My wife Marcy and I both had off on Saturday, and decided to do some cleaning up. My job was to clean the utility room of the basement. Marcy did the kitchen. As it turned out, I got the easy part of this cleaning day.
There were old boxes from small appliances, clothing from the entire family that no longer fit, and other assorted junk. I started to sweep up, and decided to move the freezer from the front wall to the sidewall. That entailed moving a tall chest full of more crap over a few inches. That was fun.
I manhandled the freezer over, and started to sweep that area. Marcy came down and asked me if we would be able to lock the freezer. I realized the lock was on the left side of the freezer, which was pretty much up against the wall.
In this position, it was not possible to lock the freezer door. We then decided together, at some point to switch the chest and freezer. That means taking most of the drawers out of the chest to move it, and then slide the freezer over. Another chore I look forward to doing.
In the meantime upstairs, Marcy starts to empty out all the kitchen drawers and cabinets to clean them. Lo and behold, she is finding something unpleasant in some of them and thinks it may be mouse droppings.
Let’s face it that, although everyone thinks mice are small and cute, they are dirty little animals. While Mickey Mouse lets people think that mice are cute and friendly, they really are not.
Marcy and my daughters are freaking out, but there is nothing to do at that moment. We’re going to the park to play miniature golf, and just enjoy the beautiful weather. We’re due at Marcy’s aunt and uncle’s house by 6 pm for dinner, so we’re not really thinking of the possible kitchen mouse.
We get home around 9 pm and Marcy checks the drawers. Uh oh, she spots more droppings, well possibly. I’m wondering what Daphne the cat is doing while we’re out. Is she socializing with the mouse, as does Garfield? Is she sleeping and not paying attention? Either way, we have a problem.
My younger daughter, Melissa, is freaking out and doesn’t want to stay in the house. Marcy calls her mother and takes her over there for a sleepover. She’s also going to get some glue traps that I’ll place under the sink and in the drawers. I hope the glue traps will catch this devilish little critter.
On Sunday, Marcy will call an exterminator and, I hope, get them over ASAP. Melissa can’t stay at her grandparents’ house through this whole mess, so it has to be taken care of quickly. I just wish I knew someone who did this for a living that I could call now.
On many television shows, we see dirty kitchens in restaurants that have all sorts of rodents. Our house is clean, so we have to wonder a couple of things. First, how did this mouse get in the house and, second, where is it hiding?
You just can’t make this stuff up. I hope, in the next column, I’ll have a resolution to this mouse mess.
Matt Seinberg lives on Long Island, a few minutes east of New York City. He looks at everything around him and notices much. Somewhat less cynical than dyed in the wool New Yorkers, Seinberg believes those who don't see what he does like reading about what he sees and what it means to him. Seinberg columns revel in the silly little things of life and laughter as well as much well-directed anger at inept, foolish public officials. Mostly, Seinberg writes for those who laugh easily at their own foibles as well as those of others.
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