Before said people can go anywhere, plans must be made and stuff must be organized. You know, the neurotic cleaning and sorting and general foolishness to ensure that the house is "in order" before one leaves for a vacation. My mother was so anal about the whole process that she would literally wash her way out the door as we left the house. Really.
But I digress... back to the getting of things in order.
This week as I scurried about, trying to round up passports and water shoes, and various other travel necessities, I was not alone. There was other scurrying going on. And chewing. And (shudder) droppings.
There was a mouse in my kitchen.
I could hear his little rodent teeth gnawing away behind my cabinets. There were tiny teeth marks on a potato in my pantry.
After cussing out every cat in the neighbourhood for crapping all over my yard and yet failing to keep the mice away, I packed all 3 kids into the van and headed out on an exterminatory mission - to find as much rodent removal equipment as I could fit into my budget and my vehicle.
After sanitizing floors and loading traps and plugging in ultra-sonic-mouse-repellent-thingies, I started to think. One of two outcomes was possible as a result of my actions:
1. I would not catch the mouse. It would nest, and inevitably, bump uglies with another mouse and take over my home with its filthy offspring while I frolicked away in the far north.
2. I would catch the mouse and its furry carcass would be waiting for my return, along with the unmistakeable stench of decomposing flesh.
Either way, I was screwed. So, I did what every rational, educated adult would do.
I dismantled my kitchen cabinet.
I hauled out my water-filter vacuum and filled it.
And then I sat in waiting for the hairy little bastard. What followed could be described as a combination of B-horror flick, performance art and general tomfoolery.
Stay the hell outta my house, vermin. I KEEEEL you!!