MOUSE BATTLE

I thought I was tougher than shrieking, apparently I'm not. I was sitting in front of my heater for the first time this year, trying to warm my little frozen body, when the obscenely large gray bodied terror streaked across my floor. I yelped and danced around a bit and immediately called for reinforcements. This was my opportunity. It has been evading me for about a week now and finally I had it trapped in my room. Mr. Rat had caused my fingers and psyche some drama when a trap intended for him misfired on my finger. I had a vendetta. My neighbor Jeremy arrived all bleary eyed and retainer clad. I had minor amounts of guilt for getting him out of bed, but there was no way I could do this on my own. I was armed with the long-handled floor-broom and Jeremy had the Basotho broom by the sweeping end, using the braided top as a mouse club of sorts. I was rousting and Jeremy was whacking. Every time it made an appearance I shrieked. I wish I were tougher about mice, but I'm just not. We finally cornered it after it had been dancing around and leaping to heights that were flabberghasting for a rodent. Jeremy slowed it down with a few wallops and in the heat of battle I dealt it the death blow with a skull crushing stomp. I got queasy when Jeremy picked it's limp body up by the tail and tossed it outside. It dripped rodent blood across my clean tile floor and I got semi-nauseous as I wiped away the carnage. I just hope there aren't more. My finger can rest easy nowthat the rat has be dealt a retributive blow. If there are any left in the far reaches of my eaves I hope they fall for the traps more readily than little sneaky Mr. jumper rat. Ewww, just talking about it gives me the jibblies.