I don't have a great history with mice. Shocking...I know. In fourth grade, my parents set a mouse trap on the top shelf of our pantry. I stuck my hand in to get some Fun Fruits (why don't they still make those?) and it snapped--on my fingers!!! I ran around the house screaming/crying about the mouse trap stuck on my hand instead of removing it. Because I'm smart like that. Anyway, that was the beginning. I have never been the same.
Years later a friend told me that she is certain a mouse ran across her forehead while she was sleeping. I have not rested well since. And then there was the time Paul was out of town for 3 weeks (I'm not sure why the time is important, other than I knew I couldn't leave it until he got back. Also, he is not exactly rodent-slayer-extraordaire, fyi) and I had just gotten the kids down and settled in for my 612th viewing of The Notebook, when a mouse scurried under my feet (or across the room, which seemed like under my feet). After I quit crying and got down from the ceiling fan, I peeled the back off a sticky trap and set it up in the kitchen. I am not exaggerating (not that I would) when I say, minutes later, I heard the sound of struggle coming from said trap. THERE WAS A LIVE MOUSE STUCK ON MY TRAP, dragging itself across my kitchen, like a pirate with a wooden leg. (I'm feeling like I've already told this story, and if I have, too bad. It bears repeating). I will make a long, tear filled, many phone calls later to every man in my life story short by saying I bludgeoned the mouse to death with a broom handle. Bad way to go. But it beats having your children gnawed on by rats in their crib. (which actually has happened in this fine state, I should not joke).
All this brings me to today, which began by me walking down into my kitchen and straight onto a sticky trap WITH A DEAD MOUSE STUCK TO IT. That's right people. The layering order was this: house-shoe (praise the Lord I was not barefoot), mouse, sticky trap. I am also thankful that they were P's house-shoes and that they are easily replaceable. I hope you are having a better Monday than me (and the mouse). Oh, and I feel compelled to say that we don't live in a cardboard box, or with peanut-butter smearing the walls (which, did you know, mice love?)...just a lovely, older home.