More Mouse Tails, er Tales

I am back. The weekend was surprisingly hassle free. A little more, who is kidding who, a lot more sleep would have been nice. But just like Warren Zevon wrote, "I'll sleep when I'm dead." Not the most pleasant of thoughts given what is swirling around these parts of my life right now, but it is appropos. I also found myself singing this song (the Lad has done it on occasion as well, he has the most interesting ways of making me proud) while in my George S May training life of three years ago.

We did dinner at the Outlaws on Friday. My mother in law sat at the table and had some soup the Wife had made. It was a pleasant dinner. My father in law was on good behavior. Then again, he was so tired from his hospital stay, he was more docile than usual. We leave. I take the Lad (he chooses to ride with me-likes the music selection, I think) and the Wife takes her brother (I prefer the arrangement this way. Ever since, my brother in law bummed a ride off of us in February to a family function, not that I mind, though I refuse to fucking WAIT for him, I mean, if you are bringing NOTHING to the table and I am doing you the favor, do not even consider making me wait for your ass, and made it seem like he was virtuous for saving gas, I really do not want to drive him anywhere. Now that may be my interpretation of what he said to my father in law, and that may not have been his intent, in any event cheap, lazy and dependent is not a virtue).

As it started to rain, the Wife took her brother all the way home instead of dropping him off at the subway station near our home. His stop is the next one south, so it an okay arrangement. The Lad and I get home first. We get in the house and the Lad is asking me to check the traps. In fact, he is standing on the couch (he can be a little pussy and really could stand to grow a pair, which I have informed to do). I check the trap in the kitchen--bait gone and trap still set (FUCK!), I check the trap near the kitchen, same situation (FUCK!), I check the trap in the corner of the dining room--still baited and set (Okay), then I check the trap under the breakfast bar (what a stupid design by the dude who renovated our house before we bought it) and lo and behold, there is a dead mouse. Little fucker's neck was snapped by the trap. A confirmed kill! Boo Yah!

I cleaned it all up and tossed the beast with the trap into the garbage outside. I am pleased as punch but figure better safe than sorry, so I rebait the other traps and place them around. Cannot be too sure, you know.

Sunday, before breakfast, the Wife is getting something out of a lower cupboard and smells that garbagy rotting smell. For critters that are so small, they stink to high hell when they die. Imagine what a decomposing human would smell like. Blaaah!! Well, at least we confirmed what we heard on Thursday (trap snapping) was indeed a kill. After breakfast, I had to open up the space again and fish the dead critter out. It was leaving a liquidy trail, so I had to clean up after I pitched the carcass.

I am thinking that if I catch enough of them I could skin 'em and make a beautiful mouse skin coat. Just thinking like the granson of a furrier that I am. Anyway, the Lad claims to have seen something move when we came in last night, but I am not sure. I have three baited traps and there appears to have been no change last night. Then again, I have to move the fridge and check there, but I just do not want to. That may be this evening's entertainment.

Ciao!