"I'll get it in the morning when he's sure to be dead." Sighing, but having no better ideas of my own, I climbed off of the stool and resigned myself to listening to the dangnab thing die slowly.
The Calm One went off to work and I jumped online to catch up on my blog reading. Suddenly the shuffling around from the lazy susan became banging.
Geez, I thought, That booger is not giving up easily.
More furious banging. And then even more furious banging. I walked into the kitchen to see if we'd caught another mouse in another trap, but didn't have the guts to check them myself. I get kinda freaked out about things like that. It's one of the reasons I married The Calm One. He's calm; I am not.
Sure, enough, the banging was from the same trap. I left and headed for the bedroom where I could hear nothing of the drama playing out in the kitchen.
The Calm One returned from work and went right to the lazy susan with me on his heels. He checked the traps and there were two mice in the same trap. Itty Bitty was dead, but Mama glared at us with sides still heaving. She was not happy.
After re-reading that sentence, I have come to the conclusion that the previous statement may be a slight understatement.
"I'll get it when I wake up. Just leave it," was his weary response to the situation.
No trouble heeding that advice on my end.
Our day commenced, but the furry creatures were never far from my thoughts. Luckily, I do not have to open that particular lazy susan often. But I did swallow the ick that rises whenever I have to do something particularly gross and ventured a peek right before The Calm One was to wake up.
Mama mouse was gone.
To be continued . . .