I’ve been having a little problem lately…
You see, I’ve been dealing with the lovely smell of dead mice in my mudroom. I went to Facebook for advice and found myself with great ideas: throw money at it, cut a whole and pour lyme down the wall, wait it out, just cry, etc.. It went on and on.
So you can imagine my surprise when I saw a real mouse the size of Garfield running into my garage. This mouse chewed up our life jackets, ate a whole in the bird seed, and no doubt feasted on our garbage. This mouse had a field day in the garage! I pulled all the insulation from a wall. It pooped in my plant pots!
We put a trap out, one of those humane kind that they go into and then you bring it to the woods. The mouse laughed it. It sat empty for weeks. The smell of my mudroom must have made me insane because I found myself buying poison. Now, it feels so evil to write that, but I’ll admit it. I am now one of those people. I am a mouse killer.
Goodbye Mrs. Frisby, Despereaux, and Geronimo Stilton. While we did not live in harmony, I still regret my part in your demise. Every time I walk through my mudroom, I’ll smell your friends and think of you.
With great regret,