasn't, but I didn't know where the new hiding place was located.  Rephrase that, I don't know where the new hiding place might be. 

So, I am doing the only practical things left to do. (We called the critter company --they'll come sometime this week) I am opening every door (so there can be no surprises behind door #3) and stomping very loudly everywhere I go.  And wearing slippers.  Mickey/Mrs. Frisby wasn't as threatening as a daytime rat of NIMH.