Friday evening we arrived at the Ranch and were greeted by this miracle of nature: Mouse turds.
Everywhere. On the counters. In bed. Hidden in cabinets. Even the kitchen sink. It was as if Mickey was suffering an extreme case of Irritable Bowel Syndrome and decided to make our home his maison du respose.
When Mitch started collecting the evidence with his bare hands, I damn near fainted.
"Why are you so offended?"
"Because Mickey crapped on my sofa cushions!"
This is where my "city mouse" comes in to direct conflict with my "country mouse." I am used to the comforts and cats of the metropolis, so it is with great trepidation that I address the dead flies and mouse droppings that accompany country life.
I begin vacuumming like a woman possessed.
"I've got some traps we can put out," Mitch offered.
I looked at him horrified. "But I don't want to hurt them!"
You can take the girl out of the city...