Sunday, April 20, 2008

R.I.P. Joe, We Knew You All Too Well

Joe, you little furry varmint, I hate to tell you this, but we're actually overjoyed that you can now romp and play to your heart's desire in your Heavenly Home. Because, dear Joe, you STINK as a houseguest. And considering the fact that you actually stayed here, unwanted, for THREE WHOLE MONTHS made it that much worse.

I mean, really...what decent houseguest would poop all over every shelf, in every drawer, under every piece of furniture, and still expect to be welcomed? Let's face it pal, your manners were animalistic at best. You avoided our best efforts to capture you. You laughed at our fancy traps for which we paid the princely sum of $4 apiece. You feasted on the peanut butter left on the wooden traps, leaving them unsprung. You skirted around the glue traps with ease, laughing your little mousey laugh at us for even trying to capture a super-mouse like you.

You chewed on the furniture, you ate whatever you pleased, and you ran around the house like it was your own. You took up "residence" in the divan...and I do mean IN the divan, where you squeaked loudly during prime-time viewing hours. Then, after I moved to the office to get away from you, you followed me there. You gnawed and played and climbed and crawled and fell through the drawers of the desk that holds the kids' computer while I was trying to play Literati with someone online not three feet from where you were.


Because NO ONE messes with my Literati and lives to tell the tale. Not even you.

After taking so much of the noise you were making, I couldn't concentrate on my game. That's when I picked up the phone and called in Hubster to handle the situation. Of course, Hubster was upstairs in bed when I called his cell phone to tell him to come downstairs, but knowing how I feel about mice, and knowing my feet were up on the desk and I wasn't about to move upstairs to bed until I had an escort, he obliged.

He heard your shenanigans too, Mr. Joe. And he stealthily baited a trap for you with just the right vintage of peanut butter...just the right amount...and set it where he hoped you would run after trying to ruin what you could.

And that, my fine furry rodent, was the end of you.

I wish I could say we'll miss you, but frankly, after cleaning up mouse poop for the past three months of your residence, I can only shout hallelujahs and praise the Lord!

Enjoy the trip!


HeyJules said...

Poor Dead Joe. NOT!

groovyoldlady said...

Are you sure there wasn't a Josephine too? and/or several Juniors? Hmmmmm?