The Loon.

Long-time readers of this blog know about my struggles with mice in my new apartment building. At first I thought my neighbor kept pigs and then the mice somersaulted through my kitchen.

I eventually started fighting back, which meant that the dogs got hold of the poison mouse blocks and I dealt with “no mess” mouse traps that created pools of stinky mouse blood.

In short, the mouse situation was a flaming hot mess for a very long time.

I sort of gave up during these past few months. I still kept all food refrigerated or covered and occasionally put out poison blocks, but I basically resigned myself to vacuuming up mouse crap every few days and using ungodly amounts of Lysol.

Then while at Wal-Mart this weekend I see a display of mouse-glue-pads.

I buy a dozen.

My apartment is suddenly more booby trapped than The Collector’s mansion. There is a trap in every corner and behind every door.

I catch three mice by the morning.

Later that day,  Halvers comes over to watch A-List and Bad Girls Club. We are on my futon, flanked by the dogs, and all of the sudden I hear squealing from behind Harley’s kennel – I caught another mouse!

I explain my glue-pad operation to Halvers and then start cackling with delight. There’s a small animal dying in the corner of my room and I’m cackling like a loon. Small animal cruelty is profoundly unsexy, but I’ve cleaned up WAY too much mouse-shit in the past year to care.

Me: 4
Mice: 0

I declare war.