You remember my post from not too long ago when the FringeFamily was being stalked by a super-intelligent mouse with illusionist characteristics, don’t you?
If not read My Husband Didn’t Marry an Ax Murderer, but then come right back. You really will need some background info on our rodent escapades.
About two days after the post where I vowed to go all ax-murderer crazy on the mouse, we caught him. Sweet success. Just to be certain he wasn’t running in a gang (I’m not sure how I know it was a he, but it was), we left the remaining traps lying around the house emitting tantalizing peanut aromas. Nothing.
I danced around the house in relief. All dreams of life-size rodents ceased. No more scratching. No more scardy-cat hearty-tacks. No more mouse. I lived in ignorant bliss.
Sunday night in Awana, my daughter got a Nutter-Butter. After one lick of the chocolaty coating, she rejected the snack and gave it to my son. For reasons only known to pre-pubescent boys, he drops the pre-licked Nutter-Butter into his Awana bag.
Fast forward three days.
Last night, he threw the Awana bag on the floor in his room with just about every piece of clothing he owns, winter and summer. Then he slept.
Today he comes running out in horror. His Nutter-Butter was licked again, but this time from long-tailed, four-legged rodent, presumably a mouse.
I’m existing in a petrified stupor. Please look at this hole chewed through the bag and tell me the culprit is a simple field mice.