One weekend this summer, Aaron had to work, so the kids and I headed West to visit my folks on our family farm. Of course Mom and I had to stay up waaaay too late chatting. Some time around 10pm, with the kids well in bed, I saw a quick little gray mouse dart around a corner and behind the refrigerator.
OMYGOODNESS. But being the good farm girl that I am, I calmly alerted Mom to the situation – which she blamed on the doors being open for the breeze, nevermind that the house now has air conditioning! – she told Dad, and he promptly got a mouse trap from the basement.
A while later, all three of us are still jawing away. I came out of the bathroom and immediately saw my dad perk up. My friends, his ears practically swiveled towards the cupboards. Two seconds later, he jumped up and yanked open the door to the lazy susan.
Folks, the mouse ran out, and he caught it WITH HIS FOOT. I’m gonna pause for a second and let you absorb that image.
What happened after that I can only take Dad’s word for, because Mom and I, the farm girls that we are, ran into their bedroom and squealed a little. Dad tells us that the mouse is dead, and I’m choosing to believe that.