We have a new roommate. He likes cheese and leftover Christmas candy. I named him Mickey. Wanna know why? Guess. Come on, guess.
Stupid mouse. Go live outside.
Well actually, he does live outside once again, thanks to Matt’s superior trapping-in-the-garbage-can-running-outside-and-flinging-into-the-woods ability. But that DOES NOT MEAN that I’m not worried about his little mousy friends.
I know that we live in New England, AND our house is right in front of a huge section of woods on top of that, and that one mouse does not necessarily mean that there are more… but… but… WAAAAAAHHHHH.
Hopefully the mousie traps that we (and by we I totally mean Matt, because I am a delicate little flower who should not be exposed to such things. And who would totally snap her fingers off trying to set the traps) set with peanut butter will not produce any more furry friends and all will be clear.
And even if Mickey did bring his friends to visit, I guess I can still look on the bright side and say, hey, there are worse creatures to have come visiting.