another mouse bites the dust

Ok, things in the haunted farmhouse have gotten out of hand. And I'm not just talking about the faulty wiring, but let's just say, I'm tired of living in an episode of Little House on the Prairie. No, what I'm really referring to is the mice. As I sit here, propped up in my bed, surfing the net...I mean, writing my final guest posts...I'm listening to what sounds like the opening scenes of West Side Story going on inside my walls.

"When you're a mouse, you're a mouse all the way, from your first piece of cheese, to your last dying day..."​

So maybe the music is all in my head, but the ​fancy footwork is definitely all mouse. And these are no Disney mice. They're hooligans. I swear, I hear a full-on rumble going on. I can practically see ​them whipping out their little rodent switchblades as they dance around each other squeaking out Stephen Sondheim lyrics.

(Long pause as I listen)

They're going at it again. This time I know ​I hear them squealing. But maybe not the lyrics from West Side Story. ​It might be more along the line​s of a scene from Willard. And Ben is leading the pack. I'm afraid to close my eyes. I may wake up to find them surrounding me, arms loaded with traps and sticky pads, ready to drag me off to the basement. They do that in New York City, you know. The rats there are so big, they've taken entire families out of their beds at night, never to be seen again. I read about that while standing in line at the grocery store.

I'm going to blame my hus...I mean, the IDP for this. It was his idea to set out traps. We even snagged a few of them. But those that got free have obviously sent for reinforcements. The cat caught one in the dining room last night, and made a show of feasting on him, out in the open, as a warning to the others. And now that cat is missing.

I smell a rodent uprising. This might be scarier than the pigs! Ok, forget the IDP, I blame George Orwell for putting these ideas in my head. If I hadn't read Animal Farm in middle school, I might not be having panic attacks about ducks, and pigs, and mice (oh my!) plotting my gruesome demise like an animated version of Tales from the Crypt. ​

Or maybe I just need to lay off the wine at bedtime. ​

Either way, I think it's time we called in a professional to take care of the mice. According to Bugs Bunny, we either need a lion, or an exterminator. ​Or a way bigger trap.

Until the next time...I'll be sleeping with one eye open!​

amish paradise

Here we go again. Another chapter in the saga of my ancient haunted farmhouse.​

The power is out in the kitchen again. This time, the stove and the refrigerator are on the only circuits working, so that's a plus. But the overhead lights and the outlets are apparently on another, and they're out. So I can cook...in the dark. The hallway, bathroom and dining room are apparently on similar circuits, because they're out too. So I have  darkness in half the house and no outlets...again. And it appears as if we're talking opposite circuits from the last ​time this happened.

So I wonder...are we talking 100 year old faulty wiring? Mice chewing through cloth covered wires? Ghosts toying with my sanity? Or just plain bad luck? I have no idea, but I'm on the verge of tearing my hair out.​

My hus...or rather, my imaginary dead president, Mr. Lincoln, feels right at home. He's actually enjoying the black out. He lit oil lamps and placed them around the house, saying he actually prefers it this way. Figures. He's on 1860s time. He wouldn't mind it at all if we were forced back into the time before electricity and connectivity.

Well, I can live just fine without the lights. As long as I still have the outlet that charges my laptop, the one that powers the internet, and the one that keeps my space heater warm. The rest of it's just gravy anyway.

Until the next time...I'll be baking bread by candlelight!​

of course you realize this means war!

Ever since I woke up this morning, I've been quoting Bugs Bunny. I have no idea why...it's just coming out that way. My thoughts as I woke to a freezing cold house were, "This doesn't look like Pismo Beach! I knew I should have made that left turn at Albuquerque." My hus...I mean my imaginary dead president, Mr. Lincoln, doesn't see the humor in such things, but I soldier on just the same. Humor is subjective.

Especially when the subject is mice.

So, when I opened up my silverware drawer to discover it was filled with mouse droppings, the Bugs Bunny-isms came out in full force. Most especially, "Of course, you realize, this means war."

And I'm not kidding. I am officially at war with a mouse. Or mice. I have no idea what I'm up against, but the sudden urge to Google Acme products is overwhelming.

Until recently, I was totally against using extreme measures to eradicate our uninvited guests, preferring to let the cats have a little fun, hunting them down like the wild animals they fancy themselves to be. But I've since had a change of heart. All of a sudden, I'm ready to go all Rambo on the little bastards.

So today, I'm on a quest for traps, and I'm just a little embarrassed to say I actually did Google Acme road runner traps. But I didn't take any of them seriously. Ok, so the giant cheese wedge costume had me thinking for a minute, but I blame that on the cold and the hour. I didn't get much sleep last night.

I guess I'll just stick with the standard glue strips and old fashioned spring loaded mouse traps that worked so well for Tom when he was trying to catch Jerry. (Note the sarcasm here. Tom never did catch Jerry, and I'm afraid I'll have much the same luck catching Mr. Mouse King and his little shit subjects.)

Can I just say someone needs to build a better mousetrap?

I guess it'll all be ok as long as I don't go too crazy and pull out the heavy artillery the way Nathan Lane did in Mouse Hunt. With my luck, I would blow up the house. And that would totally ruin my day.

And to quote Bugs, "Don't take life too seriously. You'll never get out alive."

Until the next time...Shhh...I'll be hunting mice!