Sunday - could it have been just yesterday? - the little dog and I are enjoying the peace and tranquility of a mouse-free house, our psyches recovering after the dark trauma of Thursday night. I'm playing the piano. I pick out a Simon and Garfunkel tune that's been stuck in my head for 18 hours. The little dog wags her tail after the songs she enjoys.
Later, I'm in the kitchen sitting at the table (again) and I hear some little noises (again). I think maybe it's the thermal shade I've got down - it can be crackly. But... after a while (I am slow), I realize with chagrin that it's not the shade, it's not rain, it's not wind. I call the little dog over and lift up the dog crate. Lo. Another goddamn mouse. The little dog attacks, the bastard mouse evades us and runs underneath a shelf. The little dog stands guard while I ride over to Ace. They don't have the kind of mousetrap that I threw out last Thursday. I buy two of a different brand. They are reusable (eeeeeeeeee!!) but not as robust. I'm worried that 1. they won't kill, and 2. they won't enclose the mousebody and I'll have to see, like, the rump sticking out, along with the tail oh sweet jesus.
I test the traps with folded cardboard. Snap. I halfheartedly put some peanut butter into the traps. I go up to bed, dreading the morning. I hear some scuffling downstairs - the little dog is chasing something around. Next morning, nothing - traps have not gone off. WHAT'S NEXT. THOSE BASTARDS. OH GOD.
