Time to clean the toaster?
Everybody sing now:
Oven you.... is easy 'cause you're beautiful...
We came back from walking the dog and spotted a mouse leaping OUT of the TOASTER. It darted behind the oven and was gone. I assume he's got a special mousey crash pad back there, where the gas feed comes through the wall.
Or maybe this mouse has been hooking up Gomez with whatever speed he's been on, 'cuz brother, he's BACK from the surgery. He's a lightning bolt of weirdness. Bouncing off the walls like a maniac with ten minutes to live. That boxer spirit lives on, even without testicles. But that's beside the point.
We still have this mouse thing.
It would seem we're having a nice little synchronicity with a good friend, whose uninvited house-guests might resemble mice, but come with very fashionable leathery wings... She's tried to evict her guests, but they've recently come back. Or maybe it's just a misguided youngster. Anyway.
Our own little squatter is not nearly as fashionable, and we hope that having a speedfreak puppy in the house provides enough incentive for the little piece of hairy bastard popcorn to stay hidden. Or find someplace else to live.
Or perhaps I should be grateful.
I mean, if it wasn't for our little toaster mouse (I shall name him.....PopTart), I'd have no reason to photograph that space behind the oven.
So there. A silver lining. Thank you, little PopTart....wherever you are.
5 comments:
HOMEOWNERSHIP IS SO GLAMOUROUS, ISN'T IT?
Good grief. Sorry about your Mickey incident. Good luck with that...
Poor little Pop Tart.
At our house, we kill them, trap them with cheese and peanut butter, toss 'em in the trash. They're cute, but it's our house. We are somewhat cold blooded about it. C'est la vie.
Whether it's a no-kill or kill solution, a little peanut butter or a piece of cheese will draw the little bugger in no time.
Or maybe toaster pastries?
Just make sure that one little mousie doesn't turn into 13 or more. We've spent entire winters ridding ourselves of these varmints -- and cleaning droppings.
More fun when they're in the walls and you hear 'em running around at night.
Well, it's clear now that PopTart has a posse. A PopPosse. They had a little kitchen party last night, no doubt celebrating the fact that Gomez sleeps in our room during his incision-healing time.
So we'll be packing the gaps around the gas-feed with steel-wool and other unsavory items. We may go the trap route, if that doesn't do anything.
I was thinking, if I had lots of time on my hands (and was mildly insane), I could have lots of fun inventing little mechanical booby-traps; things that would send little PopTart and his hairy homies flying across the room.
Just to rough 'em up a little. Insult to injury, etc.
AH HA! A Tom Temin sighting! I was wondering
what he has been up to these days.
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