Keep it down in there! I'm trying to sleep!
I feel like the cranky old neighbor in a duplex, yelling at the kids next door to turn down the music. But, I settle back into bed, pull the covers up under my chin, clutch the soft feather pillow against my cheek. I wait for the noise to start again...
Nibble! Scratch! Crinkle! Rustle!
Insert a string of expletives.
I've been swearing a lot lately. I used up my December quota about a week ago. The effing mice just won't let up. Every night, we hear them in the walls. Sometimes the corner behind our bed. Sometimes the wall near the closet. Sometimes just a little scratch here and there. Other times, like last night, a cacophony of biting and munching. It's infuriating no matter where or how loud.
Last night, the mice were so bold, I swear I saw one run across the room. I screamed as I turned on the light to find... nothing. And as I lay back down, visions of arson danced in my head. Arson. As in, setting fire to my own home just to smoke the effers out. Clearly, I'm past thinking straight.
As I fidgeted in anger, Nate wrapped his arm around me. He whispered in my ear, I know. I know it's bad. Go to sleep. We'll put out more traps in the morning.
More traps out this morning. We're using a mix of peanut butter and american cheese to lure the effers into our snares. We've strategically placed the traps - Victor, because you have to go old school - all over the house. In spots we have seen evidence of mice in the past, but are out of the way of puppy noses and toddler fingers.
Anyone have any advice on ridding mice from the walls? Because I'm buying poison tonight. D-Con is about to become my new best friend.