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Look at this cute, harmless creature. Before yesterday I used to think my mom was a real pansy when it came to mice. I heard her scream countless times when she would encounter a mouse in our storage room growing up. Then my dad would come to the rescue with his BB gun. (No, I am not kidding.)
Fortunately, I haven't had the pleasure of a rodent encounter in my home until yesterday. I came home and I was doing the ritual clearing off of the kitchen table. Mail, Henry's artwork, newspaper, all the stuff that seems to pile up there within a couple of hours. As I picked up one of the papers I saw a mouse scurry across the table. I screamed (a lot) and yelled at Kevin to come upstairs immediately to help me. I was honestly surprised at my reaction because I have a pretty good tolerance for spiders. Snakes are the only thing that I thought I had an irrational fear of. Kevin came upstairs laughing and I told him the mouse had to still be on the table somewhere because I would've seen it jump. Item by item, he continued clearing off the table until there was only one magazine left lying open. As he put his hand on the magazine to pick it up he felt the mouse underneath there. He hatched a quick plan that involved a bowl, but the mouse was too fast. He flew (literally) off the kitchen table and ran into the mess that is our front room. So that was yesterday. Kevin said we could get some traps, but the idea of me being home alone and hearing the thing go off made my skin crawl so I didn't take him up on it.
This morning I was cleaning up the kitchen and needed to get something out of my purse. As I was rummaging around the empty abyss that is my purse, the mouse runs up my arm, out of my bag, and takes a flying leap off of my shoulder. Poor Kevin has a cold and was trying to rest when I let out a blood curdling scream. The mouse high-tailed it into the safety of our front room. I have never before been so close to heart attack. Who expects a mouse to be waiting for them in their purse? I went downstairs to find Kevin in hysterics. Only now, about 6 hours later am I able to find humor in the story.
I immediately called Kevin's mom to see if she had some traps. I was ready for revenge. Lucikily she did and Kevin dragged his sick butt out of bed to set them for me. He still believes in chivalry. Once that mouse invaded my personal space (is there any space more personal for a woman than her purse?) my sympathies were done. I am happy to report that we have rid ourselves of one mouse, but Kevin thinks there is another. Until we find the other one, I am going to cautiously open cabinet doors and my heart rate will continue to rise every time I look in my purse.
Maybe rodents are intelligent enough to play Halloween pranks?