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Pestilence on the Porch

There are a few things about being single that I don't like and this morning I was reminded of one of them. Pest control. Pest control is a man's job. In fact I daresay men, in consideration for the amount of poo filled diapers women clean up, are by default in charge of all vermin and pestilence eradication. It seems a fair trade.

For the past several weeks my cat has kept herself entertained at night by watching a spectacle on the back deck. I knew something was getting into my flowerpots and gnawing away at my hyacinth bulbs but whenever I turned the light on to see what Mali Meow was stalking through the glass, there was nothing to see. Isn't that the way of it, light shines in darkness and creepy things disappear.

Last night I was on the telephone in the living room and suddenly the sounds of a cat launching herself into the sliding glass door and batting her paws furiously came resounding from the kitchen. The noise was incredible! It caused the dogs to bark, the fur to fly and my conversation companion to ask "What in the world are you watching on television?" I stood in the door between the rooms to see what was going on.

No longer able to contain herself the fabulous Miss Somalia Celeste had lost her mind and decided glass was not going to stop her from getting at whatever it was she saw. She looked like something from a classic cartoon, legs going in every direction at once and suspended in mid air. Unable to get traction her swipes came swifter and harder until she hit the ground. At that point she got traction she hadn't planned on and hit the cabinet by the door. What an amazing sight to behold. Her head stayed in the same position, her laser focus on what she saw outside the door while her body went from south of her head to north of her head all in one quick second. It was all very funny until this morning.

The weather here in Kentucky has been unseasonably warm and this happens to coincide with my back and neck feeling up to doing some maintenance. I went out on the deck to begin cleaning things up and there in the flower pot full of water by the door were two dead mice. Normally my softhearted side would emerge and think, "Poor mice! They must have tread water for as long as they could!" In truth, I am bothered by the way the little rascals met their demise. Surely a quick snap of mouse trap would be better than a long time swimming in cold water. That wasn't my first thought though. I felt sorry for myself first. I couldn't leave their little bodies there and couldn't want to reach in and get them out. Alas, no man in my life to take care of vermin eradication. Sigh.

Sometimes you have to choose between some unpleasant options. I could ignore them and let their bodies ferment in the water risking my dogs coming to investigate and possibly eat them. Ugh! Or icky option number two, dispose of them before the dogs could be enticed. Grabbing an old grocery bag and a trowel I went on a body recovery mission.

It wasn't nearly as horrible as I thought it would be. It was much less gruesome than extricating a smashed rodent from the jaws of a trap. In fact, maybe I will keep the water in the pot for a while longer, just in case any of the dearly departed's relatives come to pay a visit. Nah! Well, maybe.


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