This post is not intended to make my husband feel bad or rag on him, I just would like to take this opportunity to point out how different men and women can be.
So for the past week, late at night, I've been hearing weird noises. I finally could hear the noises good enough last weekend when I was laying on the couch dying from the flu. The noises were coming from the attic and it sounded like something was gnawing on the wood! Then I heard scampering! Then I heard squeaking! OH NO! MICE!!!! EEEEEEEE! "DALE! There's mice in the attic!!!" So Dale comes running out of the office and he's not upset like me, he's excited! Here's his chance to do battle! He was even more excited than when we had the wasp's nest in the bushes last summer. He gets a chair and goes into the garage where the hatch for the attic is. He pokes his head up there and of course, they all hide. Little jerks. So he comes back in to the house telling me there's nothing he can do to catch them now, we'll have to wait till he can get some sticky traps. "What? Wait? They are going to come in to the house!" He promises me they can't get in to the house. Meanwhile, I keep hearing their nasty little noises and I'm ready to move in to a hotel. I keep imagining that scene in Ratatouille where the ceiling comes crashing down in that lady's house and a billion rats come pouring out.
So Dale finally brings home sticky traps last night. He goes up in to the attic and puts some of the kid's Easter candy on the traps to bait them. He goes to bed like a little kid on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa to come.
So this morning while I am still in bed (Dale wakes up before me to get ready for work) I have my back turned to the door when Dale comes in. He wakes me up and says "I caught 3 of them!" I roll over and, wait... "what's in that plastic bag you are holding? Are they in there? Did you bring them in the house???" (I think he might have thought I was going to get out of bed and celebrate with him) "Take that to the outside garbage!" "Get them out of my house!" I have to say that I feel bad for reacting so poorly. My sweet husband was truly victorious and all I could think about was that I was woken up first thing in the morning by someone holding a very thin bag of dead rodents.
So, he calls me just a little bit ago and says he's "reveling in his victory." Then it occurs to me, they couldn't have died on that sticky trap just overnight. So I ask, "Were they dead when you found them this morning?" He says "No, they were alive." "Were they ALIVE when you brought them in to the house?" Dale says "Not after I bashed their heads!" "DALE ALAN MORRIS! YUCK!" He only gets called his full name when he has truly freaked me out.
So I have to apologize to my man for yelling this morning. I hope he wasn't too disappointed when I didn't haul out of bed and slap him five. Thank you dear for getting Ratatouille and his buddies out of my attic.
I haven't heard any more noises but Dale says we have to assume there's more until we can go for a while with out "anything" getting stuck on the traps. Meanwhile, I may need to go to counseling to cope with this event.