So, this morning I get a 6 a.m. wake-up call, and it’s NOT coffee. It’s Tad, springing up the stairs to our bedroom to tell me I got him. Maurice. The mouse that’s been loose in my house. The one my kids named.
And I sleepily smiled and thought “finally!”. Tad said he was gonna leave him for the kids to see, he thought they’d think it was neat. Sounded good to me. I took a picture for y’all (haven’t uploaded it yet). Bloggers are nuts that way sometimes, but y’all already know that ;).
I had no mercy with this sucker. He launched a relentless attack on my kitchen drawers and cabinets and I was tired of having to disinfect every utensil or pot or pan we needed to use…not to mention the contamination of all my spices.
So this is what I get from Rachel: puppy dog eyes and a pitiful voice that says “Maurice is dead? How could you be happy he’s dead?” From Stephen (same voice), he’s 9: “I feel so bad for him because you killed God’s creation. His head isn’t where it’s supposed to be.” (ummm, broken neck). I think Thomas is engrossed in mindless drivel on tv, so no piercing words from him yet.
Any votes for mother of the year? :/
I remember feeling bad as a kid when Mom and Dad would catch/kill/destroy the little buggers…….
That faded away quickly when I had one in my own house. Luckily, even though my kids thing they are cute – they don’t care if they are destroyed
I never felt sorry for them;)
yuck! One time we went on vacation and came home to a rotting mouse that must have been caught the day we left;) gross!
ode to Maurice
a mouse of great peace
he’s dead, they dislocated his head
now he’ll never eat any more cheese
(sorry, bad / cheap / cheesy rhyming)