Eek!

Hold your trousers: we have a mouse in the house.

Ugh.

This morning my husband opened the door to the back bedroom and saw a something-fast run away from the bag his sandwich from the previous night had been in. He looked all around but didn't see anything so he took the bag into the kitchen where he discovered the packaged crackers had been nibbled into. And then, if we needed more proof, we found MOUSE DROPPINGS in the bottom of the bag. Can I just say, this mouse is an asshole. It's not enough that he breaks into our home and consumes our crackers (albeit undesired and probably would have been thrown away crackers), he has to leave two little shits behind. Thanks.

I'm sure this happened because we leave the door to the backyard open for the puppy in the afternoon, sometimes for hours; she enjoys running in and out of the house) but this practice will have to stop if MICE are going to consider it an open invitation. Now we have the unfortunate task -- and enormous pain in the ass -- of catching said mouse and ensuring we are rid of all pests. I find my mind recalling the episode of Sex & the City where Mikhail Baryshnikov kills the mouse in Carrie's kitchen with a frying pan. I suppose I'll have to arm myself. I have no qualms about employing any type of mouse trap; frying pan, sticky paper, the killing kind that snap their heads off. And then I'll chuck the lifeless body in the bin with glee.

I hate uninvited guests.