One of the things that happens when you live in the country is that mice sometimes come in for a visit. I'm not sure what they think they are going to find. I clean up most of the crumbs, I really do. But, field mice just want to visit once in a while. And Thursday morning was one of those times.
I was dozing nicely about 6:45 am, when I heard a commotion in the bathroom. The sound of the trash can being tossed around, followed immediately by my husband's voice calling me. I thought he might be sick, but noooooo...he was trying to catch a mouse. I opened the bathroom door to see my husband, in what I now refer to as his official "mouse catching suit", a business suit he happened to be wearing at the time. He was bent over with the trash can in one hand and something else, not sure what (a toilet plunger?), in the other hand.
Just as I opened the door, he then said, "Close the door! Close the door!" Turns out, he HAD the mouse in the trash can, but had failed to account for the amazing acrobatics of a frightened rodent. It had jumped OUT of the trash can and was headed for ME.
It managed to escape, and was later spotted by our daughter in the kitchen. The cat, obviously too well fed, wasn't interested in giving chase. Frodo the Wonder Yorkie, however, has kept a pretty steady vigil at the base of the stove.
I'm counting on you, Frodo. Show that mouse who's boss.