The Mouse, Part 4

After reading "It Wasn't Mickey", my Dad asked that I not curse so much in my posting. That will be difficult here, but I'll try.

That dag-on mouse has pushed my last dag-on button. I put some peanut butter on top of a sugar cookie and put that into the "no kill" trap a co-worker gave me. The trap had been set for a couple of days with a piece of cheese in it, but the mouse didn't bother with it. I put the cookie on top of the cheese. The next morning the cookie was gone and the cheese was still there.

Here's the rant: What kind of mouse do I have in this house?! How is it that it was able to walk in the trap, get the cookie, and get out without setting off the trap?! He's messin' with me now. And how dare he take the cookie and leave the cheese! What is that about? Dad says that the mouse's little family probably told him, "Look, taking the cheese is what killed your grandpa. Take anything you want, but don't mess with the cheese. It'll kill ya!".

This mouse is dancin' on my last nerve. I can't even bake my Dad his lemon cake. I mean, I could, but if I were him, I wouldn't want a cake that was baked in a kitchen with a mouse in it. And I know how much he loves that cake. I really wanted to show up on his doorstep with the cake for Thanksgiving. But I would think there would be a mental block about eating the cake because of the dag-on mouse. That mouse is starting to control my actions. Unacceptable.

As Bugs Bunny would say, "As you know, this means war!".