My day began with a text from Koko, still holding down the fort back in NYC.
"Mr. Egghead may have become an omelet," she wrote.
"Who is Mr. Egghead?" I'm sure you're all wondering. Well, that's the name we recently bestowed on our unwanted rodent houseguest.
He first appeared in our kitchen the previous weekend. I was home alone when I heard a mysterious scratching sound in the kitchen. I followed the noise, and there he was: standing on a counter, trying to open a tray of cinnamon rolls. (One can hardly blame him - SBG made us a mean plate of cinnamon rolls. They were delicious!)
I screamed, "Get the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of here, mouse!" (Only I didn't say 'h-e-double-hockey-sticks'; I said the real thing.)
The mouse seemed to be as scared of me as I was of him. He stared at me - a'feared - for just a second before dashing under the stove. I yelled a few more verbally abusive statements in his general direction. Statements such as "You're a stupid mouse!" and "No one wants you here, so you better stay away, you stupid mouse!"
(I learned this useful strategy of animal shaming from Dale Sturtevant.)
Later that evening, I relayed the rodent happenings to Koko.
"How big was he?" she asked, "Like the size of your fist?"
"Oh, no," I gagged, "No, no, no. Only about the size of an egg."
"Awww, he's a little thing! Little cutie. We'll call him 'Mr. Egghead.'"
"Not cute!" I protested. "He was on our counters! Trying to eat our cinnamon rolls!!"
Mr. Egghead had to be stopped.
We did a thorough clean of the kitchen, locking all our foodstuffs away in the refridgerator. Then we stuffed steel wool into any hole in the walls or floor that might serve as an entry/exit way for a mouse. (The internet told us that mice can fit through holes the size of a pencil. Gross!)
Finally, Koko unveiled the pièce de résistance: a mouse poison bait station.
It was the condition of this bait station that prompted Koko's text message to me. We had left it positioned in one corner of the kitchen, but when Koko checked on it this morning, it appeared to have been tampered with.
Mr. Egghead had taken the bait.
Now we just sit back and wait for the poison to work its magic! Which should take 4-5 days, according to the bait station directions.
Perhaps you are wondering why I would choose to share about rodenticide with y'all now, on Christmas Eve. Because this is my life, people! This is what's going on with me! I'm just trying to keep it real and speak the truth.
But if you're going to insist for a Christmas tie-in, well, I happen to have a dandy:
"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The baits had been stuffed with a poisonous spread,
In hopes that Mr. Egghead soon would be dead..."
Well, there you have it. And so - Happy Christmas to all, and to all (except Mr. Egghead) a good-night!