This morning I feel like a murderer…..I woke to the darkness and took my time out on the deck to enjoy the mornings peaceful and finally, warmer temps. Coffee in hand I could hear Peckerhead crowing his own greeting to what promises to be a nice day. The Little Chicken Mafia clucking away quietly, almost as if whispering. The Little Nasties, a bit louder with their demanding, rowdy quacks. I am coming out of a sleepless night….I am tired and groggy trying to dig deep to find any little scrap of energy that will carry me through the normal morning chores.
My restless night started at about 1 a.m. Bumping under the kitchen floor, the dogs scrabbling across the room trying to get whatever it was that chose this ungodly hour to make an appearance. Kitchen table chairs scattered and knocked over, Tara-belle scratching at the floor as though she could dig out whatever it was making the noise. Jumping out of bed I sleepily, tiredly made my way into the kitchen where I yelled, I threatened, I stomped my feet all in a fit of exhaustion induced temper. The dogs scattered…Tara-belle to the couch, Lucy under the kitchen table and Sadie running like her butt was on fire back into her kennel….and the critter under my house happily gnawing away on the beams under the floor.
To make matters worse, I heard the mouse trap under the kitchen sink snap….
You see, I’ve long come to the conclusion that I run a happy Mouse Hilton up here on the hill. These little pooping pellet machines have left me presents under my sink, on the counter tops, in the pantry, in the bathroom…fuzzy wuzzy has moved in and I do believe he brought all of his relatives along with him….they are helping themselves to my food, driving my dogs and cat crazy and keeping me awake most nights as I listen to them partying it up in the executive suite next door….and rowdy neighbors are not what this homesteading girl needs…I clean up their mess each and every morning and I wonder, should I give them little mousie beds, put mints out on their little pillows, offer them fuzzy warm robes?
No…screw that! I instead wage war on these cute, big eared, fuzzy little pooping machines. And tonight I murdered one. And I feel horrible about it. And it is past midnight….I don’t want to check the trap and reset it…I don’t want to drag my arse out into the dark and the cold to toss this now deceased fuzzy little critter into the woods…and I don’t want to run into the larger creature that has taken up residency under the floors of Happy Mouse Hilton…I just don’t want to…
So I go back to bed…and I don’t…and I couldn’t sleep knowing there was a dead mouse under my kitchen sink…I can envision all his relatives gathering around the mouse trap to pay their last respects…mourning the loss of their dearest fuzzy friend/husband/father…..little paws clasped in prayer, tiny, fuzzy heads bowed in sadness….perhaps I should lay a buffet for them…food is always welcomed at these celebration of life events….right?
And this morning I face the not so nice chore of removing the little fuzzy, pooping machines body….and I feel like I need to dress in PPE (Personal Protective Equipment) to do the job….and I also dread the chore of having to crawl under the house and find out what larger critter has taken up residence there and kick that little bustered to the curb….
And in all honesty, I would just rather say screw it all and go back to bed. Such is life….