Warning: This is not a PETA approved post
You might want to reread the warning. If you are a PETA person, please don’t read on. I’m about to share several things you might find both disturbing and offensive and I’m hoping to avoid hate mail.
1. I have friends who don’t eat meat, but I do.
2. I have friends who don’t believe in killing spiders, but I do, especially when they drop on me in the shower or inhabit my shoe.
3. I don’t think pets are people, too.
Just so you know, the goggles were to protect his eyes from the blowing beach sand and the shirt to keep him from bringing the entire north bank home.
He doesn’t usually dress up. He just wears his everyday coat.
5. I have friends who hunt. I don’t, but I do like to go fishing.
6. I had an ant metropolis but the little ant houses seem to have taken care of that.
7. I have mice who think mi casa es su casa. I don’t.
8. I really, really hate killing things – bugs or bigger. Heidi doesn’t mind.
Under the sink, beside the soup pot, is the wastebasket and a sticky trap. There’s also a sticky trap stuck to the bottom of the recliner. I don’t know how it got there, but if I pull it off, the chair will be sticky. I’m just leaving it for now.
I prefer those little mouse motel traps over sticky traps, but Texas mice won’t go in those. Texas mice do have a weakness for Doritos.
To understand the rest of the story, I need to interject a brief anecdote:
When Heidi and her brother were young, they spent the summers on their grandparents farm. One of things they loved to do, when the moon was bright and the breeze was gently blowing on those warm late summer nights, was to go barefoot. And what they liked even more than just going barefoot, was to put their grandparents big black rubber galoshes on their bare feet and go out in the corn field and stomp on mice.
Don’t ask me why. I can’t even stand to hear/feel the crunch of a giant Texas beetle under my tennis shoe. Anyway, that brings us back to the sink. The squeaking begins around 11:00 each night, which seems to be when mice get Dorito cravings. It goes on all night.
I know what the humane thing to do would be. I tried the first night. I opened the cabinet door and closed it. Thus was born my nightly ritual of carefully rolling up any garbage I might make during the night in a paper towel to be disposed of in the morning.
There were two mice the first night. There was one last night. There’s at least one tonight. When Heidi gets up, she’ll shower and get dressed and open the cabinet and make a trip outside.
Henry and I are getting a little frayed around the edges. I began with a word of warning, I’ll close with a word of advice. If you ever meet someone who tells you they used to stomp on mice barefooted in galoshes, make sure they like you.