Not Mickey.

We’re home again. Settling back in for at least a few weeks.

Bag unpacked. Check.

Mail sorted. Check.

Chickens loved. Check.

Dead mouse on bedroom carpet. Um…UNCHECK!

One of the joys of living here – or, I guess, pretty much anywhere, is the knowledge that vermin are among us. I prefer to think of them tucked away in some subterranean refuge, happy for them to surface any time I’m not looking to grab the occasional crumb, but NOT, thank you very much, on my bedroom carpet.

I don’t know who caught this particular prize. Last week one was found down by the pool, and Taylor surmised that Rosie may have done the deed. Of all our cats, she is the most aloof, but also the only one to whom it occurs to earn her keep. Dodger doesn’t spend enough time outside to encounter a mouse. Catching one would be beneath Dizzy’s dignity. And Cody, should he amble up to one, would just want to purr at it and make friends.

Rosie

Rosie

Therefore, we will assume that Rosie caught this mouse, but it was most definitely Chloe who so thoughtfully transported it up to the master bedroom.  I noticed that she was curled up next to something dark and thought she had swiped one of the boys’ socks, as she is wont to do. As I reached to pick it up, my eyes (how fondly I remember the days of 20/15 vision…) adjusted to the light and I noticed that this particular sock had ears. And a scaly tale.

I did the right thing. I screamed.

To no one in particular, as, like the police, there is never a man around when you really need one.  So, armed with plastic bags and three layers of rags,  I duly disposed of Mr. Mouse. Welcome home, indeed!

About polloplayer

Empty nester searching for meaning of life through the occasional chicken epiphany.
This entry was posted in Annoyances of Life and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Not Mickey.

  1. Katherine Gunther says:

    ewwwwwwww. Perhaps this is the rat Bernie said she came across and when she got Taylor (it IS man work after all) to deal with it he said “hey, that’s the dead rat I threw away yesterday.”
    Yes, welcome home indeed. Keep in mind the cockroaches in NY are as big as that mouse you disposed of… (Of course not in Trump International. I’m sure the doorman doesn’t allow them in.)

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