Revenge of the rodents

Cool, rainy (low 30s)

Hoorah. Let’s all throw a party, shall we? Someone make little paper hats. Food? Yeah, bring along some insulation, or a few chips, and the guests will be fine. Yes, let’s have a rodent party. My house, 10:00 at night. Perfect time.

I am not pleased about this party. I thought they were gone. I’ve seen a few mice flitting about the room recently, and while that didn’t make me ecstatic, at least they aren’t big and hairy. (They’re just little and hairy.) I can’t believe the nerve these mice have, by the way, darting right in front of a big, nasty predator like me. Why, I ought to run over there and… catch one, with my bare hands. Yeah, right.

The troubling part isn’t the mice. It’s the thumping sounds coming from my kitchen ceiling, thumping sounds that are suspiciously like the sounds I used to hear when an entire family lived in there. This makes me sad. I just noticed the other day that when I walk in, Slanty smells nice, like food and woodsmoke and cedar, whereas it used to smell like rodent urine and little else. So I would like it to continue to smell good. This would take a lot of work. It would require somehow filling in the gaps in the door. I think, ironically, that’s where the mice are getting in. It would also require getting up on the side of the building again and trying to figure out where large rodents can get in. For Pete’s sake. The smell of death emanating from the bathroom has just finished. Could I get a week of peace from the rodent world? That would be awesome, guys. Almost like a party, but without your whiskered little faces.