Finding out what’s really important.

It’s all about mice.

Did you know that mice poop while they walk?  It’s like breathing to them. They don’t have a special “place” to lay their dukes.  They don’t excuse themselves to another area.  No. They just walk, poop, breath, pee, procreate, poop, breath, pee.*

This phenomenon is only important when mice decide that your house is a pretty swell place to domicile. I have a really terrific house.  More specifically, I have a spectacular laundry room/random un-insulated addition to the back of my very small house.  (For more on my small house, click here.)

In this room are all the things that are important enough to keep, but not important enough to keep in any easily accessible space. It’s also the place where I go to get the spots out, the stains annihilated, and my clothes really clean.

Imagine my joy when I discovered the trail of scat leading from one edge of the room to the opposite corner.  OH ____ RAPTURE.  (Intentional blank, fill it in as you please.)

I spent that last 7 hours of my day donning a mask, yellow rubber gloves and a bottle of bleach.

Let me tell you something about mouse scat.  You CAN’T

–        Sweep it up

–        Vacuum it up

–        Disturb it any way


I won’t bore you with the details, just a final fact. ONE in THREE people that contract the virus will DIE.

As I bleached and scrubbed, holding my breath despite the mask, I had one of those moments of great discovery that only come when faced with a 30% chance of death.

I don’t need this stuff.

I have been holding on to stuff that I really don’t need.  This stuff has been binding me to the past, to other days that will never happen again.  Seriously, when am I ever going to play scrabble again on an actual board with PIECES? I have an app for that.  And iron?? I don’t iron.  I don’t even cook. Which is good, since the barbecue tools were pitched today too.  Along with the dog brush, wrapping paper, extra toilet paper, sunshade, chair covers, and the funky bowl that was a wedding present from some of my favorite people that was accidentally set on the shelf.

So, really, the mice were a blessing.  They allowed me to rid myself of the past, potential future, and the convenience of having items handy that are not required on a daily basis.  Because of their potentially deadly crap, I now have the cleanest, whitest, laundry/no longer storage for anything that I might ever want to use again room.

Thank you, mice, for your ________ visit.

Bon ______ Voyage.

*Not substantiated by any relevant source, but substantial evidence collected (by me) suggests this statement is true.

About Blurb My Enthusiasm
40-something-yrs-old and I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. My resume reads like a food court menu: educator, dog walker, product manager, executive director, managing editor - and that's just the notable titles. I entertain all offers and consider myself up for the job until someone tells me I'm not. I've never been fired. What I lack in direction, I make up for in enthusiasm.

3 Responses to Finding out what’s really important.

  1. FIL says:

    Were they ELDERLY mice?… because if so, their habits don’t really seem that distinctive…

  2. Pingback: Time to burn the house down « Blurb My Enthusiasm

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