Me and the mouse

The last week has been crazy. Beyond crazy. I think I am crazy. Ironically, the only thing I can I think to write about after a week of crazy is seeing my first mouse. Really?! yes... here's to coping skills.

I met my first mouse Monday. I named him Merle Simon Trolly.

I don't really like that name. I don't really like him. It works.
I'm sorry if you have a friend named Merle Simon.

A little history:
We had a mouse militia (I never saw a one) this winter. Yuck! This didn't seem to phase my country boy. He put out some poison and moved on. I on the other hand was not too thrilled. I had trouble sleeping and became increasingly paranoid that the mouse was the cause of every malfunction in our home. Including:

• why I could never find my keys- oh no it's memory loss!
• my favorite pink socks were are missing 
• the DVR mysteriously forgot to record One Tree Hill... twice 

Then WA-la the mouse (mice?) just left... or went to mouse heaven. Gone. Victory! One Tree Hill!

Then I started hearing suspicious stirrings... again. They came back. A week or so ago. Merle and friends ate Macy and Molly's food. That was it! Mouse traps set. Welcome paranoia that the mouse would crawl in my ear and eat my brain and hide my favorite Christmas socks. Seriously. Well, something like that.

Clay decided we should make it a game so I would relax. We call mouse trapping "fishing". Merle was our first fish. I. WAS. SHOCKED. Sleep deprived and grumpy I thought my eyes were deceiving me. Could my nightmare really be that... small! Well I can asure you after catching f-i-f-t-e-e-n more fish, yes! Merle could fit in an Easter egg... with his brother. I really think Highland Park High School should consider adding curriculum on this. sleep. at. last.