Last night we went to bed with a mouse precariously hanging from the shelf in the shower.
We drifted off to peaceful sleep with the crack under the bathroom door barricaded by our two largest books (The Complete Works of Shakespeare, Unabridged, and The Holy Qur'an, With Translation and Commentary.)
In the bathroom, we left behind the hanging mouse, a strategically placed piece of brie, and an electrical trap from Home Deport.
This morning, a small, slightly crispy tail protruded from the fated shock box, and another small mouse joined the angel chorus in heaven. (And what happened after that I asked Mark not to tell me. Because . . . ewwww.)
We will miss your droppings in the corner of the dollhouse. We will miss your incessant nightly scratching while we tried to watch The Daily Show. We will miss your creative ways of chewing through our dry goods. We will miss your elusive scurries across the room that we catch out of the corner of our eyes. But we both know, this relationship had to end.
Farewell, foul rodent. May you rest in peace.