Tuesday, November 23, 2010

My husband, a gun and other signs of the apocalypse

We have a problem.

In the garage. 

Little furry rodents have for whatever reason decided that our garage is a cool place to hang out.  I know what drew them here in the first place.  Bird seed and dog food were both stored out there without hard plastic containers for a long time.  For years we didn't have problems with mice, years! 

When we had our cat, she was a mouser.  And a bird hunter.  Anything came anywhere near the house and she'd make sure it paid the ultimate price.  It was nice not having to worry about the mice, except of course for the occasionally disemboweled carcass I'd find somewhere.  I could have done without the bird hunting...that was just gross.  I didn't even realize she was doing it until Ashley screamed in the backyard one day because there was a bird foot under the swings.  Shudder.

The cat is gone though, still a sore spot for me.  It is just better that I don't talk about what may or may not have happened to the cat.  And who may or may not have been involved. 

Fast forward to a few weeks ago.  For all the time in between, we hadn't had mice.  Then, one day, they were back.  It was getting colder and they were looking for food.  We had a bunch of it, and they went to town.  Tom realized they were in there again when he was rearranging the cabinets and found piles of droppings. 

As I mentioned before, my husband does not like mice.  Not many people do, I suppose.  But he has a particular hatred for the little vermin.  Plus, they totally freak him out.  With their little mouse whiskers and their beady little eyes and their sharp little claws.  He's convinced they are out to get him. 

My brave protector he isn't, at least not when it comes to mice.

While he was cleaning the cabinet to move it, he realized there was a mouse.in.the.cabinet.   Right there.  To preserve my dear husband's manliness, I will tell you all it was a huge beast of a mouse with fangs and claws.  I was trying to catch it, and he was just getting in my way.  Finally, I just told him to get some traps and be done with it.  Chances are if there is one, there are a few anyway, I said. 

He put out a trap that night and killed one.  He left it there a good long while to make sure it was totally dead.  You don't want to deal with any half dead mouse zombies.  Trust me.

He had conquered the mouse.  He declared victory.  He was premature.  I was right.  There were more. 

He got more traps, killed more mice.  And then last night happened.

He went out to throw away another used trap and dead mouse and found a second mouse in the cabinet.  Alive.  He freaked declared war.

He did what he had been talking about since the day of the garage rearranging.  He got his gun. 

Okay, so it's just a BB gun, not a real one.

He's fed up with them, they are slowly driving him insane.  So he did the only logical thing in his mind.  He decided to go hunt mice.

I was making dinner with all the kids in house asking me why Daddy had a gun.  He was out there shooting BBs at the cabinet randomly.  He's lucky none of them ricocheted and hit him. 

He finally got the mouse.  Again, he declared victory. 

I just shook my head at him and his ridiculousness. 

We're taking bets on whether another one shows up.

He seems to think he has intimidated all future mice from coming into the garage.  Him and his big scary BB gun.  Never mind the fact that we have put all the dog food in hard plastic mice-proof containers now, and they are still coming in.  Or that he's killed four of them as of last night. 

He's declared victory. 

This guy declared victory once too.

1 comment:

  1. Tom and Kirk would get along GREAT...however Kirk hunts gophers with his....with a bb gun rifle.


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