|I think this mouse is in the process of pooping, or seriously considering it.|
My exposure to aforementioned mouse poops has been vast, like your mom, and I’m not dead yet. I feel fine. I feel happy. I will now relate these events in vivid detail.
1) While living at White Wolf, my cabin sported various holes that needed filling. My solution was to shove plastic bags in these holes. My solution with your mother, who had an analogous problem, was different, but similar. But this did not stop one mouse from still finding a way inside (my cabin. Lemmywinks will not be making an appearance.). I recall walking in the door one afternoon, and the mouse (at the time my arch nemesis, later replaced by Adolf Hitler after watching a special on the History Channel, then again replaced by the mouse after somebody told me Hitler had died) was standing in the middle of the room. You know in cartoons how the cartoon characters will turn around to run and they just run in mid-air for a while? That’s exactly what this mouse did. As I opened the door and proclaimed “BAD MOUSE!” he turned around and treaded air for a bit, finally got traction, looked like he was headed for the kitchen, but then took an unpredictable right turn into my bedroom. Never did find him, but I’d hear him running around the floor at night, and I assume he took this time to tactically poop all over my things.
|Why did nobody TELL me?|
|No caption needed.|
|No Garet, it goes on like this.|
|A graphical representation of what was under the mat.|
6) This isn’t so much a story as a statement: Both of our ranger offices are populated by many, many mice, and mouse poop all over the desks is a fact of life. We work in the woods, and everybody poops. Especially the mice.
Anyway, these stories are trivial compared to the horrors some Rangers have told me. I’ve heard of a Ranger sleeping with his Taser next to him so he could scare the mice off of his bed by spark-testing it. Others have said they’ve woken up with mice on their faces. Still others have been unable to sleep due to the constant sound of scurrying mice in the walls and on the floors of their bedrooms. The mice are everywhere. We all aren’t dead yet. I feel for the families of those who died after contracting hanta in the park, but you have a much better chance of getting run over by a confused German national looking for The Vite Volf than you do of getting hanta. So, stupid Germans, man, running everybody over. Somebody call CNN. This is news.
|And now: The News.|