Yesterday . . .
slept in and woke up at 5 a.m. (hey, that's good for me!).
Proceeded to the basement, craft room, art studio aka Nancyland
to make my coffee and work on some
Bill had just emptied the trash the night before so I put in a new bag in the waste basket
to find one of these
in the bottom of the trash can.
FREAKING OUT is putting it mildly.
I hate MEECE. HATE THEM is too mild a statement.
I ran screaming up two flights of steps.
All 500 pounds of me.
I didn't know I could move that fast.
May have taken the steps 3 at a time. Not sure.
I almost passed myself up trying to get to Bill.
Who by this time had woke up to the sounds of my screams.
And was thinking about reaching for his gun.
Thought I was being attacked.
Well . . . I was . . . by a MEECE . . . in the trash can . . . I HATE MICE (did I say that already).
Bill was in no hurry to get out of bed
at 5 a.m.
when he's used to now sleeping until at least 7:30 a.m. - maybe later (since retirement)
but since I was still screaming like a maniac (and with good reason I might add)
literally standing at the foot of the bed shaking violently
(and believe me when this body shakes it is violent)
he got up s l o w l y
put on his jeans - one pants leg at a time . . .
*for god's sake Bill can't you jump into those things and hurry up!
there's a mouse in our house*
and walked down to the basement
to find the mouse
and set him free
in the field.
Now by this time I am not even thinking about stepping foot in Nancyland.
After all, there's been an invasion.
And I want no part of it.
So I'm dressed and out the door for my morning coffee.
Then to the grocery store
and of course . . . mouse things. Not traps. Even those are a little cruel for me.
Well, sort of. I hate mice. Did I say that already?
And returned home.
Not leaving Bill's side for one minute. He's a hunter.
That's the kind of guy you want to be around at times like this.
So we he put those mouse things out - I think I bought about 30 of them.
One can't be too sure. Those mouse things are all over now.
The gatherer came home with dozens of them and the hunter dispersed them
behind the washer/dryer.
See how well the gatherer and the hunter work together?
I'm starting to feel a little more confident, but not enough to venture into the basement again.
That may take awhile. I miss my basement.
All my play toys are there.
So about every hour I ask Bill to go check on the mouse thingies.
The hunter gives me a look (you know - that sideways one that says *you're crazy*)
but is nice enough to do it anyway.
Probably because he doesn't want me running around screaming any more.
The neighbors may talk.
More importantly, the hunter probably is tired of me following him around saying
*have you seen any more mice?* every two minutes.
The day progresses and we go out for dinner with friends.
I'm relaying my mouse story of the day and I said
*I know these little guys travel in two's and I'm worried about there being more than one.*
to which Kurt (who is supposed to be one of my best friends in the entire world)
*Two! They travel in dozens.*
OMG. OMG. OMG.