…or Cut off Their Tails with a Carving Knife

Some people lay awake at night thinking about the future, some people about the past, some their finances, their children. I lay awake at night thinking about how to destroy mice.

At one time I thought the old nursery rhyme about the three blind mice was borderline inappropriate. I mean, running after three blind mice with a butcher knife? Come on people! Is this something you’d want your three year old doing? Dashing around the house chopping things with a sharp cooking utensil? I think not! But I have discovered that the nursery rhyme must have been written by somebody who had mice in her home.

I lay awake at night listening to a mouse. Well, I assume it is one mouse and I choose to refer to it as such, but there is the remote possibility there is more than one single mouse; however I find that possibility so repulsive that my mind refuses to seriously consider it. At night, the mouse begins his day. He makes some coffee, checks his email, reads the paper, returns a few voicemails, and goes about his business. This usually consists of making just enough noise to wake me up with scratching, gnawing, scurrying, and then he does his daily reconnaissance. He has rifled through bank statements, checked out the clothes my kids have outgrown, looked at various receipts and bills. He has surveyed the various corners and hidden recesses of my room, and might even be the cause of my missing socks. I am fairly convinced the mouse has stolen my credit card numbers and gone online to order himself Teflon booties, which he uses to walk across sticky traps with immunity — he can more easily slide across them even though the entire floor is littered with them. He just moseys around like he owns the place, I picture him with a little jaunty hitch in his giddy-yup as he roams the edges of the room, nodding at his peeps and even blowing kisses to the ladies.

You can see why I might take up a kitchen knife, just to show that little varmint some manners.

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