I'm sitting on the sofa, drinking hot tea, coloring birds with my new rainbow of pencils, my house so silent that all I can hear is a mouse scrabbling in the hall closet (attracted to the poison bait, no doubt), when my husband opens the door and says, "Hear that?"
It's the creek. We don't hear the creek from the house unless it's pretty high, so apparently we had some rain while we were out of town for holiday granddaughter time. We got home after dark last night and didn't notice that the creek was high, but as long as it's not over the road, I'm not worrying about it. I have other things to worry about.
Like that mouse. Okay, it's eating the poison bait, but that means it will die, which is, of course, the goal, but suppose it dies while we're out of town and sits there rotting for the next week and a half? Once (a long time ago, in a different house with a whole different level of vermin infestation) we came home from a long road trip and I collapsed in exhaustion onto the sofa, only to hop right back up again when I smelled that familiar smell: dead mouse under the sofa. I don't care to repeat that experience when we get back.
We're leaving for Florida tomorrow, stopping in North Carolina to visit my brother's family and then heading south to visit my parents and brother-in-law. I've been pulling all my shorts out of storage since temperatures are expected to be in the 80s down there, which won't be that much of a change since we've had temps in the 60s here lately. In fact, if we didn't have to pack for the trip, I'd be tempted to try out our new canoe paddles this week. But the canoe is not going with us to Florida.
Let's stow the snow boots and search for sandals--we're heading south! I'll worry about mouse when we get back. (The creek can take care of itself.)
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