The title of this blog entry leaves little to the imagination. Upon going to bed last night I hear my husband jumping and rustling around like he's caught fire. So I go down stairs to ask what the hell he is doing and he tells me one of my least favourite things to hear: "There is a mouse in the house." It's right up there with "Mommy I pooed my pants" and "Looks like your computer died and you didn't save anything."
But I HATE mice, I mean I really HATE mice. I have an inordinate fear of them since my teen years. We had a farmers field in back of my parents house, and when a group of developers came and ploughed the entire land, including tearing down an old corn field, it's like they had nowhere to go. They all came running for the closest source of heat - our house. I can remember sitting in the living room trying to watch a movie and having 3 or 5 mice at a time running around and my chucking my slippers at them hoping to knock one out. Since then I have PTMD (Post-Traumatic Mouse Disorder).
So I say "Okay, we're calling an exterminator" and my husband says "Don't you just want to put out a trap?" and I say "Hell no, I do not want mouse carcasses around the house!" And I don't. I am not humane in this regard. I do not want the Mr. Nice Exterminator who comes with those traps that keeps the mice alive to be reunited with their 1000's of mice siblings in the wild. Fuck that. I want the guy who kills mice with poison. Toxic poison with a side of arsenic and DEATH. I want the Jean Claude Van Damme of mouse killers.
If you know this person - send them my way would ya?? Until then, I'll be curled up in my room in the fetal position with a pair of pointy slippers in tow.
But I HATE mice, I mean I really HATE mice. I have an inordinate fear of them since my teen years. We had a farmers field in back of my parents house, and when a group of developers came and ploughed the entire land, including tearing down an old corn field, it's like they had nowhere to go. They all came running for the closest source of heat - our house. I can remember sitting in the living room trying to watch a movie and having 3 or 5 mice at a time running around and my chucking my slippers at them hoping to knock one out. Since then I have PTMD (Post-Traumatic Mouse Disorder).
So I say "Okay, we're calling an exterminator" and my husband says "Don't you just want to put out a trap?" and I say "Hell no, I do not want mouse carcasses around the house!" And I don't. I am not humane in this regard. I do not want the Mr. Nice Exterminator who comes with those traps that keeps the mice alive to be reunited with their 1000's of mice siblings in the wild. Fuck that. I want the guy who kills mice with poison. Toxic poison with a side of arsenic and DEATH. I want the Jean Claude Van Damme of mouse killers.
If you know this person - send them my way would ya?? Until then, I'll be curled up in my room in the fetal position with a pair of pointy slippers in tow.