House Mouse: The Return

Remember the visit from House Mouse last year?  Just recently I'd begun to heal from that horrific home invasion, finally able to keep my composure when a domino rolled from a toy box or a shadow flitted across the floor.  Little Guy had just recently stopped recounting the story in the most awkward of situations.

But, y'all.

House Mouse came back.

And he brought a friend this time.

Friend?  Friendsssssss?  I don't know.  I can't think about it.

This time, I witnessed House Mouse squeezing his fat self behind our dishwasher, with his skinny little tail thwap thwap thwapping against the wall.

Oh.  It was all too much.

And yet, I screamed only once and issued not a single warning about toes being bitten off by mice.  Incredible restraint on my part, if I do say so myself.

Once again, the first call I made was to my knight in shining armor.  Only problem being that he was in California.  And it was just before 5 AM, his time.  He was remarkably consoling from afar, although a bit groggy.

The pest control folks came, noted that we'd added another baby since last year, shined their flashlights about, unearthed a few toys from the recesses of our apartment while Buddy Boy signed "mouse" over and over, and left some adhesive traps under the dishwasher and the refrigerator.

Then, we all packed up for a day at the pool...including our sweet friend and summer nanny, who helps me keep track of all these chill'uns around the water.  When we got back, I headed straight to the bathtub with the boys, while Nanny tended to Baby Girl and started unpacking the lunch bag in the kitchen.  A moment later, I heard a blood-curdling scream from Nanny and came running.

First thought: something happened to Baby Girl.

Second thought: she saw the mouse.

Heart-stopping reality: Nanny was holding onto the counter, her foot in the air, adhesive trap dangling from her foot, WITH HOUSE MOUSE STUCK TO THE OTHER END.  And that skinny little tail thwap thwap thwapping against her foot.

Oh.  It was all way, way too much.  And I wasn't the one sharing an adhesive trap with House Mouse.  Poor Nanny.

But at least then we knew House Mouse was most solidly escorted out of our apartment.  That provided a real peace of mind.

Until last night, that is, when House Mouse in miniature {yes, I do realize what that means} darted across the floor.

{insert here the picture the Mister wanted to take, but which I declined, of me standing on a stool in the middle of the den, plastic baseball bat in hand}

The traps are out.  I've got my bat at the ready.  And in just one more month, we are moving eight floors up.

We won't be leaving a forwarding address.