Mice!

I walked in from dinner, deposited my leftovers in the frigde and crawled upstairs, wet and worn out.

A change of clothes later, I felt almost human. Trudy pranced into the room, so I pounced on the floor in front of her and proceeded to rub her belly for awhile. We wrestled around the floor while the television babbled and the mouse watched on. I grabbed Trudy's nose and . . . the mouse?

No, that CAN'T be right. There's no mouse. I looked back up, just to see the little guy scamper right out of my sight. I jumped up to follow, but he was gone. No trace. No tracks. No mouse.

Maybe I hallucinated? Maybe this was my subconscious telling me I needed to listen to the little voices in my head more (even though I've spent years trying NOT to listen to them)? Maybe it was my spirit guide? No -- I covered that - hallucination. Well, I must be plumb crazy.

So this morning, I bounced downstairs into the kitchen and found that I'm not crazy.

My name is Brian, and I have mice.

By the time I returned home tonight, my imagination turned two or three rodents into millions. Mice clinging to the ceiling; climbing out of the drains; carpeting the floor. I envisioned running into the house with a shotgun, blasting holes in the floor, ceiling, walls, just to excise the cancer out of my home.

And that's the worst part. They're invaders; uninvited. My house has been violated by dirty rodents who want to eat my food and tear up my shit. I alreay have someone who does that. Her name is Trudy, and she does a fine job of it. She doesn't need help.

I considered bringing in an expert to handle the problem. He's lazy and fat, but only one mouse has ever survived contact with him . . . but he eats like a fat kid at a buffet. Tigger. Destroyer of mice. Hunter. Cuddler. The only reason he hasn't batted 1.000 is mom scared his prey off one time. Otherwise, he's perfect. But I don't need another pet. Besides, he's my mom's cat, and he whines.

So eschewing millions of years of evolution, I'm going for 10 years' experience and calling in an exterminator tomorrow. I prepared by scrubbing down my kitchen, depriving them of any food. I'm not a neat person, and cleaning doesn't come easy. But I did it with gusto tonight. And no mice ran out to take away the broom; to bite my finger or cause me to chase it around the house.

In short, my home is again my home, leaky shower and all. Tomorrow, the mice will no longer be an issue and I can return to normalcy.

Until I envision the next disaster to befall.