We have lived in this house now for almost three years, and had our first mouse. The other night I was up with the baby in the wee hours and I heard that telltale scritching in the drawer under the stove. Steve set a trap a couple of nights ago using peanut butter, to no avail. He then tried some cheddar cheese, and again, nothing. Owen said the mouse was “mocking him.” Last night he tried swiss cheese, and apparently the mouse was something of a gourmet, like that Remy from Ratatouille.
At any rate, the advent of the mouse reminded me that I have been getting a faint whiff of something dead for a couple of days. I thought it was under the sink, so without telling him why I made Sam pull everything out and clean it. No mouse, dead or alive, but at least it is clean. I then thought it might be in the refrigerator where perhaps some meat had thawed and bled under the drawers, so I pulled everything out and started scrubbing. There was chocolate and a broken egg, but no blood. Still, at least the fridge is clean now.
It might be a long weekend for the kids if I keep smelling that smell. There are lots of nooks and crannies to clean out, and Christmas vacation just started. We can blame it all on Sam; he is the one who suggested we do arts and crafts during the long break. Does he not know me at all?