Suicide Mice

This is not the zoo.
This is my house.
And I am in charge here.

I seem to have inherited both of my parents feelings towards animals. I hate pets. I HATE THEM. I hate the hair, the slobber, the food, the mess, the hassle. The throwing up. The smells. I get that from my mom. Animals should be in zoos or eaten. End of story.

Then I love my dog. I love being a doggie-momma. I've been begging Robert for a miniature dachshund for over a year. I loved playing with my brother and sister-in-law's little cats (they are adorable) and called them my "cat nieces". I get that from my dad.

It makes no sense. It is a total contradiction.

Well, as my mother would tell you, "Mice do not come alone." Yes, Mighty Mouse 1 was captured and killed. His friend drowned trying to drink anti-freeze in our garage. We found their third friend yesterday.

He somehow had fallen to his death in our downstairs bathroom sink. Don't ask me how or why or even what it was like. Robert discovered it and cleaned it up. I tease (and whine at) Robert about how I always have to clean up, he makes messes wherever he goes, he never puts anything away, his stuff is everywhere, etc.

I forgave it all in that one moment. He cleaned up after the suicide mouse. He bleached the sink. I never even saw it.

I have the best husband ever.

Maybe the mice got my mixed messages. They moved in on a day when I was loving Otis. Then they heard me confess my will to murder him when he threw-up in the middle of the night and thought, "This lady is crazy - we've got to get out."

Hopefully, that will be the end.

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