Day 497: Mouse in the House
Just tried to post this, no internet. It’s 11:35pm. We’ve been hearing complaints all over this area about poor service. Come on Nova Scotia! We’re better than this!
We have a mouse in the house. This is trouble. Jeannette is not a big fan of vermin, especially when it comes to cohabitation. I’m not particularly fond of them either, but am perhaps less shocked at the appearance of one, only just a few moments ago, and have expected that they would one day penetrate our defences and get in. In fact I seem to recall saying as much in a blog entry a while back when I was hearing little sounds in the basement in behind the wall. See that’s the problem with the wall, it’s doesn’t grow back. It doesn’t heal itself. Mice teeth and claws however, get worn away and grow back stronger and longer, or they die and their spawn picks up their torch and makes it their own life’s work to get inside your house.
Stupid Hubble is useless. We need a cat. A big angry bad ass cat that eats mice for breakfast, literally.
As it stands we’ll likely get some traps and go from there. It’s an unfortunate occurrence, coming as it is while we have a lot of other things going on, but to me it’s but a blip in an otherwise decent day. We had our doctor’s appointment early, for Blaze. He’s “thriving” according to our paediatrician. Kicking ass and taking names, is another way I would put it, as a more impactful translation of thriving. He’s long this guy, which is another way for saying ‘tall’, but for organisms that don’t stand. He is long. He’s a little worm that never stays still for any length of time longer than a breath.
After the doctor we went and had breakfast at my cousin’s restaurant down the road, they have a very good barbecue chicken omelette if you’re ever driving through Aylesford Nova Scotia and your stomach is growling. They also have a very good peanut butter and chocolate shake, that I was the guinea pig for today. Free shake? You don’t have to ask me twice.
From there we came home and Jeannette and the kid slept for a bit until Amy came over. Then they went out for a bit while I dug into work. I’m cutting it close on the art work I was hoping to have done by Friday, sprucing up the website as I’ve been threatening to do for a while, but who can say if I’ll get around to it or not. I’m not big on anniversaries and such, never have been, though I have a feeling I will be more inclined to keep track of them once I finish my system.
Hubble just saw the mouse for the first time. I’m writing this in the kitchen, at the table, and he’s laying down in his bed next to me; then he suddenly jumped up and ran to the stove, shoving his nose in between the stove and the wall and sniffing around like a crazy person. So there you go, he’s behind the stove.
As I said, I’m not too concerned about it. I’ve encountered more than my fair share of mice in my life. When I lived in Australia we had a bit of an issue in the flat my girlfriend and I were renting. That was my first time setting up traps and having to lure the suckers in. I don’t know how many times they licked the trap clean of peanut butter before I figured out I needed to put something on there they had to tug. It was after that revelation that I became a true mouse killing machine; a title I no longer desire, but one that I will likely be forced to reclaim due to Jeannette’s aversions to the creatures, and Blaze’s close proximity to the floor.
When I lived in Toronto I had a system for dealing with them when they’d get into our second story apartment above the Polish sausage joint. I’d take a hockey stick in one hand and have a broom in the other; I’d wait for them to go behind something like the oven or the stove and would then place a stick on either side. Then, with the broom I’d suddenly smash it all around the one side flushing the mouse out the other side, where I would then pin him with the hockey stick. After that I would quite literally stick handle him across the kitchen floor, open the door to the back deck, and wrist shot him out into the night.
Another time when I was visiting my parents my dad and I went to play hockey and I found a mouse in my hockey gear. As soon as I opened the bag up and pulled out my cup I saw a little grey flash dart past my shoulder pads. I took that one out with a boot. It wasn’t until I’d disposed of him that I found that my gear bag had been filled to capacity with little mouse shit pellets. The whole time we were out on the ice no one sat next to me.
Tomorrow we’ll have our wood guy coming over to do more work. It’s an awful mess out there with no end in sight for a while; a fact that is also driving Jeannette a little bonkers. For me it’s all a learning curve and I’ve accepted that all those years of not paying attention to how this type of thing was done is coming back to bite me in the ass a bit now. It’s called Karma, a grossly overused term that I’m only now starting to understand to any depth. We all have it and once it gets built up it has but one way to work itself out, and that’s through you and your life. And yes, sometimes it seem like an absolute bitch, but without it we’d all be in big trouble.
Okay, I’ve just run out of gas. I know that because I’m not even sure what that last sentence meant. Big trouble? Who can say? I have to go to bed now. I’ve got a mouse to get up and deal with and a month of garbage I have to lug out to the street ass early. Have a good nite munks. Yap at you tomorrow.