Of mice and (wo)men. This story also ends badly.

To understand how we got here, first you have to know a little backstory. It goes a little something like this…

One day I watched a show on TLC called Extreme Couponing. I told Brent that we too, needed 125 bottles of mustard. He rolled his eyes and went and grabbed 50 news papers. We he cut coupons until our fingers bled. I sent him to the store to buy a shit load of groceries because I dislike grocery shopping.  We kept the overflow of canned goods and other snack type items in our garage against his better judgment, so he says, but I sure as hell don’t recall him arguing against it.

The end?

No. The beginning.

Now lets fast forward a few months to last week. We were planning on having a lovely breakfast until we realized that we were out of pancake mix. No problem I said. We have more in “the stock pile”. Couponing bitches say that, so I decided to call our heap of shit in the garage a “stock pile”.

Anyway, Aidan was sent out to get a bag of pancake mix, and a while later he came back in the house and announced that the bag had a hole in it, and now it was falling out all over the place. I then instructed him to go and retrieve the 2nd bag. Yes, we had two of them. What kind of stock pile would it be with only one?

Aidan came back and informed us that the 2nd bag also had a hole in it.

The fuck?!?

I walked out there to see what was really going on, and that was when I realized that we were all going to die. Probably of the plague, Hantavirus, or possibly even worse.

Folks, we have a mouse in our garage. I’ve been told that mice rarely travel solo, but I refuse to believe that there are a family of those fuckers camping out where I regularly find myself.  Not only that, but those sons a bitches ate through two giant bags of gluten free pancake mix that actually didn’t taste like crap. They also left turds behind to prove that they ate it, and that they also want to give us all Hantavirus.

I told Brent he needed to get his ass to Lowe’s ASAP to take care of this little problem. We need traps. Pronto! I was unsure if I wanted to do a catch and release type of trap or what, but Brent was against that, and since he knew I wasn’t going to release them anywhere, my vote didn’t count. I tried, PETA. I tried…

So he mentioned that he wanted to get a glue trap, which seems a little harsh to just let them get stuck in there, and to have who knows how much time to think about how they are going to die. I told him it needed to be quick, as I gave him the slit throat gesture, and he agreed that’s what he would do.

When he came back he immediately put peanut butter in the 3 traps like a total dick. Everybody knows that mice love cheese. I tried telling him that, but as usual, he had to remind me that he grew up on a farm 50 years ago, and he’s a goddamed mouse expert. So he put the tiniest amount of peanut butter possible on the traps, because apparently not only are they gluten intolerant mice, but they are also anorexic. He then confidently stated that we would “have them by morning”

Ok, Jack Hanna. Whatever you say.

Next morning, Brent had to report that no mice were trapped. However, one of the traps had been moved!!!! Like I give a shit about trap movement. I want them DEAD!

Then this morning, I walked into the garage to get in my vehicle. Always in full alert at all times, I don a N95 particulate mask, and I remain ready to rumble at the first sign of vermin movement. When I pulled out of the garage I noticed that there was mice shit under where my car is parked! Congratulations. Paranoia is now in extreme overdrive.

At this point, I know what’s up.  I know those fuckers are probably all nested in and tucked away in my engine or something equally horrifying like that. I just know that I’m being doused with laced Hantavirus shit air every time I turn the AC or heat on. I’m in full freak out mode, and I’m thinking we need professional help because my farm boy doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

The mice have breached the first line of defense. If they make it into the house I’m taking my new bag of Pamela’s pancake mix and I’m getting the fuck out of here.  

By the way, If you are a mouse killing connoisseur and you happen to know what their little taste buds enjoy, by all means, clue me in. I’ll pass it along to famer Brent. I’m giving him one more week, then we bring in the big guns.

Stay tuned.

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