Every night, I am out here ‘till all hours and they get more and more bold with each passing night.
The chewing noises!
The squeaking noises!
I start feeling paranoid, like I’m seeing something out of the corner of my eye that I don’t want to see. Except I know it’s real, so I turn away before I can see.
We are like ships passing in the night, these mice and I – they scuttle away as I glide through the kitchen in my shoes so as not to get my toes accidentally trod upon.
I have seen a couple in the past year, along with other evidence. Ted used to catch some in his traps, but I suspect the ones that are left are the smart ones that don’t like peanut butter. Last night, he sprinkled the peanut butter with bulgur and killed one for a change. I knew they like bulgur because it was one of the only two food things they’d gotten into. (well, since they ate almost a whole bag of wheat gluten – and that stuff’s not cheap!)
I feel like we’re in some kind of “little house on the prairie” frontier scenario (man vs nature!) instead of in a big urban metropolis.
If YM wasn’t totally allergic, we could borrow somebody’s cat.
p.s. I just heard the most terrible SNAP from the kitchen… one of the traps went off. :-o