Normally, I don't mind laundry day. On laundry day, I usually do all the laundry in the morning, then after Daphne goes down for her nap, I take it all into the TV room to fold while I watch old episodes of Project Runway or some sort of cooking show. It's very peaceful and relaxing, and I actually look forward to it.
Last week, laundry day was not what I was hoping for. I read Daphne her naptime story and headed downstairs. When I got to the bottom, I thought I saw something scurry under the TV room couch. I froze. It appeared to be bigger than a Texas waterbug roach, but smaller than a mouse, it was blackish, and if it had a tail, I didn't see it. I had no idea what it was. When I started to move again, I saw it on the opposite side of the couch, and again it ran for cover. Ugh. I emailed Kev, "Something just ran under the couch. It might be a mouse. I am freaking out." Then, I sadly took the laundry into the living room, where I folded it in fear, and without TV. Kev replied to my email, "Um...OK. Never a dull moment." Then he called, and offered as much help as he could from his office, which was not much. There were no more sightings and I forgot all about it.
Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, I spent naptime in the kitchen making my apple pie and some biscuit dough. By the time I was done and cleaned up the huge mess, Daphne was awake and I was exhausted. I stuck some baked potatoes in the oven and collapsed on the couch. After a while, I got up to check the potatoes. I stuck a fork in them, and they were done. I opened the dishwasher to put in the fork, and there, near the silverware caddy, staring up at me with his beady little eyes, was the cutest, tiniest, most horrifying little gray field mouse you ever saw. Imagine my reaction. There was a scream. There was a slam. There was handflapping and dance of panic. Thank God Kev was home. I spent the better part of the rest of the evening up on a chair while my poor nice brave husband completely disassembled the dishwasher, only to be thwarted by the crafty little critter. We had just about given up hope, and I (still on the chair) was about to start to cry, when Kev saw him run under the fridge. AHA! Cleverly using strips cut from a cardboard box and some packing tape, Kev trapped the little monster under the fridge. I got down from the chair, and we all ate some very well-done baked potatoes for dinner, after which Kev went to the store and bought a trap.
That night, I didn't get much sleep. I woke up at about 3:00 with a really bad case of the heebie-jeebies, imagining all the possible escape routes we might not know were behind the fridge. The next morning, there was nothing in the trap. Doom.
I went to Thanksgiving dinner vowing to forget about the mouse, which I did. Until we were about 15 minutes from getting back home. Then the panic started to return. But, awaiting us was a Thanksgiving Miracle! The mouse was in the trap! Poor disgusting little guy. He must have been really scared. So, our little family of three marched down the street at once, Daphne with the flashlight, Kev with the trap, and me with a giant weight off my mind, and we ceremoniously set him free by the creek. I slept really well that night.
I really hope there aren't more where he came from. I will never ever get that dishwasher scene out of my mind. Never. Ever.