Last night, I went over to Leslie and Shawna's house for a little Monday night dinner. Afterward, Leslie began decorating their apartment for Halloween. We started discussing costume idea for a 5k I plan on running in a couple of weeks. Leslie ran into her room to find nunchukus (I know right? Who has nunchukus laying around?) Shawna and I were chatting on the couch sharing a heated blanket when we heard a shrill scream from Leslie's room.
Leslie comes tearing out of the door through the dining room, screaming, "MOUSE!!!" Shawna and I naturally let out our own high pitched screams and promptly jump up on the couch in a crouched position as if the mouse were in fact chasing after Leslie.
When of course it didn't, we briefly calmed down long enough to concoct a plan which included calling all the men we know who might be willing to come take care of the mouse situation, as well as the landlord, because Oregon tenant laws dictate that they deal with these sorts of problems in a timely fashion. But then we realized that we actually had to do something ourselves when it became apparent that we are no longer young girls and can't scream for Dad every time we see a spider so he can come exterminate the pests.
The first order of business was for Shawna and I to head to the store to purchase mousetraps and chocolate. Because chocolate makes everything better.
Purchases made, we set about putting the rest of the plan into action.
No one else would dare enter Leslie room. But as a result of my past experience with the creatures, I felt I had no other choice but to offer up my services. So Leslie and I set about clearing everything off the floors and setting mouse traps.
Three hours later and a few loads to the garbage bin, we found plenty of evidence of the mouse. But no mouse. If you weren't sure if mice really do squeak, let me assure you that Leslie and I would both swear in a court of law that they do in fact squeak. We heard them.
We also found the potential point of entrance in an outlet, which had mysteriously stopped working a month ago, and whose cover was cracked and gnawed on and laying on the floor behind her bed. EWWW! We pulled the bed out from the wall. Set the traps and shut the door.
Leslie's co-worker's preteen son loves to trap mice and dissect them. We called him. He thinks the mouse is pregnant. We're hoping the traps catch the mouse before she has those babies. In the meantime, Leslie has taken to sleeping on the couch. And is hoping the appraisal on the units goes well today, the girls are slated to move out at the end of the month on account of the fact that the almost new owner wants to turn them into vacation rentals. They were lamenting the forced move, but now it can't come soon enough.
Some people hunt deer. Me? I'm brushing up on my mouse hunting skills. If nothing else, I'm working on earning a friend of the year award. It's a true friend who'll crawl under the bed where a mouse ran over your hand to help you hunt that mouse down.