Last night I found myself face to face with a field mouse. My cabin had been breached. I knew there was some riff-raff going on. There was evidence of it, a broken shot glass here, uncustomary rustling sounds in the exterior, a rodent dropping on my kitchen counter. The dropping was the catalyst for war!
The field mouse knocked into something pretty hard. It made a racket. I popped up from a dead sleep and turned on the light. I pointed the light in his direction and waited him out. He buckled under the pressure and made a break for it. That's when I saw him, and he saw me. He was scared, but so was I for that matter. What rodents lack in strength they make up for with disease. I'm a bit of a germ-a-phobe. I wash my hands a lot.
I got out of bed and thought I'd show him the door. I moved things to get at him. I grabbed a broom for protection. I was a bit jumpy. I was careful not to be surprised by a counter-attack. Somehow the little critter eluded me. I figured he ran out the same way he came in. I spent part of the day reinforcing the cabin. I'm hoping he gives up, but something tells me he won't, survival tends to be persistent.
I got out of bed and thought I'd show him the door. I moved things to get at him. I grabbed a broom for protection. I was a bit jumpy. I was careful not to be surprised by a counter-attack. Somehow the little critter eluded me. I figured he ran out the same way he came in. I spent part of the day reinforcing the cabin. I'm hoping he gives up, but something tells me he won't, survival tends to be persistent.
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