I have mice. Or mouse as I have only seen one. But more than likely mice. I discovered this when I grabbed a loaf of bread off the refrigerator and there was a mouse sized hole in it. I turned to man-pants and declared that we now had tiny little pets and should we buy them sweaters? He looked at me like I had lost my damn mind and drug me to the hardware store for mouse killing devices.
See, everytime I have had mice, I have just coexisted with them. They don't bother me and I have never had an infestation of any kind. Just signs here and there. Maybe a sighting now and then. Apparently I am weird and death to all mice. I can't handle the thought of killing said mice, so man-pants was in charge. We bought glue traps (the snappy ones with a dog? No) and he was going to put them someplace I would never see a dead animal and the dog would never eat a dead animal.
The traps are still sitting on top of the fridge. So, last night I went to get a glass of wine and turned on the kitchen light and there goes Herbert running from the wine rack to under the fridge. I screamed like a girl because it scared the living shit out of me. But then I kept going in the kitchen trying to find him because he was adorable. And probably chilly because he didn't have a sweater. Man-pants upon observing my obsession with Herbert rolled his eyes and declared we would go to the store tomorrow and get catch and release traps. That is true love right there.
Except he has to drive because my perfectly lovely car is still sitting out back.
I wonder how he feels about otters?
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