#mousepocalypse: part 3

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As you know, new traps were laid last night, in at attempt to catch The Giant Mouse. This morning, I awoke and hopped in the shower, while Chad went downstairs (per the usual routine). As I was putting on my makeup he comes to me and says “We caught a mouse on the sticky trap!” Rejoicing, I applauded the fact that our home was once again safe.

But the rejoicing didn’t last long.

“The mouse isn’t all that big – not as big as you described,” said The Weatherman. “I don’t think we’ve caught The Giant Mouse.” My heart sank – it was worse than I thought!

And then it got WORSE.

“Don’t come downstairs,” he said. “The mouse is wimpering on the sticky trap, and I know you don’t want to see it.” UGH.

We then discuss what to do about this situation. My vote for throwing it in the trash can and then immediately taken to the big community dumpster was vetoed immediately. In the end, we agreed to let it be until the apartment people would come deal with it, as to avoid getting bitten, contacting gross diseases, etc.

That lasted a few minutes, until The Weatherman returned upstairs for an old shoe. I asked no questions – there was an unspoken silence to recognize what was about to go down.

When completely ready for work, I called downstairs to The Hubs to ensure it was okay that I came down. I then walked backward down the stairs, picked up my purse and gym bag, and headed out. No need to fix breakfast – there are plenty of perfectly good Starbucks in this town – and no need to look into the still-barricaded kitchen area.

The apartment folks have since come and removed the vermin. They’ve supplied more traps and advice. No one knows why this torture is happening to us, or when the saga will end.

Dear God, let it be soon.

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