As you read more of my blog, you will learn of our ongoing war on mice. This is just one such example.
We are on our way to bed one night and noticed one of the cats looking intently at the toaster on the counter. Surely not, we thought, but yes, there was a little rodent bastard cowering at the bottom of the toaster.
"I've got this" says my husband and reaches for the toaster to unplug it. For one horrified moment I actually thought he was going to turn it on. He is still smarting from the previous encounters and is determined not to suffer defeat a third time.
He marches outside with the toaster under his arm and proceeds to shake the shit of it. No matter how hard he shakes the toaster, there is no sign of the mouse, as it is still clinging on to the grill part for dear life. Lindsay and I are quite entertained by this unexpected turn of events, and being the supportive people we are, fall about laughing at Rob's latest attempts to rid us of the rodent.
I have no idea what the neighbours would have thought had they seen him. First jumping up and down swearing at the toaster and then when that didn't work, changing tactics, swinging it maniacally around his head, like some kind of demented cowboy trying to lasso cattle. Eventually the mouse must have been too dizzy to hold on, because he came flying out of the toaster like a ground to air missile in reverse, hit the lawn running and took off.
My husband, returns triumphantly to the kitchen, satisfied with a job well done. The toaster however, no longer worked, even if we had wanted it to. And the mouse ? I don't think we've seen the end of him.
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