Critters

Around here, critters are anything that might make a lady shriek. Cockroaches, spiders, ferrets... and rats, among others. I'm a really good 'bug squisher', if you will, and I have no problem hearing that crunch under a sneaker. But this, as many other things in life is something I do well -- not the best.

Critters bug me sometimes. No pun intended. It's not a size issue, either. I'd have no problem squishing a nine-inch cockroach, other than it's got to be a scientific anomaly, so I would feel more obligated to catch and study it. (FYI, I'm a nerd).

But when animals begin to resemble me, I have a problem. Once the critters have hair and five digits, I have an issue in dealing with them. Dead or alive, the furry, pentafingered members of the general critter population really CREEP ME OUT.

So last night, when I let Charlie in from the backyard, he brought inside his plush mallard toy. When he dropped it on the floor, I discovered a rat! It's probably not a rat, I know, but this mouse was on mouse steroids. Maybe they just use bovine growth hormone, but the mouse was juicing. I'm sure.

This wasn't a gift, like it could have been from a cat, this was just Charlie trying to bring his new toy inside. It took me almost an HOUR to work up the guts to take this guy outside. Had to call my mom to get the courage. I donned gloves, used a broom and dustpan, and then disinfected the whole house, including the broom and dustpan. I flung the poor corpse into the alley way, so whomever in my neighborhood received the chewed corpse of an overgrown mouse in their sneaker this morning, I'm sorry.