Day one … Let me start by telling you that living alone has its perks. You get to watch trash TV, like America’s Next Top Model and Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. You get to have cereal for dinner, or even just crackers straight from the box. But … you also don’t have anyone to do the dirty work, like “disappear” spiders. Or sympathize with you about the dark streak that scuttled across the kitchen floor while you innocently stand checking your email. (Yikes!) Alas, I find myself unable to “off” the critters. The spiders are cupped and set free. Now I find myself with a humane live trap from PETA to try to snare my furry little rodent houseguest. Wish me luck. At least there was nobody there to hear me squeal like a girl…
Day two … After completely emptying my pantry, vacuuming up 47,000 “pellets”, bleaching the shelving, throwing away a ton of food, and protecting what’s left in plastic bins, I am feeling significantly less charitable toward my little rodent friend. Dude shat in my Kitchen Aid! If he (or she) outsmarts my humane PETA live trap again tonight, it’s curtains. He (or she) will not get another one of my weekend days. Instead, perhaps a little D-Con appetizer…
Day three … Mickie has officially been re-homed. This, after a midnight run (in my pajamas) to the slough by the trail. I’m a pretty tough girl. Been through some $h1t. But I can tell you that releasing a house mouse in the dark … at close to midnight … while it’s raining (did I mention I was in my pajamas?) … next to some strange dude that has seen fit to park by the trail … while Mickie scuttled around my feet … can elicit a girlie-scream that I just did not know I had in me. I am totally stopping at the hardware store for some D-Con. No more Mrs. Nice Guy.
Postscript … I previously mentioned the strange dude in the parking lot on my midnight run to “deliver” my house mouse. I began to think about this from his perspective yesterday. There he was, minding his own … shall I say, “business” … and this car comes CAREENING in to the muddy parking lot at top speed, completely ignoring the potholes that wildly rocked the vehicle, spewing puddle water from its tires. The car screeches to a halt. Door bursts open, and this pajama-clad woman explodes out of the car, holding some (unidentifiable) object at arm’s length. She races in to the sodden, wild grass, leans over for a minute, then begins dancing in a wildly erratic manner. She screams. An other-worldly, blood-curdling shriek. Races back to the car, jumps in. PEELS out of the parking lot, again ignoring the potholes. Man says to himself, “WTF?!” So, mom … I don’t think you had to worry about me being out by myself in the middle of the night. Would you approach this woman?