Mouse In The House

I'm thinking seriously about leaving the house at this moment. I was typing at the computer & my husband jumps off the bed, trots over to where I'm sitting and is looking on the floor.

I said, What is it?

No answer.

I scream, What the hell is it? A bug?

His response, Ummm, no.

I said, Great googly moogly, it's a mouse, isn't it? Great gobs of gorilla shit, it's a freakin' mouse.

At this point, the "nutria" as I call it pokes his ugly head out from under the closet door - it was really about three inches long maybe, but they're all nutrias to me. Until I saw this mouse, I thought it was a scheme my husband was making up to get me off the computer.

Of course my screaming wakes Shorty up. I get her up and take her to the living room. Papa Rooster goes on mouse patrol - which really means he gets on the computer. I brought him two mouse traps. I stomp around in the hall to try to scare the mouse out of the closet.

About five minutes later, I'm in the living room with Shorty when I notice our cat, Loco, freaking out beside his litter box. I scream for Papa and he comes to the rescue - well, not really, but whatever. Anyway, he moves the litter box and the damn mouse runs out and runs into the kitchen under the buffet. Papa Rooster moves the traps into the kitchen. All he's managed to catch with the mouse traps is the side of his finger.

At this point, I'm fixing to have a panic attack or something. I cannot stand things like this. It makes me very, very paranoid. I go outside to chill out a minute. Come back in, and the mouse is now in the living room. Shorty and I are in the bedroom with a towel under the doorway to the hall and socks stuffed under the door to the closet.

Did I just really type all that? How embarrassing.