Sounds of Silence

Sooooooooo.

Hrmmmm.

Nothing anybody wanted to say about my pet mojo post, huh? What a pregnant silence.

That’s OK, I can read a pregnant silence as well as anyone else, you know. And there were two particular messages I got from the silence:

1. Unsympathetic: Babe, look, you’re the crazy animal lady living with a real-life menagerie. And it was your choice: Nobody made you have so many pets. As I like to say, “You make your bed, you sleep in it.”
2. Indignant: What is wrong with you? Are you implying that there are limits to your animal love? Are you begrudging your animal family members the medical care they deserve? What sort of a cold bitch (and I mean that in the most loving, animal way — truly) are you!

And that’s OK; you’re all right. I just needed to vent, and I did. It’s not like I was speaking to empty air, or anything — right? (Wait, don’t answer that.)

Anyhow, for those in group 2, you may like to hear about the karmic retribution I’ve incurred for complaining about my lovely animal family members. Remember the mouse problem we had when we first returned? And how we got rid of all of the scurrying beasties in the wall? Well, the other night I went into the kitchen and saw a dark brown shape scurry (slowly, if that is possible) from the open compost bucket, across the counter, onto the stove, and down into the stove. Not behind — I could deal with that — but into it, here:

I’m hoping it did that just because it wanted to get away from the crazy shouting giantess, rather than because that’s where it has decided to make its nest (please, god, let it be so!). The Consort set up a mouse trap right on the counter (thank goodness the Consort wakes up an hour before I do!), so we could catch it when it came to the compost bucket after we went up to bed.

The next morning, the peanut butter he had set the trap with was all licked off. But the trap hadn’t been snapped.

We are doomed.