Last evening, I arrive home with my fancy new laptop (I bought the HP rather than the Toshiba in case you care). I am tres excited to get the laptop up and running. Just like a kid with a new toy. I enter the house, flip on the light and see two mice scurrying across my kitchen floor and disappearing into the cabinet. I screamed, I screamed like a girl and then started crying. I HATE mice. Mice are the bain of my existance and make me want to immediately burn my house to the ground and start over new. The little dirty, black, furry bastards are in my house. Oh for the love of all that is holy make the insanity stop.
My kitchen has become a warzone. Today I will purchase 400 traps and set up a minefield for the little fuckers. There will be no escaping my wrath. I will use an entire jar of peanut butter on my 400 traps to entice the dirty little bastards out of their hiding places. I will reclaim my kitchen if it is the last thing I do. Being that I have not slept all night because I kept imagining the dirty little bastards sneaking into my bedroom, which is absolutely ridiculous, I mean come on...what are the mice going to do, attack me? Yes, yes they might, because they are dirty, fuzzy, beady eyed little bastards.
My only problem, what do I do when I catch them? You can bet your damn booty I'm not touching a dead mouse. Yes, I can watch someone cut into my body but I can't pick up a dead mouse. It makes all these sense in the world, I know.
Er, well...I like mice. When I was living at my parents, I was feeding one that would come up into my room through a gap in the wood at the back of my closet. Once my mom chased a baby around the living room, until she caught it, and then tossed it outside. I used to keep them as pets when I was a kid. Love.them. But they are unsanitary so do what you gotta do. You could use poison, but then they might die in the wall, which they will do anyway if you can't catch them.