A Mouse

We've got a problem in the house.

It's small. It's furry. And it makes me scream.

As I'm sitting on the couch, I'm periodically hearing a crunching sound from the kitchen. I really hope it's the mouse eating the poison in the little, yellow D-Con box.

Yep, I purchased mouse poison yesterday. I had the hardest time finding it. Where would you look for mouse poison at Wal-mart? Well, let me tell you, it's not in the hardware department or the pet department or the outdoor department. It is found in the middle of the grocery section by the brooms. Strange. Now, I know that I bought the wrong kind. On the yellow box, it says that it takes four or five days for it to kill the mice. I don't think I can handle four more days.

This morning, I warmed up my hot cocoa and the mouse ran from behind the microwave. He stopped and stared at me. I screamed, and then, I froze. And then, I realized that I did not know how to kill that mouse. It's not a bug that I can squish or groundhog that I can shoot. So there we were, eye to eye, sizing each other up. I backed out of the kitchen and grabbed my shoes and started chucking them. I only succeeded in forcing the mouse to zigzag across the countertop.

A tinge of inadequacy is sneaking in. Last week, little moths, and this week, a mouse! I suppose it's somewhat to be expected. The chill of fall is sinking in, and the fields around our house are being harvested.

Tomorrow, I might buy some old fashioned snap traps, or maybe I'll find Eugene, the barn cat, and bring him inside for a snack.