Of Mice and Men

I found a dead mouse in my kitchen today.

Granted that's a lot better then seeing a live mouse scurrying across the floor, but live or dead I hate mice. I knew something smelled funny in my house...and that's a hell of a way to find a dead mouse.

Every year when the weather turns cold my house gets invaded by mice. I'll be sitting and watching the TV and one of those rotten bastards will go running across the floor startling the shit out of me. I usually end up standing on the couch screaming like a little girl and upsetting Percy. Then the real noise begins.

Hell hath no noise like a screaming and confused parrot. He has no real need to be upset, but in his small brain neurons are firing telling him to shriek like a banshee with a megaphone and that will make everything better. It doesn't, it just gives me a headache.

I went as far as to get a cat last year to scare the mice away or eat them, either or I really didn't care....and something ate my cat. Probably a big fucking mouse. I didn't even have time to name him. Oh well, if he was eaten by a mouse he would've been pretty much as useless as a normal cat. He had one job to perform, namely keeping my house rid of mice (And a secondary job which involved the simple command of "Leave the fucking bird be.") but he went and got eaten by something.

I'd put it down as a cat thing and just get a dog, but the three dogs I've had down here have all been hit by cars because they were stupid and slept on the highway and chased cars.

Either these animals were all born retarded or they committed suicide so they didn't have to live in Mississippi. If the latter is the case, why don't the fucking mice do the same?