There is a mouse in our house.
So gross.
To be honest, I cannot say with absolute certainty that it is a mouse. I haven't seen it. I've heard it scurrying around behind the oven, seen a small black figure dart across the hallway, and, in one memorable instance, felt something bump into my foot and looked down just in time to see a small dark mass disappear into a crevice between our counter and oven drawer.
But I've never looked the little critter square in the eye. I couldn't pick him out of a lineup. But we both know...that I know.
Husband and I are engaged in a bit of a power struggle right now in regards to how to address this issue.
Colton wants to buy some mousetraps. The snappy kind. The kind that lead to a painful, squishy death. He doesn't mess around.
:(
I'm more inclined to experiment with alternative methods. So far, my ideas consist of buying a tiny mouse cage with a door that slams shut when he goes inside (like raccoon traps, but smaller), and releasing him into the wilderness far away from our house. If that doesn't work, I'm also willing to type a "Private Property: KEEP OUT!" sign in tiny, mouse size font and post it behind the oven.
Colton disagrees. He doesn't seem to think either of these ideas will get the job done.
Even though the thought of a mouse in the house creeps me out, I feel so bad just killing it with no warning.
It doesn't know it's gross and creepy.
It doesn't realize it's not supposed to move in without an invitation and deposit check.
He's just going about his mouse-day, trying to make a modest mouse-living to feed his mouse-family.
Do you see what I did there? Modest Mouse? Get it?
It's a band.
Also, lets scratch the mouse-family part. I hope he's a bachelor mouse, or that his family lives far, far away.
I blame Disney for my inability to think rationally about this.
They have personified so many mice. Micky and Minnie, Stuart Little, The Great Mouse Detective, Ratatouille...they have feelings! Jobs! Families!
Sorry babe.
I cannot be the girl that murdered Stuart Little.
