"...or, maybe it's a rat."

When the exterminator was here the other day, he said the words, "...or, maybe it's a rat."  I'm not sure exactly what he said, because I sort of blacked out after that.

Last night, I got home from visiting my grand-fabulous-babies and noticed my rug in front of my stove was askew.  At first, I thought I moved it when I pushed my kitchen island out of the way to put my Lean Cuisine's in the freezer...the ones I bought because I left my freezer open yesterday...if you're keeping track.

So, I grabbed the rug and pulled it straight and it had been gnawed, about six inches toward the center of the rug in some parts, along the edge that had been under my stove.  Sonofabitch.  What the hell kind of varmint do I have that is strong enough to pull a rug.  Granted, it's a flexible rubber cushiony rug (that I spent $20 damn dollars on two months ago), but still.  That ain't no mouse.

I banged on the drawer to scare away whatever gnawed the rug and then pulled the drawer out.  At the back of the wall under my stove, there is a hole around the electrical wiring for the stove.  Bingo.  That's where the furry bastard is getting in.  There were pieces of the rug scattered about, but no nest, thank you Baby Jesus.

I slept last night, when I did sleep, with my bedroom door closed and a pair of blue jeans stuffed under the door. I had bad dreams all night, mostly about married people having affairs in the front seat of my car while I was driving and the people in the back seat of my car thought I was stupid to be annoyed by that.  What that has to do with vermin infestations, I do not know.

An interesting thing I discovered about having a mouse in your house is that everybody has a story.  Even the lady at the pest control place who answers the phone told me her story.  It's one of those little secrets that people don't talk about. 

When I had a ghost in my house, at first I was hesitant to tell people.  I soon found out that every single person I speak to about it has a personal ghost story.  It's comforting, in a creepy sort of way, to find out that everyone also has a "I had a gotdamn mouse in my house" story, too.

When It Rains...yada, yada, yada

My life has a rhythm.  Things be-bop along fine for months and months, then crap happens.  My current series of crap started with mouse droppings.

I woke up yesterday morning and there was what looked like mouse turds in front of my hall closet.  The exterminator came out and said, basically, "Lady, if you had that many mice, you'd be overrun with 'em." 

He picked up my couch, he looked under cushions, he walked all over my house and searched with his little flashlight, didn't find anything and didn't charge me a penny.  It appears I brought the mouse poop into my house in a box of things I got out of my mom's garage when we were cleaning it out Sunday.  I want to marry the mouse-man, but I don't suppose his wife and three kids would approve.  (Note:  If you have insect/vermin/pest problems call Guardtech 409-813-2297.)

While doing my own mouse hunt this afternoon, I noticed my dryer vent "hose thingy" was torn and the subsequent hot air blowing under the wallpaper in my laundry room was causing the wallpaper to peel off the wall.  So, I got on the floor, patched the "hose thingy" with duct tape and ripped the wallpaper off the wall.

That was after getting home from work and finding my freezer door open.  Everything was thawed out.  Everything.  Every Lean Cuisine, every P. F. Chang meal, every damn thing.  Nice.

While I was bringing out the trash full of everything in my freezer and the old wallpaper, I noticed the sheetrock about to come down in my garage ceiling.  Seriously?  Yes, seriously. 

So, I put the garbage out, moved my car to the other side of the garage away from the threatening sheetrock, came back in the house, locked the door and sat on the couch.  That's it.  I'm done.  American Idol, it's you and me kid.  Make my day.

It's Not My Fault

I was supposed to be in New Orleans this weekend, but due to circumstances beyond my control, I was unable to leave Beaumont. When I'm feeling sorry for myself, I do one or both of the following: (1) buy stuff; (2) organize stuff.

This weekend, I did both. I reorganized all of my kitchen cabinets (partly because I found where that fucking mouse had set up house, so I threw everything in that cabinet out...Tupperware, Rubbermaid, canned goods, dish towels...everything) and I spent an exorbitant amount of money on cookware, gadgets, utensils, knives, organizer shelves, dish towels, serving platters and canisters.

It's not like I even cook. It's not that I'm a bad cook, it's just that I don't cook. I blame Alton Brown. He makes it all look so damn fun. I have an uncontrollable desire to fry some chicken.

Coincidence?

Last night I was watching television and noticed one of the displays on my home theater system doing something funky. It was the display on my DVD player. I turned it off and on and the display just kept going crazy showing all kinds of weird alien looking stuff.

I turned it off again and when I turned it back on, the display wouldn't come on at all. The only lights showing were the ones above the display indicating that I still had three DVDs in the machine. Three NETFLIX DVDs. Crap.

I had to get those DVDs out of there so I just kept pushing buttons until I got enough lights to show up to be able to open the drawer. I got the DVDs out, but now there was a bigger problem. The cabinet that holds my home theater receiver and DVD player is the cabinet that the black blob from a few days ago, which I assume was a mouse, went behind.

I had to find out if whatever I saw the other night had set up house inside that cabinet. I mustered up my courage, grabbed a flashlight and a mirror and checked everything out. It all looked normal. There wasn't any evidence that anything had ever been in the cabinet and the DVD player power cord looked fine.

I've never had a problem with the components in that system. Although I've had it for four years, I think it's a pretty weird coincidence that the DVD player goes nuts a week after a mysterious black blob runs behind its cabinet.

By the way, my traps still haven't caught anything.

Another coincidence note:
When I finished typing this and was about to hit "publish," a commercial came on for a movie and the announcer described it as "a cat and mouse thriller."

Slowly, I turn...

I'm home from spending the weekend with my grand-fabulous-daughter, fabulous son and fabulous daughter-in-law. My intention was to call my dad to check the mouse sticky disgusting trap thingys before I got home, but decided to suck it up and check them myself when I got home.

The traps were empty and I don't quite know how to feel about that. I have thoroughly enjoyed all of your mouse stories. I am currently spending 99 percent of my time upstairs, which is dumb because mice can, no doubt, climb stairs. To get our minds off of mice for a moment (as though that were possible), here are some videos of The Magnificent Ava.

Well, that's not going to happen

The exterminator just left. He threw some poison around in my attic (Note: I first typed "attack" instead of "attic") and set sticky traps around my house.

If you don't know what a sticky trip is, it's a non-poisonous "trap" that humanely catches the little mouse bastard and, according to the package instructions, I am to pour mineral oil on the trap, gently remove the little mouse bastard and let him loose at a location at least a mile from my house.

This is how the conversation with my little exterminator guy went:

Little exterminator guy: Okay, I've put sticky traps on each side of your refrigerator...(blah, blah, blah...telling me where he put the traps) and you should look at them every day...

Laurie: You mean, I should call my daddy to come over and look at them every day.

Little exterminator guy: They're more afraid of you than you are of them.

Laurie: I knew someone was going to say that to me eventually and I seriously doubt it.

Little exterminator guy: If you see something on the trap...

Laurie (beginning to have a freak out): I should call my daddy?

Little exterminator guy (giving up): Yes, you should call your daddy.

Musophobia

A friend asked me what the fear of mice is called. While I was Googling that, I began to experience the beginnings of a panic attack. I came across a quiz which I took and, according to the quiz, I have a severe case of musophobia.

This being a full service blog, I persevered, and just for you, I hereby present a brief sampling of the results of my search, even though it was freaking me the fuck out. (I would have put a picture of a mouse at the top of this post but...hell to the no!)

From Musophobia.com:

Musophobia is a fear of mice or rats. The origin of the word Muso is Latin (mus meaning mouse). Musophobia is one of the most common specific phobias. Musophobia is also known as Suriphobia and Murophobia (murine stems from the Muridae family that encompasses mice and rats) .

Musophobia is created by the unconscious as a protective mechanism. This mechanism was probably created as some point in the persons past when they had a traumatic experience with a mouse or rat. Everyone experiences their fears in different ways and intensity levels and some react in different ways, such as screaming, running to different rooms, and/or getting to higher ground.

The 5 Stages of Having a Mouse in Your House

1. Denial – “I did NOT just see that.”
2. Anger – “That little bastard mouse gets the run of my house while I have to work!”
3. Bargaining – “If you kill the mouse, I will give you money.”
4. Depression – “I have to move…to Antarctica.”
5. Acceptance – “I have a mouse in my house and that fucker is going down.”
   

MOUSE!

I was sitting on the couch a little while ago when I saw something appear out of nowhere on the wall by my stairs, kind of scale the wall about 3 inches off the ground and dart behind one of my CD racks next to my woofer beside my television.

I AM FREAKING OUT!!!!!!

I guess it was a mouse but it moved more smoothly than a mouse and, I swear, it was moving on the wall and not the floor. It was about three or four inches long and about two inches wide but shaped more like a flat, black pear.

TYPING THIS IS FREAKING ME OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I grabbed my flashlight and a broom and banged all of my furniture on that wall, but nothing moved. I don't know what I would have done if something had come out. My plan was to kind of shoo it out the door while screaming like a banshee.

GOTTTTTTDDDDDDAMMMMMIIIIIIITTTTTTT!!!!!!!!

Now, I have every light in the house on and, like a scared 2 year old. I won't go anywhere without my broom. What am I going to do?

I have to move.

Edited to add:
I called my exterminator this morning. (Yes, I have an exterminator. I don't have a doctor, but I do have an exterminator. Does that surprise you? It shouldn't.) They're coming to my house at noon tomorrow and it's only going to cost me an additional $45 above my regular quarterly debugging. Little do they know, I was prepared to pay four times that. Don't tell.