EEEEEEEK!!!!

OK....we have a mouse.

That alone is enough for a full post, but I feel you might get some sick enjoyment from my suffering, so here I go talking about trauma.

We first suspected a mouse....heck, we KNEW there was a mouse when my hubby saw it. It ran from the hallway into the boys' bathroom into a gap between the baseboard and tile. I immediately jumped into action and scoured the bathroom. I mean...EWWWW! My babies are in there. I needed the hard stuff. So I started to reach for the Clorox.

Alas, my tried and true cleaning friend is not allowed in my house because we have a septic system. It seems that Clorox eats whatever does not need to be eaten in a septic system. Next cleaning buddy on my list...Lysol!

SO, with tons of liquid Lysol, hot water and soap, I scrubbed every surface of that bathroom. I then wiped down every surface with Clorox wipes :)

I had pushed red pepper into the crack, in hopes that the critter would go away. He did...right into MY bathroom. Now that, my friends, is SERIOUS!!!! My hubby left just hours after seeing this fanged monster run into and disappear from my bathroom. He, being the great white hunter, had to go sight in his guns for his trip to hunt REAL game. Meanwhile, I was contemplating moving!

I had a phone call to make. When we have to make phone calls, and we are the only parent in the house, we have to go through a little ritual that allows us to hear and speak clearly on the phone. We make sure the door to the outside is locked (with the chain), then we lock ourselves in the master bedroom. Since kids follow that far and bang on the door, whilst yelling "OPEN THE DOOOOOOOOR!" we go into the back bathroom and shut THAT door. We sit on the throne (lid down) and have our conversation.

SO, here I go. I begin dialing. I get through the first 3 numbers, check the chain, dial and walk, lock the door, dial and walk, shut the door, finish dialing, sit down, something catches my eye......

Now keep in mind that there is NO WAY you can understand how I feel, or my surprise, to see this furry beast spring into a spasmodic fury to jump over the edge of the tub, that he somehow got himself trapped in. My first reaction, naturally, was to scream and run out. It wasn't a dainty little squeak that some might mistake for a small, ladylike sneeze. It was a scream! The words "blood" and "curdle" can come into play here. The audience that is outside the door yelling "OPEN THE DOOOOOOOOR!" starts yelling "WHA'S WRONG, MOM MOM? OPEN THE DOOOOOOOOR!"

I hang up on whomever might have been on the phone and call my hubby. Remember, he is at a gun range...about 1 hour away.

"YOU HAVE TO COME HOME!"

"I can't. I just got here. What's wrong?"

"YOU HAVE TO COME HOME!" (tears were added...not for sympathy, but from hysterics.)

Needless to say, he did NOT come home. It was now up to me to defend my home and my family from this small, yet potent killer carrying goodness knows what kind of disease and germs. AND...HE POOPED IN MY TUB!

First....plug the drain. I don't know how the vermin got into my tub. Can it come up the pipes? Well, it can get down. I grabbed the toilet brush to knock it closed. This caused further craziness from "Mickey" as he tried to jump over...no doubt to run up my leg and head straight for my jugular! I could see the menacing look of a cold-blooded killer.

I briefly thought of burning down the house. Not a good idea.

I did think of turning the trashcan over in hopes of trapping him, but I was afraid that in that fraction of a second, in which I correct my aim, that he would catapult up my arm and claw my eyeballs out...sucking out the juice, thus rendering me blind, and as I'm crying out and bumping into walls blindly, this murderous infestation runs after my innocent babies...hoping to gnaw off their pinkie toes and taking it to his nest for some sort of sacrifice that they consume, all the while thanking their big-eared gods for allowing such a successful coup!

Using hubby's piece of advice, I managed to toss the trap in the tub, obviously hoping he would get hungry with all of the physical exertion he was suffering from. With tear-streaked cheeks and trembling fingers, I lock the door. (STOP LAUGHING! I'm not stupid. I know that the snake bait can't get out the door....I had to lock out the boys.)

A few hours later, I'm calm. The boys keep excitedly asking about the mouse. My hubby finally makes it home. He gives me a little peck, says, "Hello" and is immediately sent to the holding center for this monster with fleas. He comes out and says, "No mouse" to which I calmly reply, "We have to move."

DH was nice enough to clean out my tub and reset the trap. That night, I am awakened by a loud SNAP! I wake up hubby. (How can he be sleeping, anyway? This thing knows where we live. He has probably studied us and knows where we sleep, as well as the best time to rid us of life and limb.) NOTHING! Ooooooo, the sly little devil!

We finally got one. However, my hubby has informed me that where there is one, there are probably others. SO, you won't mind if I get the bleach, right? I tried to get him to get the traps up while he's gone. He left them out. He told me to get some gloves and a bag and just go from floor to sack, throwing away the trap which contains the victim. WHATEVER!

I think it will be worth a couple of bucks for one of my kids, dressed in a body condom, of course, to dispose of it properly.

If "Mickey" does have a family...they are going DOWN!!!!!!