Yesterday morning, I experienced one of the worst shocks of my life so far. I went out to put my laundry in the washing machine and saw what I thought were balls of lint in the bottom of the washer.
I washed it with dish soap, still shrieking, and about two minutes into it, Janice (name changed in case she has the good sense to mind me using hers) comes into the kitchen to see what the hell is going on. (She rents my front bedroom from me.)
God help me, I scooped them out. I scooped them up with my bare hand only to see I was holding several dead mice. Tiny, dead, wet mice. I shrieked like I'd just scooped dead mice out my washer and flew back into the house where I continued screaming like I was being murdered.
|It has offended me, should I cut it off?|
Calmly, like a non insane human being, she goes into the garage and fishes SIX mice out of the washer. SIX!
I poured bleach and vinegar and laundry soap down in it and ran it on hot. I went to work and shook my hand the whole way there, and suddenly understood how Lady MacBeth felt. What? Will this hand never be clean? I got to the office and told my coworkers about, dousing the hand in hand sanitizer over and over again.
Believe it or not, I somehow managed to get some work done at the office after I stopped shaking. I went to K Mart and bought what I thought was poison and a nice sturdy plastic container for the only edible thing in the garage, the dog food. I can't think of what else they could be after out there. The door doesn't latch well and it's cold. Might be why they came in.
I discovered it was traps I bought so I went back to the store and bought poison, because after completely losing my damn mind over accidentally touching mouse corpse with my bare hands, and doing three loads of laundry with rubber gloves on, I figure it's them or me.