I was happily walking in my meadow, watching our puppy trying to catch the waving seed heads when my daughter hollered, "Mom, there are bikes in the garage!"
I couldn't quite hear her, but bikes in the garage should not have elicited the response she had on display. I thought I should check it out.
When I looked in, I saw five baby mice. As in mouses. Rodents. Filth. Destroyers. Vermin.
I instantly started to hyperventilate. It was one o'clock in the afternoon. My husband is at work at wouldn't be home until the evening. I bought this damn house that is 30 minutes away from my father. My manly son is impossibly far away. It was up to me and I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to handle this.
They had to die. I knew that. There was no one else to kill them. I tried to make myself have the girls do it. I decided that could scar their tender little souls. These baby mice were still very babyish, you know? I wrung my hands. I whimpered. I paced. I even cried a little.
"I can't do this!" I wailed to no one in particular.
Finally, I grabbed a shovel. I will spare you the details, but it was horrific. I screamed and squealed like a little girl--not the play ground who-can-make-each-other's-ears-bleed scream, but the I-am-completely-freaked-out kind of scream.
Still shaking, I went inside and called my dad. He teaches school so he doesn't always answer his phone in the middle of the day, but he answered this time.
"Dad? I just killed five baby mice and I'm completely freaking out."
He gave me a task, which always helps someone in the middle of a panic attack.
I may or may not have just spent $30 on D-con.
I am a basket-case. I jump every time one of my children touches me or my dog wanders around the corner. I researched getting a mouser. Turns out they're still cats and you still have to take care of them. I don't like cats and there are allergic people in the house.
I tried to find an I hate mice image to embed here on this post and just looking at the pictures of mice--crawling all over people hands, destroying cars, poisoning families by getting into the flour--made me wretch.
My name is Emily and I am insanely musophobic.