marmite breath slept here

I think we have a mouse living with us.  And if that's true, you'll hear me screaming very soon.  I don't like rodents!  I did used to have two pet mice when I was growing up, and they crawled all over me all the time, but an uninvited one is different.  Although, I would prefer a mouse over a rat ANYTIME.  God, I've just nearly thrown up at the thought of seeing a rat.  Shudder!!

I went down to the basement to look through my box of fabric (I need a new kitchen curtain, and ha ha, here I was thinking I could just "whip one up" with my sewing machine....I am way too optimistic) and I opened the closet and took out the box.  There, on the top piece of fabric was a bunch of teeny tiny poops.  AAAAAAARRGGHHH!!  I dropped the box like it was hot and ran to the stairs.  I had to get a grip on sanity though.  I very carefully pulled out all the stuff from the closet (it's my suitcase/sewing storage) so every suitcase I picked up, I panicked that some little bastard mouse was going to pop out and bite my face.

I even invited the dog to check things out with me, and he went NUTS in there.  I KNOW something's been in there.  I can't stand the thought.  Can't stand it!!  The closet is now empty, and no sign of a mouse, but I'm SURE this is mouse poop.  I should take a picture!  No, it would be the lowest point in my life if I posted a picture of potential mouse poop.  My life would officially be lame and pointless.  

Okay, so I took a picture.  But I can't post it.  For real.  Even if I DO need to know if this is mouse poop.  Who do I call about this?  Is there a Mouse Poop Hotline?  If there was, would they charge me to come out here at midnight and inspect the poop?  Is there a government task force set up that takes care of potentially creepy mice?  If not, why not?

This reminds me of the time there was a DEAD CAT on my front porch, and I called Animal Control and they told me that it was not in their jurisdiction to come and get it and I told them that my husband was on the ship for six months and that I was certainly not touching a dead cat (because I am a laydee) and they said "Oh Well, Too Bad For You"  I ended up having to pick up the poor dead thing with a black bag.  God, I was quite brave, actually. 

That was in Florida.  Land of Critters.  Which leads me to my next critter thought.............

During our time there, we had a snake in the house.  A huge, nasty snake.  Every time I think about it, I die inside a little.  There Hadleigh and I were, hanging out, when all of a sudden, in my hallway, was a bad momma jomma snake.  I screamed, (loud enough to be mistaken for a tornado siren) grabbed Hadleigh and the cordless phone, and leaped onto the coffee table.  The snake slithered around the house for a bit, probably unaware that I was about two seconds from a full-on heart attack.  I called Aaron at the ship.

"I need to speak to Aaron, RIGHT NOW, please!" I said, politely, yet firmly, just as my Mum taught me.

"He's busy at the minute.  Can I have him call you back?" said the ignorant sailor who answered the phone.

"Look.  This is his wife.  Tell him that there is a big fucking snake in our house, like three feet from me and our daughter, and if he doesn't come home and help me, right now, I am going to KILL HIM!"

So, Aaron came home to help. 

Only, Aaron hates snakes worse than I do.  (One time we went hiking at Petit Jean Mountain and a black snake was right in front of us on the path, and instead of carrying me to safety, my brave husband ran off and left me.)  Oh, back to the snake-in-the-house story.  So, he comes home to be just as scared of the snake as I am help me.  The first thing he says is, "Where is it?"

I don't have a precise answer to this.  I mean, I know it's in the guest bedroom because I watched it slither in there, but I don't know whereabouts in the guest bedroom, because me and my impatient two-year-old have been standing on the coffee table for 45 minutes and I haven't checked on the snakes' exact location. 

Aaron (hereafter known as Hero Man) grabs a broom (yes, I said a broom) and heads to the guest bedroom.  I watch him gingerly move things, open the closet, look under the bed, etc.  Then, I see him bolt out of the bedroom. 

"Under the bed!"  He looks scared.

"Oh my GOD!  What are we going to do?" I whine.  "I HAAAAAAAATE snakes!"

"I'll get it babe, don't worry" he says, and he starts swiping the broom at the snake as it comes out from under the bed.  Then it starts coming down the hallway to where we've opened the front door to let it out.  It's like it was saying, "Oh, dreadfully sorry!  Didn't mean to intrude!  Let me just take myself out of here." And with a little help from Aaron and the broom, it was now on the front porch.

But this snake didn't reckon on one thing.  And that was how pissed off we were at it.  God, we HATED that snake.  So Aaron starts yelling at me.

"Gimme something to throw at it"

"Throw at it?  Are you frigging serious?  Throw at it?  For real?  Like what?"

"Shit, Nat!  I dunno!  Anything!  A pan!  A jar!  A bottle!"

I'm like, "Yeah, right, I'm going to just hand you glass jars to throw at a snake--I don't think so!"

So, instead, he beat it to death with the broom.  It sounds more redneck than it actually was.  He didn't hoot & holler or anything, although I did shout loudly a few times, "Keel that dayum snake hunny!" in a loud southern accent.

He picked up the remnants of the snake with the broom, put the evidence in the outside trash, and went back to work. 

I had nightmares for a week.  I hated Florida sometimes.  But we're not in Florida anymore.  And I didn't think I was ever going to have to deal with snakes, mice, raccoons, or anything else ever again!  So why is there a (possible) mouse in here?

Oh God!  Does this mean I have a dirty house?  Because I don't!!  I don't!!  I swear, I am not a bad housekeeper!!  I'm a five year follower of Flylady!!  I'm not the same girl who once had mouldy sandwiches under her bed! (Dean used to affectionately call my bedroom "The Shed" because it was so wrecked).  My house is CLEAN!  I swear it!  But why else would I be (possibly) cursed with a (possible) rodent?  I don't leave cake about.  Well, certainly not in the basement storage closet, at any rate.

I cannot think about this anymore tonight.  Do mice climb stairs?  Could it get through the catflap at the top of the basement stairs?  Would I be able to, in good conscience, bash poor Stuart Little's head in?  Why did Millie have to die last year?  I miss that cat more than ever right now! 

I'm scared! 

PS) I wanted to get through this post without mentioning the football match against Sweden, but I couldn't do it.  God, it was PAINFUL!  But at least we didn't lose.  And I'm learning more about how it's played every day.  Can't wait till Sunday for the next one.  Makes me wish I lived near Dad so we could watch it together.  We call eachother at important points in the match.  Then, afterwards, I call Mum, Rhonda and Carly to update them, and all of them say, "Eh! So What? Who Cares? Soccer's stupid!" and I have to cry.  Because now I love it.  Love it, I tell you!  And this I did not expect.  So, colour me shocked.