twentyseven.twentyone

warning: this post will contain much whining and swearing

We went camping this week! It was fun and soggy and we didn’t even fight when we put up the tent or took down the tent in the torrential downpour. I am proud. Pica did wonderfully. She obviously hearts camping; the flannel, the campfires, the marshmallows, the flock of Canadian geese. You know – all the normal stuff.  She didn’t even mind that it rained substantially more than it didn’t rain.
We packed up a day early (because water resistant is not waterproof in the realm of tents) and drove to a nearby town to stay in a hotel with an indoor pool and, you know, dry things. It was fun. We had a great time.

Then we came home.

To a dead mouse in our upstairs hallway.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The cats were SO proud.

What the fuck? This makes wildlife number 3 in our house.  I think it’s a conspiracy. Or at least someone’s grand idea on initiating us to homeownership.  The first was a random bat in the attic. Animal control came and got it for free and it was substantially less horrifying than it could have been. And then following night we saw on the news that all of Quad Cities has had bat problems. I guess we got prideful or something and needed to be taken down a notch because the second was the effing chipmunk that desperately wants to squat in our house for the winter. This was his second foray into the house. The first time I caught him sneaking up out of the basement we scared each other enough that he ran back down to the basement. The second time I came home from running pre-camping errands and had left the basement door open. BAD IDEA. Zoe, the only cat we own that apparently still has some instincts had cornered it under the buffet in our entry. An hour later I chased it out of the attic. THE ATTIC (three floors up) window. I was pissed. Lt. O’Riley – the less instinctual cat hid in the closet the whole time. What an asshole.

Then this fucking mouse. Are you kidding me? I’m so not up for this. I’ve got 85 post-camping loads of laundry to do and things to dry out.  And now I feel compelled to wash everything we own that might have been touched by a mouse.  At least another 150 loads of laundry.

The thing is we’re not filthy people. At all. I do fly lady for fuck’s sake.  Granted it’s been a little lax since well, summer and all the canning and such. But it’s not like I’m all hey I just dropped a whole bag of popcorn on the kitchen floor- I’ll leave it for the mice to clean up. And we have a messy toddler, but still. This does not warrant an onslaught of animals.

And I know we bought a house in Iowa and I know living on ex-prairie next to the Mississippi River comes at a price. But, really? After vacation?

I’m going to go make some tea… whiskey tea. And contemplate how best to tackle the downstairs and weather or not Pica needs to leave the house before I douse it in Mr. Clean. I feel like Mrs. Meyers isn’t going to cut it. And where is my trusty Librarian in all of this? Umm, he’s napping.  I love him very much, but dude he’s fucking napping.

Told you. Much whining and swearing. Should go check on Pica. I left her downstairs watching The Incredibles. She’s probably been abducted by a racoon.