Downside to country living: more visits from pests and rodents.
Last week the kids reported several black mouse sightings in the house, and in odd places for a mouse, like in the boys' bedroom and the hallway closet. Usually we catch our mice under the kitchen sink. (Sadly, at least once every few months.)
I moved a mouse trap to under the boys bed, but no luck, it got set off but nothing was caught. I had horrible flashbacks of the time a rat got in our house and kept setting off the traps, so asked Russ to set a rat trap for me, but before he got to it, I finally had my own sighting. And while it wasn't a rat, it wasn't a mouse either, it was a little black shrew, and I'm afraid to say that the circumstances of our meeting were unfortunate.
I was sitting on the toilet.
VULNERABLE AND UNARMED.
It scuttled out of who-knows-where, made a beeline for the closed door, couldn't fit under, so turned and ran straight towards my feet. My feet, people! It's safe to say that I panicked.
As in, squealed, lifted up my sandaled foot, and stomped on it.
(Does this make me a redneck? My biggest fear is that this makes me a redneck.)
The next step was calling for backup... because I was afraid to lift up my foot in case it wasn't dead, and also because I didn't really want to see the aftermath of what I'd done. Russ came to my rescue and laughed when I finally lifted my foot.
Flat as a pancake, guys. Poor thing. May it rest in peace.
And not have any family members left in my house.