Dear Rodent....

Dear Rodent,

I am superwoman. I can take down men three times my size thanks to my willingness to hit below the belt. I parent a teenage girl and deal with the drama, talking and crazy questions that come with it. There is little in my life that scares me.

This may not have been evident when you creeped out from behind my trash can last week. When I jumped about 4 feet off the chair and held my feet up in the air. As I gasped for the breath it would take to call Grumpy to come downstairs. During that four seconds that you looked at me and the room moved in slow motion, it may have seemed that I had left my cape in another room. In fact, I was contemplating whether the danger of standing in a chair on wheels on the hardwood floor was worse than the danger that would come if you scurried across my feet.

You even looked at the cat. My protector. The one barrier I have against rodents such as yourself. Because I know that even if you appeared smaller than the size of my fist, you hold the power to take me down through cardiac arrest. I know that you spend your days and nights crawling across my cabinets. Potentially touching my silverware or my food. I know that you reproduce faster than a Duggar. The cat simply stared at you and licked himself. So you turned and went back into your hole. But, my friend, you underestimated me.

Of course it may not have seemed that I was superior to you three days later when you walked out of that same hole, around the trap that was set, and stared me down. This time you came closer to me. This time you came by my desk. You came out long before the late night rendezvous I expected you to have. You were showing me who was boss in this house. I probably didn't look like the king of the home as I sat with my short legs lifted in the air and screamed. You probably went back to your dwelling with a chuckle as no one in this house (and trust me there are too many people in this house) came to my rescue. I'd bet you sat at that hole and watched me run across the floor to get out of the room. I'm sure you told all of your buddies about how I made Grumpy watch for you while I took a shower. Maybe that is why you headed in the direction of the shower to begin with. It was a form of mental torture. Yet, you underestimated me again.

That night it became my mission to catch and/or destroy you. Those traps were filled with other things. Apparently you were lactose intolerant. How about a bite of meatloaf? My friend Google said peanut butter would work. And today I went out and bought poison. We had tried the humane way. Now it was time to end this battle.

Murphy's Law number 5,678,456,400 says that if I go and buy more stuff to remove the rodents from my home, it will go into the trap I've already paid for while I'm gone. And you did. Apparently meatloaf is your 'thang', So you left my home today. My feet are again on the floor. And I'm hoping you didn't produce 16 children that will torture me for taking away their daddy.

How do you like me now?

Sincerely,
Crazee Lady