Calling all shoppers....

Ever feel like the last "Blue Light Special" item in that small centrally placed location perfect for an obscene rush of over-zealous kmart shoppers.  You stood a serious chance of losing a finger in that fray, no joke, but explaining this analogy to my staff of young.... hopefuls, lands upon blank yet ever so well intended stares.  What the fuck is a KMart, and was the blue light special totally rave and strobe?  I don't know how to reply because I don't abbreviate my speech when speaking.  That said, I am the lone blue light special item so beaten to the left, right, diagonal and shit math hasn't even made up yet.  Nothing worrysome, just one of those weeks you melt into the sofa and in watching the most depraved of shit TV one can find, and mirror comparisons are considered.  Without the royalties.

 I think the full moon lasted extra and I forever am reminded of residents in a care facility I worked for - a man with a walker in pursuit of a lady in her wheelchair - both in entirely slow motion beyond any joy I could hope for to suspend this chase - he yelling in vain "She's got my teeth!"

To this day I have no idea if she indeed made off with his dentures, but I say if she did.... there was some sort of underground warranted resident war secret to the nursing staff and maybe he said something flip across the room at supper and she was like... fuck that, I'm taking his teeth and maybe that cocksucker won't bitch so much about applesauce. 

I just know I didn't stop them... it wasn't high speed and I am not one to treat elderly different, most of them are the same full witted people they've always been - like me, who doesn't feel my age.  I'm glad she made off with the teeth.  In my perfect imagination she made a puppet of them and said nasty shit in tune with each clackity of the fakes to mock him once he caught up with her.

A little delight.  I like his voice many and I miss original music.  Maybe I'm looking in the wrong circles.

- DM

Eternal Mouse

Daily me.  If it means rodent infestation for the next fifty years, this is what it is, and we are defeatedly overrun.  

We have lost the battle against the Mickeys.  I just caught one in the laundry basket.  A baby.  And while my immediate heart reaction said omg omg it's the cutest thing ever!!!   We all know that means there are a hundred of those sweet tailed 'babies'. I want to throw up over it honestly.   Hanta.  Virus.  I can't live with it, and all the same it really was so so adorable and tiny, just looking at me because it's a dumb baby mouse and doesn't know it's a baby mouse staring at a human in a house.  My house.  

I understand most people old school in this, poison em!  Trap em clip style!  And I'll admit that is an option, but a last option because we don't feel punishment for a wrong turn means death, but that day may be coming.  Truthfully, the reason is two fold.  

1.  We truly are pacifists at heart, it's one of the strongest and most compatible things Mr. Morgan and I have in common - we are bleeding heart for animals.  As humans who know better, that is our job. At the end of a worst day of fighting we can look at each other and say "Wanna kick the shit out of a dog?"  Knowing the answer is no, but it's a starting point.  Heh, maybe that's what all relationships need... a kick off point of agreement to move from, even if "Ok right, the gas bill is high and car note needs paid... but we aren't going to make a pinata of the dog ...so...."  Works in this house all the while the dog is staring at us with a jumpy countenance and elbow. 

Pacifism to extreme - Mister will walk a spider outdoors.... I won't.  But then he is a spider whisperer and will tell them "Listen....the wife is flipping out, roll with this and go outside.  When you come back in tomorrow and she swears it's you again, I'll cover your ass and tell her she's crazy, and you are a different spider."  They then jump in his hand (not kidding there, he's master at it and I've seen them jump into his open palm and been angry of it).

More on Charlie, O.G. Mouse.  Two years ago Charlie would wire through the pipes and appear, completely stuck, in my bathtub.  Often. It was most great, until my nerves reminded me that his ilk was the reason for the bubonic plaque of 1832.

Charlie knew it was a good gig, smelled that we weren't going to kill him, and made himself at home. so when we had to ..for lack of.... "chemically remove" Charlie, every day we saw him eating slowly at the poison pellet.  When the pellet stopped moving, we began to notice the smell and Charlie had died somewhere in the vents so every time we ran the winter heater....yeah, we smelled Charlie.

2.  Another very valid reason  - we can't have snap traps in a house where a 17 year old blind dog lives.  We also can't have mice moving poison pellets around in a house a chocolate labrodor lives.  She'll gobble it like anything and everything, while the yorkie walks innocently into terror.

Last sighting - Mister in socks, running the laundry basket a block down to the dog park and shaking each piece of clothing out for all to see who have no idea what the fuck is going on.  We understand, and that's enough. 

- DM

Mouseketeers

Alas I shall rock alone.

Almost alone.  Sometime.... I want to say roughly Halloween I heard the skitter of feet reserved for a small fleet of critters - all of them fucking rodent in nature.  Our skitter is mouse that in October, when it was fleetingly cute, we coined Mickey. 

Absolutely nothing was done about Mickey until around November, late.  By then Mickey was not alone and in my mind while I heard maybe, three mice.... what I really heard was 50 million of them plus cousins all running rampant within the walls, each hosting a different and more resistant strain of Hanta Virus.  In fairness, who can really tell the difference between one set of unwelcome rodent nails across your pergo and eighty sets.  To me....deafening.

We obtained some traps.  Live traps, because a few years ago we were forced to poison a mouse before it invited it's pals.  It died in the vents and stank in a way only those who've experienced THAT particular incident would know.  That Mickey's name was Charlie.  And. We. Felt. Awful.

So live traps.  The mockery of the mouse population.  I'd been living with finding stray mouse droppings for longer than really anyone west of Kentucky would be ok with.  I started finding them on the pillows...and lost my shit.  And then.....

And then I got a cold, i.e. the onset of the hanta. Flipped out and said in three languages (none intelligible) that the Mickeys had to go.  Understand that this battle is ongoing... we have upgraded the artillery, and I have been found with duct tape holsters and dicon pellets on a chest clip, locking and starving out all Mickey's.

To be continued..............